On the following day, Frances decided that she would abide by the elves' wishes and made to get to her rooms. Unfortunately, she could not remember her way around the place. They had walked in such a haze on the day before, focusing on not stumbling down to keep a little honour in front of those ever-perfect elves. But Aragorn knew the golden woods from his previous visits, and he offered to take her to the guest quarters.
The ranger was pretty silent as he walked, his face reflecting some sort of melancholy as his grey eyes gazed over the wonders of Lothlórien. But unlike his usual poise, his body was relaxed. Frances could feel this strange out of time mood that should have soothed her as well, but she could not relent just yet. They very forest was unsettling. Every part of it seemed alive and waiting for a reason to awaken. The trees themselves seemed to be watching them, the Dunadán's crownless king and the Keeper of Time. How grand it sounded when in fact Frances was very, very lost. Just a woman, really. Did Aragorn feel that way too ? That his title was too big for his frame ?
They arrived at the bottom of a grey tree and the young woman swallowed back her questions.
- "I believe you can climb the steps to the first level. There should be maids awaiting for you in the common room."
- "Should I join you afterwards in camp?" she asked, suddenly intimidated to be left alone.
Frances did not usually shy away from solitude. In her world, she used to research it quite actively. But after travelling for so long with the fellowship, she had got used to their presence, even Gimli's snoring. Aragorn frowned, visibly unsure about what to answer. In truth he had no idea what to say. He knew not how long the fellowship would stay and a part of him hoped that the young lady would remain in Lórien.
- "You are free to come and go as you please. I will consult with Lord Celeborn today as to the length of our stay. The company is in great need of rest and I think wise to take it while we can. Meanwhile none of us would bear you ill will should you choose to remain in your quarters."
Frances frowned. She had asked what their leader wanted of her, and the only answer she got was that he didn't have any wishes. But Aragorn was probably right. Rest was needed.
- "All right then. Good luck with your meetings."
Her speech must have seemed a tad modern for the ranger gave her a queer look before nodding. Frances watched him as he went, broad shoulders graced with his brownish hair. How much could they hold? Was the fate of the world quite enough? And what of Frodo? The hobbit was a wonder, so frail and yet so sturdy.
Stair after stair, Frances climbed the tree that was supposed to host her for the following nights. She reached a room of branches where carpets and wooden furniture showed off their elven elegance. A soft breeze was the only reminder of its openness for it enclosed visitors in a cocooned space. No one was in sight and Frances made to sit on a beautifully carved bench. But no sooner had her legs touched the wood that an elvish maid entered the room. Had she been so loud?
The maid was beautiful and ageless, a very common trait among the elves. On her face there was no hint of friendliness or disapprobation, only a careful neutral expression. A flash of Legolas' face came to her, and she could not help but compare them. He was so genuine and expressive, merrier.
- "This way my lady," said the maid, and her voice was as light as a feather.
They climbed a few steps on the other side of the room and came upon a lovely carved door. There was no lock on either side of it; it was only a token of privacy. One could easily walk through the slips in the branches; they were only covered by curtains and tapestries. The silken material looked like it would fly away, but it hid the occupants from view. Obviously sound insulation was not even considered. After all, elves were so silent that it made sense. Wait, did elves ever snore? Or sweat for that matter?
The maid opened the room and gathered a neat pile of fabric folded on the bed. And then she took her downstairs. Frances' legs protested against the strain. It was only yesterday that they had walked blindfolded to Caras Galadhon and her muscles were still quite sore. But it made sense that the bath should be found outside. After all, it would have been folly to drag such an amount of water to such height, especially when one had to tiptoe on the stairs rather than weight heavily on them. They seemed so fragile and yet they had probably been there for centuries and seen many guests, some of whom were probably heavier than her.
But elves were weightless, Frances had witnessed it firsthand when Legolas had literally walked on snow. Like this could be possible! The main question, however, was how he did manage to fight like he did. A weightless man should not have been able to hit anything. Inertia was key to give momentum and strength to a blow. But somehow he did, and she had finally gathered that it had to be a conscious effort in this mind. How did it work ? Fascinating all the same.
While her thoughts were being occupied by the trickeries of elves, the maid led her to a secluded area covered in rocks and plants. Some mysterious steam roamed all over the place, transforming it into a strange garden. No one was in sight, and the elleth settled the bundle of clothes on a rock.
- "These are the ladies baths. You can wash your hair with the contents of those pots, and I have left a comb for you to untangle the strands. Will you need assistance while you wash?"
Frances reddened a bit. Of course elven hair didn't become tangled, or caked with blood and mud. But she wasn't used to having people seeing her naked.
- "I will be well on my own, thank you very much."
The sentence seemed much less polite than she intended to, and the maid merely snorted before curtsying.
- "In that case I will go back to my duties. Should you need my assistance I can be found in the common room."
- "Hannon le."
But the maid had already turned around and left, her shoulders tense but her demeanor graceful. Frances sighed. She felt every bit human in her dirty clothes and guilty to have dismissed the elleth so rudely. But the steam garden intrigued her much more. The soft sound of falling water greeted the silence and she observed the scenery before her. A large pool welcomed a light waterfall filling it up with crystalline water. The high banks were made of dark rocks similar to those of Moria.
Very soon, Frances had set aside her travel clothes. Naked, she tested the waters with her foot. It was so warm, it felt fantastic. She had not enjoyed a hot bath since their departure from Rivendell and had to refrain from diving in. Flat rocks covered the ground, devoid of any slippery substances and she knelt into the basin for a while. The slight callous caress under her feet felt marvellous and she let the hot water soothe her aching muscles.
She didn't know there were hot springs in Lothlórien, but given the position of the forest on the edge of the misty mountains it made sense. Frances swam around before finding a soap-like object on the side. She spotted a bucket next to it, and realised her mistake.
- "Ooops"
Like in Japanese Onsen, she should have washed with the soap and bucket before plunging into the waters. She climbed out and filled the bucket several times, removing the grime, dirt and blood and washing it off. It felt like a rebirth. Each parcel of her skin was getting rid of the weariness and the horror of the last days. Once this first step was completed, Frances attacked her hair. Literally. The fight took longer than expected, and at the end her arms ached more that after Moria's fight. And her wrist still throbbed. She would have to ask Aragorn to take a look.
Several buckets of darkened water later, the young lady had finally got a hold over her mane. She disappeared in the hot pool with delight, floating from one side to the other, revelling in the warmth and the atmosphere of the place. Once more a fish, Frances soaked into the hot spring until she felt that her skin would come off.
Frances finally consented to leave. The maid had left soft sheets and a very simple dress. The fabric was heavenly light but it felt good on her skin. She had never seen such clothes. Even with the multiple layers of white and light blue the dress was surprisingly easy to put on. It fit nicely, and she tied up the side laces by herself. A fresh braid crowned upon her head, Frances got her old clothes into a bundle and left. After spending hours in her room, marvelling at the bed, the finery of the sheets and curtains and the beauty of the arches made of trees, her stomach.
Time to explore the city !
After much comings and goings, Frances eventually found the fellowship sharing lunch on a huge table. The hobbits' eyes seemed like they would pop out of their heads such were the dishes presented. They were in a merry conversation on one side of the table, the men and elf more reserved after the shock of Gandalf's disappearance. Each of them coped the way they could, and it seemed like the hobbits needed food for comfort.
- "Am I too late to grab a little food?"
Frances' voice shook the men out of their sad musings, but it was Legolas who recovered the quickest. The flowing dress was typical of elvish clothes, and he wasn't used to seeing her in such garments. But the red hair caught his attention, and soon enough he realised his mistake.
- "Not at all Lady Frances. Please have a seat and share sustenance with us. Your presence can certainly cheer some of us up!"
The Prince of Greenwood looked brilliant in his new tunics, the shade of grey highlighting his own glow. The whole company had given away the old worn-out clothes as well, and even Aragorn looked presentable.
- "Waaa, have you seen Frances? She's wearing a dress!" exclaimed Pippin.
- "That is worth the sight," responded Merry.
- "Should I remind you that I was also wearing one when we met?" she said as she settled on the bench.
The two hobbits shared a look.
- "It had been such a long time, we had forgotten that you can dress like a respectable lady."
- "Should the respectable lady show her wrath at being wronged so?"
Boromir chuckled in his plate, showing the first sign of mirth since their arrival. But the hobbits started to apologise, and Frances cut them off.
- "Never mind, I know what you meant. May I ask what a respectable lady can eat?"
As soon as the words were pronounced, an avalanche of names and descriptions greeted her. Merry and Pippin talked at the same time, sometimes corrected by Sam who could not accept that one ingredient could be mistaken for another, and half of those vegetables unknown to her anyway. On the other side of the table, the Prince of Greenwood was observing her.
The colour of the dress complimented her silhouette, although she had lost quite some weight during their trip. But overall, she did not seem out of place within this elvish garment. For a daughter of men, she certainly had a noble poise. The sadness in her eyes matched the one he saw in Aragorn, and he suspected that his own gaze was somehow darkened by the loss of their companion.
But she smiled at the hobbits nonetheless, looking utterly lost. Legolas took pity on her and interrupted the little ones.
- "What does your stomach yearn for my lady?"
His interruption did not go unnoticed as the whole table fell silent. But rather than being intimidated, the prince gazed into her eyes. Frances maintained eye contact for a while, looking into those blue pool as if he could carry the pain away. His eagerness to help was oddly comforting, and she looked back to the dishes.
- "Uh, something hot would be nice. And then fruits or vegetables, I miss fresh food so much."
Legolas nodded; he also grew tired of eating dried meat and bread on the road.
- "May I recommend this soup? It is very tasty and yet refreshing."
Frances nodded, and thanked him in elvish. Then conversation started again, and the awkward moment was quite dissipated.
Sharing lunch and dinner quickly became a habit, and as a routine started to appear Frances asked the fellowship if they could train her. Aragorn's hopes to see her remain in Lothlórien disappeared, but as her hand healed he saw no reason to refuse it.
Surprisingly, Boromir volunteered to help her perfect her skills. He felt out of place in this forest; a feeling shared. Day after day, he drove Frances to exhaustion, teaching her how to wield a blade of men. She didn't complain, grateful for the time he took to help her build her strength and skills. His fighting style was so different than the one that Rivendell's master had taught her, but she took every advice to heart. Her aim was to strengthen and gain a few reflexes; practice was the only way.
She had her training from Interpol to count upon regarding hand-to-hand combat, but it didn't really correspond to sword fighting. Sometimes Aragorn would spare the time to train her as well, and the hobbits would join in. Once in a while, Legolas came around and observed their progress. The lady's resilience was remarkable, but would it be enough ?
With her speed and agility, Frances could not fight like an elf, but did not either muster the strength of men. After some time she found her own way of fighting, avoiding contacts whenever possible, ducking and dodging, using the training of the past years in self-defence and applying it to swordsmanship. For days, her sore muscles insulted her, but she treated them with hot baths and ointments.
One day, Legolas came to find her in the guest quarters. In his hands, he carried a small bow. Frances was just coming out of her own room when she found him. She had put on breeches and a tunic, the one she wore whenever she trained. Her hair was pulled back in a french braid.
- "My lord Prince, she greeted him with a smile. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Startled by the use of his title, the elf stiffened. There was a twinkle in her eyes; she was teasing him.
- "I bring you a bow of good craftsmanship that should serve you well. It is elven made, but smaller than the one I use."
Frances' eyes brightened. She loved archery, but had not been able to practise for ages. Her bow was lost in Moria. An elven bow from Lothlórien was a gift she could not hope for.
- "Would you care to teach me?"
The elf nodded once, his expression smooth but a new light dancing in his ocean eyes.
- "If you allow me."
- "Then let us go!"
The lady's enthusiasm was refreshing, and he followed as she leapt down the stairs like a child. Like all young ones, she was certainly eager to learn. After all, elves were considered young well after their first centuries. He himself being only five hundred years old was still regarded as a child by his own father.
King Thrandhuil had probably not been happy to hear of his departure. But even if Legolas felt sorry for his father's solitude, he did not regret joining the quest. At the time it felt the only reasonable option, and if most elves did not have hope, he owed it to Aragorn to try and stop middle earth from falling into the hands of Sauron.
- "Legolas?" asked Frances.
- "Yes, my lady?"
She scrunched her nose comically, stopping in her tracks.
- "You need to stop calling me that."
Legolas' eyebrows rose upon his forehead, wondering what could possibly be wrong with the respectful title. But still, he had insisted the fellowship not to dwell upon his status; with spies everywhere, he didn't want anyone to use him against his father.
- "What should I call you then ?", he asked, cocking his head aside.
The young woman's eyes sparkled, and he marvelled that, with the light, golden freckles seemed to mar her irises.
- "Well met, Legolas", she nodded with a smirk. "I am Frances… and I do not know where the practice field is."
Cheeky lady who wanted to be called by her first name… it would take a little getting used to. And her diversion did not pass unnoticed, she was the master of deflection.
- "Ah, I will lead the way… Frances"
- "That's better", she smiled.
Legolas walked purposefully in front of her, and she followed the best she could. The elf was deep in thought again and didn't realise that for each step she had to take two. Here and there elves wandered, sometimes occupied at doing stuff Frances knew nothing about. Plenty of them addressed the Prince a bow, one of respect for his status.
- "They do not seem affected by the impending war," said Frances, her breath short.
Shaken out of his dreams, Legolas realised that she was panting.
- "Forgive me, I have forgotten how fast I sometimes walk. It is, however, extraordinary how similar our thoughts were."
- "Nothing seems to reach them here in the golden woods. It is as if life itself is suspended…", her voice trailed.
Legolas nodded thoughtfully.
- "This is how mortal see elves, and I can understand why. But your race does things with so much rush…"
- "Ah, but we do not have as many years as you do to become perfect. So we know that we won't be and have to accept it. A long lifespan goes to a hundred, and I guess that it is exceptional."
A certain sadness passed through the elf's features, but Frances could not understand what he was thinking. Did he pity her condition?
- "Except for the Dunedain."
- "I don't really know if they should be considered lucky or not", she retorted.
Her innuendo caused him to frown.
- "What do you mean? Would you not be blessed with eternal life if you had the chance?"
- "Remember that dude, Eros, right?"
Surprised by her vocabulary, Legolas's voice was less steady than usual. She dared treating a legend with so much indolence.
- "How could I forget, for he was Lord Elrond's twin and the first King of Númenor"
Frances nodded, deep in thought. She had, for sure, forgotten that fact and felt a little sheepish. Yet, her musings led her elsewhere and she postponed any kind of apologies in favour of the discussion.
- "I think I would choose the same. A busy mortal and finite life. Well, I'd be happy to get rid of the pain and sickness of mortal condition for sure, but all of this brings us new perspectives. We live every day like it is the last. We bury our dead and cry for their absence, and sometimes the ones Death takes is really unfair. But we learn to survive on our own, and we learn that they still guide our thoughts. Every loss teaches us and this is how we get better."
He should be able to understand it, but Gandalf's loss had made this point very sore. Death, for an elf, was unacceptable.
- "But then, you die."
- "Yes, we go back to the great whole. But a part of us stays there in the memories of people, and it helps them go ahead and grow up as well. No, I wouldn't want to be immortal. I couldn't sustain the pain of seeing lands destroyed by time or war, generations and cultures passing into the void. It would be too distressful for me to handle."
The elf stiffened at her side, and Frances realised she had hit a sore point. Should she apologise? Her words had only been said in confidence, and she had not judged nor depreciated anybody.
- "I am sorry, I did not mean to hurt. Something I have said has caused you pain."
Started, the elf gazed into her warm brown eyes.
- "I did not know I was that obvious Lady Frances."
The elf seemed spooked by her comment, and she laughed.
- "You are not, but I have travelled by your side from the top of Caradhras to the depths of Khazad-dûm. Care to share?"
They were still walking, albeit at a much nicer pace. And Frances could see his jaw clench and relax while he considered her request. For a while he just went on, and she took his silence for a refusal. But eventually his lips unsealed, and he spoke so low that she barely heard him.
- "It is very sad and also very true. As you said, I have watched Greenwood the great go to waste under the reign of the Necromancer. In time spiders invaded our borders, and the sickness spread to the trees of my beloved home. We could not fight it and had to retreat back to our glittering halls. Greenwood became Mirkwood to your kind, and it really hurts us woodland elves to hear our beloved forest called thus. Yet, for men it has always been so."
Frances' face changed as she imagined what it would feel, and she transposed it to her grandparents who had bought land in a sea of vineyards, and were now living in the middle of a suburb. In thirty years it had changed so much.
- "I am really sorry for your loss, my Prince. It must be a very difficult ordeal to be powerless. But this Necromancer, I heard it that he was extracted from the fortress by the counsel, right? But who was he in the end? A pawn of Sauron?"
Legolas's head whipped to the side and his eyes grew wide.
- "We usually don't pronounce his name in blessed lands as we do not speak black speech."
Frances bit her cheek, wondering why names seems to hold so much power over people of Middle-earth.
- "Well, want me to call him big evil 1?", she quipped.
The elf's face reflected such astonishment that Frances could only smile.
- "What? If you refuse to call a cat a cat, then at least let's find a nice nickname for him."
- "What would a cat be?"
Frances' eyebrows shot to the sky. There were no cats in Arda! What a loss!
- "OK. Drop it. So the Necromancer was a servant of big evil 1?"
The elf frowned, unsure about what was supposed to be dropped before he answered.
- "Actually no. It turned out that it was … himself."
Legolas could not accept to use the nickname, it would be too close to mockery and he didn't want to bring a bad curse upon them. But suddenly an idea came to his mind. Or rather, incomprehension.
- "By the way, what does the number stand for?"
- "Power position. Sauron is the big boss, the Nazgûl would be lower in the hierarchy so they will get a higher number."
Legolas started to get the game, and he added merrily:
- "In that case you might want to review said number, because Morgoth was the first evil of all."
- "Right, I had forgotten about that one, my bad."
This time, Legolas' tone spoke of his utter astonishment. How could one educated forget about Morgoth the Maiar?
- "Forgotten? About Morgoth?"
- "Well, master elf, we do not all bathe in legends from infancy. I had little time to learn all of middle earth's folklore and come to think about it, a month is not so much. Anyway, let's go for big evil 2. Where would Nazgûls stand? Who is the biggest servant of number 2?"
- "I do think that he regents everything himself, and the Nazgûl would come second."
- "Yay, so I fought with some pretty badasses…"
Legolas lifted a perfectly shaped eyebrow in amusement. Her manners of speech were so foreign that he failed to understand her more times than he cared to admit.
- "I have no idea what you just said, but yes. It was a mighty feat indeed."
Frances brushed his praise away, her cheeks colouring slightly. She had, after all, only managed to get herself cornered by those ghastly beasts and would have been dead had Aragorn not shown up on Weathertop. Needless to dwell on such things. The young lady shuddered, and her body's reaction did not pass unnoticed. Willing the cold dread to depart her mind, her voice wavered as she came back to her original subject.
- "So they will be big evil 3 and so on. Do you catch it?"
- "I certainly do, but that is a very strange way of seeing things."
- "Yes, I need to rationalise, it helps me think evenly."
Once more the elf spared a look for the redhead that walked beside him. She surely was odd for a human, even stranger than the ones he had met in his travels.
- "You are a very strange woman."
Frances smiled, unfazed by his analysis.
- "You are not the first to tell me so! But anyway, coming back to the topic at hand, is it only here or do all elves feel unconcerned by the situation? It is become evil comes and goes during your lifespan?"
Legolas sighed, his gaze returning to the path ahead, all amusement fading from his beautiful face.
- "This is a very difficult question to which I cannot answer. Some believe that the time of elves had passed, and that men should be the ones fighting it off. Some think that we elves should leave those shores and get back to Aman. And some like us are just busy keeping evil out of our borders to spare soldiers for a faraway battle."
- "But in the end if evil spreads, there will never be enough soldiers to keep it at bay, not matter how high the walls are!"
Surprised by this analysis, the elf could not prevent from being impressed. It had taken him quite some time to admit it, but he thought his father to be in the wrong. Keeping the border safe would never be enough; Sauron had to be destroyed. But maybe Frances was right, maybe their short lifespan granted them a certain foresight, another way of thinking. What seemed obvious to her was not at all for the elven population.
- "My thoughts exactly, and this is why I have embarked on this quest when my father would have me come home."
Frances stopped dead in her tracks, her mouth hanging open at the enormity of the situation.
- "You left," she deadpanned. "You, a crowned Prince, against the King's will?"
Frances could not believe her ears, and yet she knew that Legolas wasn't lying or boasting. His decision had been taken without haste, and he made no show of it. But now he was watching her intently, his eyebrows shooting up at the sky in surprise.
- "Forgive my outburst. But that is … er. Surprising and incredibly courageous. Not that I doubt your courage, I have seen it firsthand. But won't you face your father's wrath sooner or later? Won't he send an army of guards to retrieve you?"
This time the elf laughed bitterly, a sound she had never heard before. Usually his laugh rose in the air like a crystalline melody. But not today.
- "My father knows better than to send anyone after me. I have been captain of his guards for too long, and most of their loyalty comes to me first. No, he wouldn't spare his fighters. But his anger I will face because I have gathered the courage to do what he should have done. Facing the threat firsthand instead of retreating behind his walls."
- "Wow. I never realised … inheritance can be heavy. I have seen the burden Aragorn carries, his shoulder slump sometimes when he is not watched. But yours … they never falter."
The praise touched Legolas more than he was ready to admit.
- "You are quite an observant young lady."
- "For a second born?"
- "This is not what I meant to say."
Legolas had stopped walking now, and was facing her, his face opened to her prying. He didn't want her to take offence at his words, as he didn't look down on humans. But Frances could only marvel at his beautifully chiselled face and the depth of his lazuli eyes.
- "Even we human take time to observe, master elf. I am not very skilled at fighting, but to detect characters I tend to manage decently. But you are rather unsettling. Never before have I met such a young and old spirit in the same body."
'And such a body!', she thought to herself. Time was still, as were the trees, the grass and even the breeze around them. For a while Frances could only gaze into his face, and her heart started beating wildly. He was such a sight to behold, and his glow seemed brighter in Lothlorien now that he was among his kin. It was the elf who finally broke contact, his skin strangely humming with a feeling he could not place.
- "Regarding this, Aragorn has told me that you are quite skilled with a bow. So did the twins. Shall we try it?"