Frances took an internship with the Stargate program (check 'Fran in the stars' story'). In the meantime, she discovered the special power of her artefact: it transports her to another place (alternate reality or planet) or time to complete a mission, then calls her back to her own world. Frances travelled to the 'Lord of the rings' world ('Innocence's journey' is completed). She has gained a magic sword forged by Glorfindel, and perfected the skill in Japan in the 19th century (The last Samuraï/Ruroni Kenshin), realising that her sword was magically connected to her, and could cut through metal if she was in the right state of mind.
The dream from the previous chapter is from one of Frances' travels where she gets stranded on a Man-O-War (story 'le navire' from the Master and Commander movie) and picks up the habit to dance on the yards while doing her Katas. Weird woman, I know.
I don't want to spoil my other stories too much, so I'll keep it at that. Her character though, has evolved a lot in those eight years.
2010 – Montpellier – France
Her necklace was calling again, its blue glow traversing the linen t-shirt she was sporting. Damn, never a minute of rest! Frances picked up her emergency bag, dressing in her elvish travelling clothes and strapping the scabbard of her sword to her leather belt. Antibiotics and first aid kid was checked thoroughly, snacks, survival blanket and all the standard SGC equipment was shoved inside as well. Then came the last step, a quick SMS to her cousin, her own little procedure. Frances typed the message quickly, keeping it simple. 'Nouvelle mission, cousine. J'y vais' (New mission, cousin. I'm going). If she did not return, Cécile would be able to tell her parents how she died … well, not how, but at least, why. Once back, since she tended to appear at the exact same moment she was transported; she could then call her cousin and tell her all the juicy details of her mission.
What would it be this time? The end of the world? Another dimension with flying bunnies? The past, the future? A place with no humans? Frances braided her hair tight, inserting clips and securing the end of her long reddish strands with a plain rubber band. It fell past her waist now, almost to her hips. There, she was ready. Peeking at herself in the mirror of her bright corridor – this new flat was nice enough, but nowhere as fantastic as he Norwegian one had been last year – she let her eyes roam over her form. Boots! she had forgotten her boots. Sliding on the supple leather boots, she checked herself once more. Cloak – check, boots – check, weapon hidden below the cloak – check, backpack – check. Bow, quiver and arrows. Check. Magical shining necklace getting impatient… Frances sighed. Check. The young woman seized the jewel with her left hand, and disappeared in a flash of blue light.
As usual, the sensation of falling overtook her senses, and her stomach clenched uncomfortably as she let the flow guide her to her landing place. After travelling with the Stargate, she was getting used to being dematerialised and reconstructed, but it didn't mean she had to like it. Said landing was, as usual, quite harsh and moments passed before Frances realised she was sprawled on the grass, her cheek encased in dirt. No one in sight, good. Blinking rapidly, the young woman lifted herself from the ground. The landscape swam around her, and she stopped, crawling on all fours, trying to adjust her vision to this new place.
An ancient church cast its shadows upon the hill, a sturdy edifice made of granite with a very familiar style. If she was on earth, Frances would have guessed England, Scotland or French Brittany. The few voices that hovered on the path a little further taught her everything she needed to know. England it was then. Frances took a little while to adjust to her surroundings, hidden by a tall slab of granite (it was strangely refreshing, after all the calcite of Montpellier) wondering about the period she had landed into. Would her medieval attire be too outdated? Frowned upon? What about the sword, was it allowed to be armed?
Eventually, the voices died and Frances stood. Her eyes landed on the tombstone that hid her appearance, and she gasped.
"To my beloved son,
Carlisle Cullen
1640 – 1663"
Well, that narrowed it down a bit. Since tombstones were not kept for more than a century in England, it couldn't be further than 1763. Yet, something told her that Carlisle Cullen had not been dead for long. What else could be the reason of her appearance beside his grave?
Memories flooded her mind as she recalled her first encounter, eight years ago, with the devilishly handsome doctor of Forks' hospital. The necklace, the Keeper of Time' gift, had entailed so much she wasn't expecting. Those trips had made her what she was. Legolas's love, and the sword that Glorfindel has bestowed upon her on Lord Elrond's request. Her time in the English navy, fighting against Napoleon, that bastard using mercenaries! Her trip to Japan as the Americans were attempting to subdue the country to its trading agreements. All of this because of Carlisle, because of his trust in her! She had learnt so much, suffered as well, but become a fierce warrior thanks to those missions, the missions of the Valar. Many times, the sword had saved her life, especially with the stargate program. Today, she was faster, stronger in mind and body, that she ever would have been. And her will was much sturdier than it used to be when she met Carlisle … in the future!
The implications of this time loop left her brain cells burning. She needed to move out of here, and meet people in order to determine the aim of this mission. She had never got so far back in time, this would certainly be interesting. Frances stood, motionless, trying to pick up a direction. On the south end of the churchyard laid a path paved with granite blocks, probably the one leading to the city. On the other side… The other side was held by a luxuriant forest, so dense, so beautiful that it reminded her of the Greenwood, Legolas's childhood lands. There were no places left like this in Europe nowadays, a pity for she longed for the trees. South of France was utterly and totally devoid of it, the dry earth sporting spiky bushes and tortured olive trees. Following a hunch, Frances turned north, her long legs leading her to the edge in a few strides. The scent of humus and wet earth called a smile to her face. Yes. This would do fine. The air was warm enough to keep her from freezing at night, and she could hunt if she needed to. Not that she appreciated skinning a rabbit of a deer, but hey, beggars couldn't be choosers. She'd have to eat at some point.
The forest was denser than any she had come across since middle earth, a little damp, but not unfriendly. As she progressed in silence, Frances's hand roamed across trunks and bushes, her fingers greeting the trees as she went. Legolas had taught her well, but with her human heritage, she couldn't hear their answers. Yet, it felt as if she was on the right path. A few hours later, the gurgling of streaming water greeted her ears. Frances sighed, she would be able to replenish her flask with clear water and her feet were getting sore. Electing a rather large rock, its surface rounded by the weather and years of watching over the river, she sat down. So far, she had not found any living being that could give her clues about the reasons of her presence. It was a little disappointing, but not unexpected.
And then, a splashing noise echoed behind her in the silence of the forest. Frances turned around instantly, crouching behind the rock, her hand flying to her hip to rest on her sword. Armed with the mighty weapon of Glorfindel, she had nothing to fear from men provided they didn't possess guns. Yet, being careful was embedded in her skin. Her hazel eyes widened slightly ad she took on the form that was emerging from the water. His clothes hung around his body, soaking wet, clinging to his skin. His blond hair fell around his face, his eyes shut to the world, as if in refusal to acknowledge it. A wail greeted Frances' hears, a wail so desperate that her heart broke, and the man unleashed his despair by pouncing into the water. His rage was great, fuelled by desperation as his fists hit the water. The silhouette stilled suddenly, and straightened, his nose up in the air. Sniffing once, maybe twice, the man turned his head in her direction. Frances shifted, ready to run at the first sight of trouble and her grip tightened on the guard of her elvish sword. The blade seemed ready to spring from its scabbard. When the man's eyes opened, Frances gasped. Albeit he was more than fifty yards away, his gaze found the young woman instantly. The realisation hit her like a brick wall, making her mind reel. It was no man she was facing, but a vampire. A vampire she knew well, except that his irises used to be golden, not this unsettling mix of blood red and pitch black.
Carlisle froze, his body twitching, yearning for the hunt, yearning for human blood. The coldness of the water didn't even register in his mind, the rush of the current feeble against his abnormal strength. But the sweet smell of blood. O Mighty Lord! It filled up his whole being, making his body sing, promising that the hunger would go away, that all his worries were naught if he could even catch a mouthful of her flowing life force. The redhead was starting at him, her body wary, her eyes filled with wonder. Carlisle felt himself climb on the river bank, his soaked shirt dripping on his breeches, his legs moving on their own accord. The lady straightened, ready to meet him. Then he could bite her, and quench his thirst for life. Another step, and she would be his … her life ended without flourish. His conscience hammered in his head, yelling at him to go away, to flee her sweet smell. His failure at drowning himself almost got him to surrender to his hunger. But Carlisle's will was stronger than that.
- "No!" he screamed.
The vampire took off at full speed, hoping to put as much distance between himself and the lady before his resolve faltered. Behind him, he could hear the shuffle of leaves being crunched under her boots as she tried to follow him. The stupid woman! Did she have a death wish? He knew vampires were attractive to humans, a perk he had learnt as he let himself enthralled by the creature that killed him, that made him this stupid shell of a pastor's son. His father, poor father, would be horrified. Carlisle sped on, intend on shaking his pursuer off, but she held on. She was fast and light on her feet, for a human, and annoyingly stubborn as well. Of course, he had distanced her quickly, but the forest was not extended, and he could not run any further. Diving into the entrance of his hidden lair, Carlisle smacked against the back wall and froze, listening intently. Moments passed, moments where he mourned the loss of his heartbeat that should be hammering in his chest, the absence of sweat on his brow, of his chest that should be rising and falling from the exertion but obstinately stayed still. Dead. He was dead. And a dangerous creature. And unholy creature that couldn't even get rid of himself. Starving himself didn't work, drowning either, falling from a cliff hurt but the effect was, unfortunately, the same plain answer. Carlisle was still undead, still roaming the lands and getting hungrier.
A few muffled sounds came from the entrance of the cave, and her sweet smell came again, albeit a little mixed with the scent of this rotting place. She must be on the western side of the entrance, most of her fragrance carried away by the wind. She was either a smart woman, either a very lucky one. Yet, he didn't know how long he would resist. Carlisle sunk in the dirt, laying his face on the ground as he mumbled a prayer.
- "Oh holy God, why do you tempt me so? I have tried to find my redemption and failed to kill myself. What would you have me do?"
- "Carlisle! I know you're here"
Hearing his name on her lips stopped his ranting. How was this even possible?
- "Stunned you into silence, uh?"
Her voice carried a little irony, as if she mocked an old friend. Was she as crazy as he was? She might very well be. Was she one of those witches that wanted to become a vampire? Her hair, after all, has been like a circle of fire around her head, like the witches his father used to hunt down and burn.
Silence stretched, and Frances waited for Carlisle Cullen to process whatever he needed to. From what Alice had told her many years ago, he was in a very fragile state of mind right now. It all made sense now. The revelation of seeing his gaze, his tortured mind oozing out of his orbs, had left the Keeper of Time speechless. But now that she was seated outside of his cave after hunting his tracks – thank Aragorn for his useful teachings – she understood. Carlisle Cullen had known her when he gave her the necklace, and he had known she was the Keeper of Time because they had already met. Comprehension filled every part of her mind as she remembered another of Alice's rambles. Carlisle had met a woman that had shaken him out of his stupor, and prevented him from killing himself. She had not realised then that the woman in question would be herself! Well, then, now was the time to get him out of his shell … cave. She prayed to God that she wouldn't mess this up. If not … the consequences could be dire. A paradox perhaps? Or the world crawling down? She'd have to ask Carter[1] when she got back; the scientist would know.
- "Carlisle. Get out of there," she ordered.
- "Leave me alone"
His voice was strained, desperate. So different from the soothing and controlled tone of Dr Cullen. If she had changed in the eight-year gap, she could not imagine how much had occurred to him in more than three centuries. The Carlisle that had bestowed the necklace to her had three hundred years to master his hunger … and anger. She needed to offer reassurance, to make him see that he was worthy of that second chance. But his beliefs – being the son of an integrist pastor – could only get in the way. This would be no easy task. Dropping the familiarity, Frances changed strategy. First of all, she needed to let him know that she wouldn't judge him for being a vampire.
- "Carlisle. I've seen your grave. I know what happened to you."
A quick silence greeted this statement. Then, his voice came again, mush feebler than before.
- "Don't tell my father please, it would kill him."
- "I will not. Please come out, there is much I wish to share with you."
The answer was quick, cutting, filled with anger and fear.
- "What is there to share with a monster?"
Frances sighed, pained to hear this. Was he as stubborn as she was?
- "Carlisle … please"
- "I'll kill you if I do. Your scent is already too strong here,"
Frances gasped, retreating a few feet back. Stupid, stupid woman!
- "Better?"
- "Slightly" came his muffled baritone, some measure of control settling in his voice.
Pausing, the young woman tried to ponder her options. Getting in the cave could only end in a fight, a fight she could not win against his strength. His speed has surprised her; she had not realised how inhuman Carlisle Cullen was in their first meeting. He kept those abilities hidden, and probably didn't use them often.
- "Are you hungry?"
The vampire actually snorted, the sound echoing in the cave.
- "Yes, daft woman! I am starving."
Frances chuckled. She'd never thought she would hear Carlisle Cullen call someone daft, and would keep that information very close to her chest until she could get him on the phone. Well, the future version of him, all politeness and etiquette in place. For now, the issue hung between them; she needed to address this first.
- "All right, then, wait on, I'll be back."
- "Don't come back"
- "Whatever," answered Frances, taking her bow and quiver full of arrows. "Don't move from here, or I'll chase you to the end of the world."
[1] Samantha Carter from Stargate SG1