The white mountains were magnificent in the morning light. Their peaks glimmered, their cliffs sharp enough to compete with the mighty Caradhras himself. Like a heavy blanket, snow covered the mountain tops until mid-height, its white cover reluctant to relinquish its hold over the highest relief. If spring was underway, the air was still crisp and dry, stiffening joints and muscles. It felt the same as a breeze in a mountain resort before a good day of skiing. Frances sighed. Would she ever put on ski shoes again? Descend the slopes chasing after her brothers while they taunted her? Enjoy a proper raclette before crashing into bed at 9 pm, exhausted from the day?
She didn't know. Hell, she didn't even know if she really wanted to get back home. Sometimes, the perspective of staying in middle earth called to her. If they survived, she would probably have a place to stay whether with the elves, whether at Aragorn's side. Most of all, she didn't know how she could get back to earth, to her stupid classes and horrible student life.
The thought of it made her shudder in fright and she closed the cloak around her slender frame. Better to face an Uruk Hai's army than to return to her private little hell. Still, she couldn't help but enjoy the view. The summits hovered upon the few human settlements with their unforgiving presence. She loved watching them from afar. Their power, untamed and unattainable, soothed her for an unknown reason.
Beside Frances rose a thin plume of smoke from Aragorn's pipe. Deep in thoughts, the ranger had lost his gaze on the white mountains. There laid the border between Gondor and Rohan. Behind them stood his long-lost heirloom, probably under attack, if it wasn't subdued already. Three days since Gandalf had left with Pippin hooked onto his saddle. He hoped they had reached the white city safely. The respite, if laced with tension, was welcome.
The young lady was improving, benefiting from the rest. And he would be a fool to deny that he had needed it as much as she did. His fall from the cliff, followed by the battle and a tough ride to Isengard has spent him. The multiple injuries had finally taken their toll, and for two days, Aragorn had used his sleeping pallet more than he cared to admit. But now, he was growing restless. And so was Frances.
Suddenly, the young lady tensed beside him, her eyes squinted in the morning light.
"Is that a fire?" she asked, her head cocked to the side.
Aragorn lowered his pipe to clear off the smoke, and followed the direction of her pointed arm. Far away, on top of a ridge, rose a little thread of darkness. And right below, a fire had been set ablaze. Instantly, he jumped on his feet.
"Bless your eyesight my friend, it is as acute as an elf's'"
His grey eyes shining from the excitement, the ranger grabbed Frances' head and deposited a quick kiss in her hair. The young lady smiled, surprised by his antics. A mere second later, the future King of Gondor was running like a child to the golden hall, leaving her on the steps of their quarters. Somewhere behind her, a gruff voice was heard shouting, followed by heavy steps and the clinking sound of weapons upon a belt. Gimli, no doubt, was hurrying after the ranger to hear about the news.
Frances smiled, but didn't turn around. The glorious white peaks had her attention still. The morning light was reaching her feet now, its warmth very welcome. She had some trouble motivating herself to stand up and follow her companion, content with her current position. Yet, she knew the time she feared had come. Would they allow her to join them, wherever they went, or would she be left behind? The young lady sighed, and shuffled to place her leg in the correct position. Pain jolted through her thigh: the stitches were still sore, and so was the muscle. How long before she could run and climb again? How long before she could fight?
A hand sprang before her eyes, its palm upwards, patiently waiting for her to rely on it to stand up. Frances didn't need to lift her eyes to know who its owner was. She did it nonetheless, greeting Legolas with a grateful smile. She could only hold his gaze for so long, stunned by his ethereal beauty. He was glorious, cut out by the morning rays that illuminated his blond head.
Would she ever stop swooning like a fangirl? Soon enough, Frances' gaze dropped to the ground, her mind reeling at the idea to grasp his bare skin once more. Little did she know that the elf was struggling to keep his hand from trembling, the young lady at his feet stealing his breath away.
The orange glow has set her reddish strands on fire, gracing her with a luminous halo. It brought life to her face, enlightening her lovely features and soft eyes. Legolas relished in this view, realising how he had missed her liveliness. The deep gash that marred her thigh had brought much sorrow upon her, and much fear upon him. Legolas couldn't wait to hear her laugh again.
But the carefree woman had given way to a much broodier Frances. Her gaze met his for a brief moment, eyes full of interrogation and doubt before she broke the contact. Never before had she backed down from his scrutiny. The elf frowned imperceptibly. There was much he wanted to discuss, but feared to spook her once more.
Frustrated, the elf prince reined his thoughts. When had they taken so many steps backwards? Frances seemed to flee him, not unlike she used to do at the beginning of their acquaintance. Maybe then he would have to rely on his diplomatic skills to approach the lady again. Did it have anything to do with her confession about another world? About the fact that her betrothed, whoever he was, was waiting for her to come back from her travels to marry her? It didn't make much sense that she would avoid him though. Perhaps she feared that he would be angry with her at hiding such knowledge.
She seemed so frail that he couldn't prevent from making sure she was safe. Perhaps had he been too overbearing in his rescue. In this case, better to remove his hand altogether rather than offering his help once again.
But before he could act upon his idea, Frances' fingers seized his. Legolas' kept his arm steady while she staggered to her feet. What a struggle, to refrain from pulling her to his side and rest his other hand at the small of her back! If he had had his way, she would be scooped up in his arms right now! But the elf was careful not to invade her personal space. He didn't want to trigger the same reaction as two days prior. Her friendship meant too much to him to throw it away so stupidly.
"Hannon le, Legolas. Once more, I rely on you for support."
The elf inclined his head slowly, and was surprised when the young lady linked her arm around his.
"The pleasure is mine, Lady Frances"
The young lady stopped dead in her tracks, her brown eyes staring at him.
"How come, my lord prince, have I become once more a 'lady'? Am I not the same Frances, the companion, warrior-apprentice and annoying friend that keeps you from resting properly around the campfire?"
Legolas blinked. Her eyes held some mirth. But behind them still lingered a flash of uncertainty. He searched her face for falsehood, used to the games of the elleths of his father's court. Yet he found none. A smile then bloomed on his lips as he resumed walking at a slow pace.
"You know to be all of them, Frances. Friend, warrior and companion, if not annoying. But a lady you will always be."
Frances lifted an eyebrow.
"Am I then to be forever vanquished by your superior elvish mind?"
"Nay, my lady, I am merely better rested than you are."
Frances groaned in a most unladylike fashion, but she didn't yield. The easy banter went on for a few minutes. Soon enough, elf and lady alike had significantly relaxed, making their way slowly up the steps of Meduseld. Legolas couldn't help but marvel at the normalcy of it all. Frances, walking on his arm as they talked. It felt right. Like it had always been so. A heavy discussion seemed to be happening inside. A discussion that would decide of their future. Before Legolas pushed the huge doors of the Golden hall, he turned to Frances, facing her squarely.
"Will you tell me of your home when time allows? I am greatly curious about it."
Frances smiled, her expression so bright that he couldn't help but stare.
"You will only have to ask."
Then, the young lady relinquished his arm and hobbled into the hall. His question, so innocent, had relieved her from much dread. Legolas wasn't angry with her for her lies. No matter what laid ahead of them, she could take it now.
Decision was taken to make for Dunarrow where the King would await for as many men as Rohan could muster before riding to Gondor's aid. Edoras, once more, was emptying from most valid men. What was left of the Rohirrim rode on with their King, to their death. For what else awaited them at the gates of the Pelennor's fields than the great host of Mordor?
Théoden had made no secret of it. Neither Aragorn, nor Eomer had dared contradicting him. The world of men was failing. Yet, the King of Rohan would not back down. His courage moved Frances, and she bowed low as Théoden left the hall to gather his forces. For the split of a second, the King paused, recognizing the young woman who had fought with his men. And then he nodded to her before storming off.
Aragorn turned to his company. Of the original fellowship, only Gimli, Legolas, Frances and Merry were left.
"We will ride with the King to Dunarrow" he said, his decision clear. "Frances, will you manage ?"
Frances nodded, relief washing through her tensed body. Better to head to a battlefield than to be left behind. As the young lady left to gather her belongings, the elf joined the ranger.
"Will it be safer rather than stay in Edoras?"
Aragorn sighed, turning to meet the elf's gaze.
"I fear that no place will be spared. Should we fail, Edoras will be overthrown. If she accompanies us, we can watch over her until we find a safer place. Unless you think otherwise?"
There was no duplicity in Aragorn's eyes. He had considered this for a while, and came up with the best solution for the integrity of his company. Under the circumstances, it was the best he could do. And truth be told, Frances was not his main concern. Gondor was, and he would stop at nothing to save its people. Still, Aragorn couldn't help but feel guilty under the levelled stare of the elf. For a short moment, he realised how old his elven friend was, for he remembered being scolded as a child by Erestor or Lord Elrond himself. This unnerving and ageless gaze felt very much the same.
But then, Legolas nodded, and rested his hand on his arm.
"I have no other solution to provide. We will keep her safe, or die in the process."
And then, Legolas was gone, leaving a very stunned ranger to gather his thoughts.
Later that day, a full company of horsemen set off from Edoras, Eowyn among them. King Théoden had sent riders to roam his kingdom, and hoped to get a few thousand spears 'ere the end of the week. Merry sat behind Aragorn alongside the King. The rest of the fellowship, namely Legolas and Gimli, rode together. Behind them, Frances had been granted her own steed. The young lady kept to herself, trying not to show the strain that the fast pace inflicted upon her body. A tight bandage kept her leg from bouncing too much, keeping the pain to a bearable level.
Dusk came and went without a halt, and the Keeper of Time was at loss. They were marching to war, with Frodo and Sam as their only hope. To this, most of the riders were oblivious. How did they manage to keep their bearing, knowing he hardships to come? Frances, for one, had trouble doing so. Gandalf was gone with Pippin, Boromir plain dead, and she was a burden to her friends. From the last few days, things had been spiralling out of control. What if Aragorn died trying to protect her? This would all have been in vain. Would she ever see her family again? Once more, the idea of dying here appalled her conscience. What would become of her parents if she disappeared? better to know of her death rather than spend their life waiting.
When, at dusk, a rider came to the king to announce that they were being caught up with another company of riders, blood drained from Frances' face. She was not ready to fight again. Aragorn dismounted, unsheathing Anduril. The moonlight shone upon the company, revealing in its silvery light a great group of riders crossing the fords of Isen a few paces from there. Eomer's voice rang clear:
"Halt, Halt! Who rides in Rohan?"
The sound of hooves stopped altogether as a tall man dismounted. Under his cloaked form, his face was undistinguishable, but he lifted his hand in the air as a universal sign of peace.
"Halbarad, Dunadan. Ranger of the north"
His voice was rich and full of confidence, albeit a pitch higher than what Frances expected given its tall stature. But she didn't care. The young lady exhaled, relief flooding through her system as the man explained the reasons for their presence.
"We seek one Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and we heard that he was in Rohan"
"And you have found him also!"
Frances turned around on her steed, surprised by the outburst of the ever-serene ranger But Aragorn was already running to his kin, his eyes shining in the moonlight as if the Virgin Mary had dropped in front of him. Hugs and manly slaps were exchanged, the leader of the company announcing that they were thirty in numbers. The rest, Frances did not hear, for Halbarad had mentioned the presence of the twins or Elrond. An exclamation left her lips, gaining the attention of many. She did not have time to blush, for less than a minute later, two dark-haired elves sprang forth in her direction.
The King's guard's hands flew to their weapons such was the swiftness of their invasion into their ranks. Fortunately, Aragorn turned to Théoden and declaimed in a strong voice.
"All is well. Here are some of my own kin."
As the King engaged Aragorn into a short discussion, Frances was lifted up her horse by Elrohir's hands, and hugged fiercely.
"Elrhorir, what a joy to find you safe and sound!", came her strangled voice.
A few tears escaped her. Some from the emotion to see the twins well, and some from the pain. In Elrohir's haste to remove her from the saddle, the elf had failed to acknowledge her wound.
"And that goes for you too, Elladan. Even if your enthusiasm can keep within the boundaries of propriety"
"As if propriety mattered to you", quipped his twin brother.
"Who knows? I might have turned into a very proper lady during your absence?"
Behind the trio, a wary elf was watching the exchange. Legolas had witnessed the close bond between Elrond's siblings and Frances in Rivendell. He knew they had lived their own adventures before his coming to Imladris. Yet today, it left him with a very strange feeling of exclusion. Had he not, over the last months, become a close friend to her? This easy banter between them plunged him into abysses of reflections. It reminded him that, before the fellowship, Frances had had a life. A very short one, compared to him, but a life nonetheless with friends, and a betrothed, and most of it in another world as well. And of that, he knew nothing at all. His blue eyes still couldn't tear away from the lady. Until a tingle went off his spine. Someone else was watching her.
A few paces from there, the tall man, Halbarad, was eyeing Frances suspiciously.
"Who are you, a lesser human that calls the mighty son of Elrond by their names. And tell them apart without fault? How is it that you are unknown to us, Dunedains?"
His stern voice was unnerving, but no more than his arrogance. Elrohir frowned by Frances' side, but his twin's hand stopped him before a retort left his lips. The young lady, raising to full height, turned to the chieftain, and somehow Legolas was quite ready to be entertained.
"I am Frances. And if you didn't study your elvish history well enough, you'd have no way of knowing who I am. This being said, there is no reason to be discourteous to a woman, especially by calling her a lesser."
A snort echoed beside him; Gimli was scoffing openly at Halbarad. Legolas himself struggled to keep a straight face, and he could have sworn he saw Elladan's lips twitch upwards. The tall man grunted, his temper apparently growing short.
"My apologies"
And then, Halbarad turned back to his men while the twins rained questions over Frances.
"Don't pay attention to him, sweet lady. We rode hard for many days, and humans do not have the same stamina as we elves."
The insult was hardly veiled and it didn't go amiss. Apparently, all was not well in ranger land. Frances turned around to stare at the tall man as he mounted his steed. Shoulders slumped in fatigue, posture tense. Now she regretted her harsh greeting, but she was as tired as he was. Suddenly, Elrohir's body moved away, and the young lady lost her support. Stumbling, she had to seize her saddle before falling to the ground. In the blink of an eye, Elladan was by her side.
"Frances" he cried, "are you hurt?"
The other twin spun on his heels.
"Merely recovering. Do not fret, Aragorn had worked his healer magic on the wound"
"Estel ! You were supposed to care for her, what have you done?"
The ranger cringed at the sound of Elrohir's voice, approaching with a defeated expression. Frances's heart broke for him. She knew he blamed himself for this injury, there was no need to add more salt to the wound.
"To his defence, he was in the middle of a cavalry charge when this happened. It is hardly his fault if I didn't pay attention to my surroundings."
"I know I should have taken better care of her, brothers. I simply failed to."
A few eyebrows rose at this appellation, but the Rohirrim nonetheless kept silent. No one wanted to risk the wrath of the elven kind. Frances, though, poked her finger against Elladan's chest. With her diminutive size, it was a sight to behold.
"Damn it, you two! He can't go around babysitting me. I chose to fight, I paid for it. Period. And please, Aragorn, don't listen to them, a meteorite could fall upon me that it would still be your fault"
"A meteorite, my lady?"
King Thédoen's surprised voice broke the tension. Frances turned to him, a look of confusion on her face.
"You don't have them there, I guess?"
Aragorn's head went from right to left, mouthing a "certainly not" with amusement.
"I have never heard of such a thing. Are those things much a threat to us?"
Her eyes wide open in though, Frances bowed slightly to the King.
"Probably not. It seems to be a treat saved for my country only. In a land far, far away…"
Then she added, more to herself that for the sake of others.
"Curious. Your system must be exempt from the asteroid belt"
"And what would that be?"
Frances' eyes rose to meet steel ones. Unbeknownst to her, Halbarad had wandered closer during the commotion. Needless to say that he was less than pleased to see his chieftain, Aragorn, being told down because a mere girl had been hurt in battle. Furthermore, her speech made no sense at all. Could she not be a spy from the enemy, to ensnare men and elves alike so easily? The twins, Aragorn, and even the elf prince seemed to be watching her like hawks. How could a mortal be so important to all of them if not by some magic tricks? He made no secret of his hostility, well aware than the young lady had to lift her head high up to meet his eyes. Frances didn't care; each time she looked at Legolas she nearly broke her neck. She would not back down from a such a blatant attempt at intimidation.
Frances swallowed the lump in her throat before turning away from the Dunadan's chief. Well, temporary chief, since Aragorn was in all but title the head of this company.
"As I used to tell a friend of mine. Let cement. Now Elrohir, if you can help me get back on the saddle, we might as well continue our journey lest the sun finds us still rooted on the spot tomorrow morning"
Aragorn, dumbfounded by this new expression, made a mental note to ask about it later on. Still, Frances was right. Placing Merry on the horse, he climbed behind him. By his side, Elrohir had carefully lifted Frances on the saddle before joining his own steed.
"My lady Frances is right," he stated with a harsh look to Halbarad. "Let us depart and make haste."
The young lady snickered at seeing the incredulous face of the chief ranger. This expression, he had no chance of understanding. It had been a private joke from many years before, but it still made her laugh. When her older brother had had his English penfriend coming over, he used to listen to those songs written by Renaud. The French man enjoyed this slang from the eighties, it was called verlan with words being turned around in such a way that the beginning syllable was at the end and vice versa. She remembered this song, 'laisse béton', the verlan for 'laisse tomber'. Meaning, let it go. But to translate it, given that 'béton' also meant cement, or concrete in English, they had translated it as "Let cement». It made no sense at all, but the three of them, penfriend included, had still laughed their heads offs. Frances had always loved languages, they were an unending source of discoveries and funny jokes.
And thus, she let her thoughts wander to her family as they rode. Her family, her world, her languages. Her heart felt like singing something from home. The sky was getting clearer, and she was exhausted. So, Frances started humming a Spanish song that her grandfather used to play with the guitar to keep from falling asleep. It was a fast-paced tune, with lyrics that she could not forget. How could she, when she had heard him sing them countless times? And so, Frances sang, her voice low, but the words flowing from her mouth as fast as she could muster. "se burlaran de mi, que nadie sepa mi sufrir"…
Very soon, a familiar set of faces came to flank her on both sides. Elrohir on her left, Elladan on her right, both listening intently until the song died on her lips.
"We gave Father a proper dressing down for letting you join the fellowship."
At this, Frances snickered. She could very well imagine both twins facing their mighty father in hope of making him feel guilty. Like that could end well.
"And how did that go?"
"Not as expected"
Elrohir's expression had turned sour, and Frances couldn't help but laugh out loud.
"And pray tell, what did you expect?"
"He might as well have taken into consideration that you are untrained"
"As were the hobbits", she countered.
Elladan was undeterred.
"And not a seasoned warrior"
"Like the hobbits?"
"And…"
The last argument died in Elrohir's throat. He knew not how to say such a thing without angering the young lady. Elladan, on the other side, gave him a warning look. As usual, they had been completing each other's sentences. But this one, none of them felt like being the one do so.
"… A woman?"
"Well, that as well"
Both twins cringed at her silence. Soon enough, she would be yelling at them for being sexist bastards. Her words, though, caught them off guard.
"What? You thought I had been summoned to plant daisies? Or teach you about chocolate?"
"Could you?"
Merry's hopeful face drained the anger from Frances' voice. The twins cared for her, that was all. Still, the hobbit's interest in food reminded her so much of Pippin that she couldn't refrain her joy at his interruption.
"No Merry. I am sorry I cannot. And before you ask, there is none left. As for you two, would you like to sneak into my saddlebags for the remainder of this trip? Maybe one of you will suffice to keep me safe?"
Both twins scowled. Playing competition between them was so unfair, and yet efficient. A quick look into each other's eyes taught them that it was time to drop the subject. Elladan was more responsible than his younger brother; he would stop at nothing to protect Frances from harm. He was just less demonstrative about it. Truth be told, both still felt guilty for nearly getting her raped and killed last November.
They had sworn, to Estel and to their father, that they would not let anger blind them again. So far, this close call, the fact to nearly having killed a young lady to quench their thirst of revenge, had triggered a realisation. The realisation that somehow, their grief had taken over their life for too long. Maybe it was time to step back into the light.