Hey, long time no see ! I have been super busy with life and other texts, jugling mainly with a love story between Frances and Tristan (King Arthur). But I would like this story to be finished and wrapped up properly, hence this new chapter. And since I can't make it short... there will be another one after this one.

For those who read my stories about Tristan, you might find a very slight mention of him there. Tell me if you find it :)

I wish you all a very happy new year.

A month passed during which Frances constantly hammered reassurance into Carlisle's skull, dancing on the fine line of half-truths, camping on the outskirts of his cave. Little by little, the vampire built his tolerance to the sweet smell of human blood. Still, the young woman paid attention to remain unscathed, even when cooking and skinning animals, careful to never let him see of a drop of her blood. Both of them fell into a routine, Carlisle hunting animals, she skinning and cleaning them to sell them in town under his instructions. It made a little money – he would need it to start another life at some point – and kept her fed with other things than meat. It also provided with some much needed furs as winter was coming.

The necklace had not seen fit to send her back yet. Carlisle's mind was still wobbly, his hopes too faint to leave him on his own yet. Some days, they talked of their respective families, and lives before … before he was turned. Frances shared stories of her past in Lyon in the 21st century, telling him about insignificant things that couldn't possibly impact his knowledge of the future nor his life. She sometimes told him about how beautiful his mate was, or how loving his children would be. But she kept their names to herself, and never mentioned their unusual powers. Who knew? Revelations might very well upset the balance of his future life and influence his free will. It was good that Frances didn't know much about the Cullen family; nor the reasons why Carlisle had picked them, nor how or when they joined him. Still, the idea of not being alone, in the end, brought solace to his broken heart. For he lamented still about his father, and being a cursed soul. To this, Frances could only sigh; no amount of coaxing could convince him otherwise. Carlisle simply would have to learn for himself how beautiful his heart was.

As for the Keeper of Time; she kept the particulars secret as well. Preserving the future – their meetings – was a priority to avoid branching. He would know who she was, and realise, by meeting her again in Forks' hospital, that she was the recipient of the necklace. The Keeper of time he had been waiting ever since this woman with pointed ears and inner glow – probably an elf! – had bestowed upon him the necklace.

Companionship was born of silence and many nights exchanging point of view and stories. Frances found in Carlisle a very compassionate soul whose abruptness only surfaced when he was angry, or anguished. Little by little, his despair abated. She understood, now, the fondness she had read in his gaze, for she considered him a friend. She could barely imagine how difficult it would be, for him, to meet her again – younger – and be regarded as a threat in the future. And without the red hair, the mark of the Keeper of Time ever since those blasted Romans had dyed it with Henna! All loose ends were tied now.

And the more time she spent at his side, the more she respected him. It felt like being a nurse helping a man struggle out of an addiction with nothing more than his sheer will. Carlisle, aside from being more beautiful than Cupidon, used the tremendous reservoir of compassion within his heart to overcome his very nature. His control increased day by day until he was able sometimes, to touch her briefly. Traits of humour surfaced, making her laugh every now and then in good faith. They traded traditions, view on politics and history, she gave him a few hints on climate and geography around the world while he told her stories she could never have learnt in a history book. He told her of the use of chocolate as medicine, she coaxed him into tasting the last energy bar she had.

Often she sang beside her campfire, huddled below her settlement where now lay a makeshift roof of pine branches and needles to protect her from the harsh wind. Her voice soothed him, its purity reminding him of the beautiful songs he had heard in church. He asked for more, and she never disappointed, switching from the Ave Maria to more modern songs. Today, she was humming an Irish song, 'The boys of the old brigade'.

— "What is this one about?" he asked.

Frances jumped in the air, surprised by his sudden appearance. She had been in the process of roasting a hare and once more failed to pinpoint him. A harsh glare was her response, and Carlisle chuckled while he sat across the fire. The smell of smoke and roasted meat dulled hers; hence the reason why he always kept the campfire between them.

— "Do not be cross, I am gifted with inhuman speed after all."

The young woman frowned. Carlisle, if still fidgety, was starting to embrace his new nature. That made him even more dangerous, for despite her numerous years spent tracking, she was entirely at his mercy. But then, this was the reason why she had been called here after all.

— "This song is about the separatist army of Ireland."

— "They have an army?"

As always when dealing with the future, Frances tried to keep the specifics hazy. But Carlisle's curiosity and will to learn also allowed him to retrieve his inner trust. If his brain could be fed, it meant that his integrity remained. That the beast wasn't in control of his thoughts. Fortunately, the young woman knew next to nothing about the particulars, so she wouldn't lie to him.

— "They will, I guess. At some point, it would only be natural that Ireland would wish to be their own country, don't you think?"

— "Will they succeed?"

— "Er. Partly"

Carlisle nodded. The orange glow of the fire drew shadows across his beautiful chiselled features, a sight Frances had trouble tearing her gaze off. It was unsettling, sometimes, how inhuman the beauty of this man. So different from the inner glow of the elves, their brightness soothing to the soul while his appearance was addictive, nearly harsh. Unnatural. His golden gaze suddenly lifted to meet hers, and the young woman couldn't help but blush.

— "What is it?" he asked.

And his voice was controlled, almost as soft as the Carlisle she'd known in the future. Still, he felt so young. It was a little crazy, really, because the Dr Cullen of Forks had not aged an inch, but despite his ever-youthful features, he felt older. As if the wisdom he had acquired permeated in his aura. His eyes bore holes into her, and she decided to be blunt.

— "Are all vampires as beautiful as you are?" she asked.

And Carlisle snorted, his teeth baring in a sneer. Frances started; this was not the answer she expected when complimenting a man.

— "I wonder"

— "Explain"

The vampire's gaze lost itself in the fire, silence engulfing their little campsite as the night settled. The flames danced in his golden eyes, reviving the shades of red that were slowly seeping out of his irises. For a moment, Frances wondered if he would deign answer; she was almost surprised when he did.

— "This is what lured me. A female vampire, so beautiful… He skin of porcelain, smouldering eyes, hair of silk. I felt … helpless when she dragged me away, enthralled, utterly lost. I felt the danger, the inhuman beauty, but my body refused to flee. I almost begged her to touch me. Lured by a woman like a horny teenager! I died stupidly, my demise caused by my weakness."

— "But it is not your lust that lost you, Carlisle."

— "Tell me what you feel beside me."

A difficult question; one that showed how logical and level headed Carlisle was. Frances reclined against the trunk that guarded her back, her tongue brushing against her upper lip. How could she define the sensation?

— "I am very attuned to nature and people so you will have to extrapolate what I tell you to understand other human's reactions."

— "All right"

— "I feel … stunned. Your beauty is ethereal; every single feature of your face feels like it was carved by God himself. And yet you have this vibe, this very cold one that screams at me that you are a predator. Danger. But if my survival instinct wasn't so strong, I would beg you to touch me,"

Carlisle nodded again, his intense gaze set on her face and she couldn't help but blush at the remembrance of their first encounter in Forks' hospital. Alice was beautiful – just as Jasper, Edward and Esme – but not as magnetic as Carlisle was. As if his gift of empathy also made him more attractive. Perhaps it just resonated with her own.

— "I feel like I have to shield myself from your influence to think properly, as if my entire body is devoted to your will. And it is good I see you like a friend – I know you have your mate, somewhere in this world – for I doubt of my self-restraint if I had not considered you off-limits."

The vampire cocked his head aside, like an animal studying something intently before his shoulder sagged.

— "Well, this explains a lot."

Frances longed to reach for him; how she hated this restriction of contact when he so badly needed the comfort. She knew, though, where the guilt came from; his education at the hands of an integrist pastor had probably taught him the price of being a sinner.

— "You have not been weak, nor lustful Carlisle. You have been trapped and murdered."

Silence only greeted her words, and she wondered if he would ponder her point of view or discard it altogether. But then, he suddenly asked;

— "How do you handle it?"

Frances frowned, realising that she was indeed weary. Her mind kept pulling up walls to refrain from turning to mush by his side; turning into a groupie was out of the question.

— "I have been shielding my thoughts for a long time now. I once met beings that seeped despair into my very soul. I am far from impervious, but my will is now guarded. Those monsters have taught me much."

— "Monsters? Worse than me?"

Frances sighed, her chocolate eyes burning into his soul.

— "You are not a monster, Carlisle. You are a beautiful being that needs to learn to blend in. Perhaps you will find a way to tune down this influence of yours."

— "Once I have mastered my lust for blood."

Of course, priorities first.

— "Good point"

— "Who were those monsters?"

Frances shuddered, her wary gaze roaming the darkened woods. It took only one thought to remember the depths of despair the Nazgûl had plunged her in.

— "Wraiths from another world. All dead now, thank God."

And such were the information exchanged, day after day, as Carlisle and Frances studied the very nature of vampires. They dismantled every single reaction, every bit of information – smell, speed, recovery, feeding habits, strength, vulnerabilities … none – with both their logic and their will to understand. There was no taboo, no subject left aside as they both thrived to use instinct and intellect to help Carlisle accept and master this new life. A new dawn.

Eventually, the weather took a turn for the worse, and the vampire huddled worriedly in the depth of his cave, listening to Frances' wavering voice. She sang again, of mountains and home, her voice melancholic as puddles of snow gathered around her camping site.

'We will go home

We will go home

We will go home across the mountains.'

There was so much she didn't say about her time travels. So much hurt in her gaze when she thought he wasn't looking. Who was this song dedicated to? When would she go, this stubborn woman who refused to leave him to spend the night in an inn? It wasn't for lack of money, they now had enough for her to spend at least a dozen evenings out of the woods. But there was no convincing her to leave him alone. 'You've had enough of wallowing on your own,' she said. Still, she was human … how long could she take such weather without falling sick? Her presence, like a warm breath of unconditional love, burnt bright in his cold chest. It taught him he didn't deserve to be alone, that his soul still lingered.

The vampire cursed his nature once more; even if he managed to gather her against his side without draining her, he would bring her no warmth; his skin was dead cold. As he listened, his ears now able to pick up the slightest of sighs from the young woman, a warm breeze suddenly blew against his icy limbs. The sensation was … otherworldly. As if a ghost had embraced him and patted him on the shoulder, giving comfort, yet bringing a sense of urgency.

Then, everything seemed to clear out. Carlisle braced himself for what he was about to do, and started a fire in his sorry little damp cave. The heat of the flames nearly burnt his skin, and the vampire recoiled slightly. Fire was no friend of his now. Then, he backed away from the entrance. Had he been human, he would have taken a deep breath before calling out.

— "Lady Frances!"

No response.

— "Frances?"

Damn that woman! She wasn't answering his plea. Her voice had died down, all singing forgotten, and he barely could hear her breaths. Darting off, Carlisle dug a trench in the growing layer of snow only to find her own fire dying. She was lying beside it, face pale and lips blue, huddled in a heavy woollen cape that failed at protecting her from the harsh wind. Carlisle recoiled, her scent growing stronger as he tried to wake her up with a nudge of his feet.

— "My lady Frances, wake up!"

The young woman muttered something unintelligible, in French, consciousness fleeting. The vampire stood, frozen, hovering above the body of his friend. The predator relished in her sight; he could drain her in a heartbeat. Her heartbeat, getting fainter and fainter as coldness crept in her very core. Very much like him. But his empathy howled like wolf; he couldn't let her die, she that had given him his life back!

Mustering the bright light flaming in his chest, Carlisle reached for her hand and, enclosing her frozen fingers into his own, dragged her over to his cave to lay her beside the roaring fire. By then, the scent of her blood was enough to make the beast snarl. It permeated the very air, oozing into his refuge like a tantalising fragrance. Her blood was singing to him, the faint beat of her heart causing it to rush through her veins. Her carotid pulsing under the frozen skin, calling him, daring him to take a bite. His fingers still held hers, her wrist exposed to his touch. How the beast wanted her blood, how it longed for it. Just a tiny bite … only a droplet…