Of rocks and ponds

If there was something sure about those mountains it was that their origins were crystalline. Hoping from one rock to another, Frances did not feel the uneasiness shared amongst all her companions about progressing in such barren land. From the moments they had started climbing the outskirts of the mountains, the young lady had assessed the nature of the terrain. It felt somehow reassuring that geology followed the same rules, it meant that mathematics and physics still had an influence over this very peculiar planet. For the hundredth time since she had landed in middle earth the young woman questioned the legends and origins of this world, the mere existence of those different races being totally not-understandable to her scientific brain. How could they be so human like and so different at the same time? How could the elves be immortals and unaffected by diseases? How could they weight nothing and being such warriors at the same time? Their fight with the wargs, two nights ago, had shown her an unexpected side of the prince. At the time she had barely noticed, her spirit too enclosed in her own concentration while shooting arrows at the giant wolves. But when the young lady had released her last projectile, she had seen him fight. It was like a dance, but a dance with death. It had been difficult to follow, his moves were just too quick for her eyesight. Dead wargs had littered the ground around him, and yet he had been so graceful. This world was a mystery to her. How could so many different races coexist without one taking total precedence over the others in terms of evolution?

At a point she had nearly been eager to believe in the Valar and their legends, the thought of higher beings able to model life as it pleased them really unnerving. But why would they have chosen a human form as a starter? Was this world another version of earth in the future? Was it a different planet contemporaneous from earth? Was it an alternative reality? The very presence of geologic points of reference had cast doubt again in her confused mind. This planet was so similar to earth, and the incredible range of mountains that contained the unbreakable Caradhras was mostly made of granite and other magmatic rocks. Their composition was the reason why the edges were so sharp and the slopes unforgivable, but it was also why Frances marveled at the rocks lying at her feet while the others eyed warily the creepy lands they were crossing.

Each time she gave a look at the surroundings it felt like a blanket had fallen over the landscape. Covered by thin clouds, the grey sky turned everything into a dull layer of nothingness. Apart from the distant cliffs that were barely visible, the land was a nightmarish path that crossed over miles and miles of barely flat rounded grey rocks, their tops not rising enough to create hills but not flat enough to be comfortably hikable. Here and there, a twisted tree would subside, its flanks covered in graying moss and the flattening area populated by spiny bushes. Along the way, uneven ponds of darkened water reflected the grey sky, their position sometimes treacherous. A few flat sites of greenish grass could be seen amongst the rocks, but Frances knew that walking over them could be the death of them; peatlands created by the configuration of the ground. The grass layer would probably give way under the weight of anybody and drag him to deeper water underneath.

Shuddering from the sinister view, Frances came back to her beloved rocks for further studies. The closer they got to the mine, the bigger the crystals. It all made sense to her, she could probably have drawn the path to the mines while studying the changes in crystal size and rock composition, but this could have taken two weeks at least. However, if there was one place you could find any interesting mining metals, they were heading straight for it, straight to the top of the magmatic chamber, straight to the last crystallized water bearing veins of magmatic juice. One's education can never be erased, she thought. It didn't help that she had been sent into this world in the middle of her college year. The biology and geology courses had been fresh in her mind when she arrived in Rivendell. Now, some of it was already starting to get fuzzy. If she ever got back, it would be one hell of a time to catch up with her classmates. Working seventy hours a week for a nineteen year old girl was not really a dream life, but she wanted to live up to her parent's expectations. In the light of her current condition however, all of it seemed to have no sense. What was a biology interrogation next to the life of her companions? To the fate of middle earth ?

While Frances lost herself in musings of another world, Boromir walked behind the company, securing its back while Aragorn opened the way with Gandalf. A regular pattern now that danger lurked everywhere. His observations of the young lady throughout the journey had come to one conclusion only: she was an unpredictable crazy woman. One moment she marveled over a tree, the other one over snow that was freezing her to death, and the instant later she would nearly burn herself to settle closer to the fire. For now, her eyes roamed the ground while she muttered to herself, seemingly pleased with what she found in this barren land. An instant later, she shuddered in fright at the sight of it. An untamable woman whose mind jumped from pillar to post too far for anyone sane to follow. Granted, they had started on the wrong foot. Despite her efforts he knew that she despised him for his words about the ring; her judgment hurt, for he despised his own lust for the jewel. In return, Boromir considered her a spoilt child, and his own bitterness had often been directed to her. Added to this that he had been raised as a knight, thinking that women were weak and volatile, and the clash was inevitable.

Frances was confident but not arrogant, and she did not mind having to prove herself. But her being scorned because of her second chromosome was something she had never accepted. If earlier in her life she had wished to be born a boy, she now bore her feminity as an asset and not a curse. Recurrent fights would have exploded between them if Frances had not controlled herself, and Boromir not been such a gentleman. As days turned into weeks, when he managed to escape the ring's whispers, they had exchanged a few civil words. Frances discovered that there was more to the Steward's son that met the eye, more than his haughtiness and misogyny. It had shown a little along the road, but mostly in the mountains. If the situation became dire, the fellowship could count on his support. His own bravery while fighting the wargs had earned him major respect from the young woman.

But they still didn't understand each other.

Shaking his head at her weird attitude, Boromir knew that he would never want a woman like her as a wife. She was too unpredictable and stubborn for this to ever happen. And his father would throw her into the dungeons at the first misstep, which would for sure happen at the first occasion. Turning around, the steward's son caught the elf's gaze; he too, seemed puzzled.

- "Isn't she the strangest creature you have ever met?"

- "You travel with a dwarf, an elf, a hobbit and a wizard and you find her stranger than this ?"

Boromir blinked, taken aback by the truth in the elf's words. He almost felt protective of the young woman, so the captain chose his next words wisely.

- "I was speaking of behavior, not of race"

This time, the tall ethereal being cocked his head aside to watch the lady as her hands trailed over another rock yet.

- "I have to admit that her behavior is peculiar but I would never bestow judgment until I know more"

Being absorbed by her inner thoughts did not prevent Frances from hearing those remarks and she realized soon enough that Boromir's heavy steps could not be heard anymore. Without lifting her head from the shiny vein she had been contemplating, the young woman suddenly said out loud:

- "Didn't your mother teach you that it is highly impolite to speak of a lady behind her back?"

Both companions blushed at the comment. When Frances lifted her gaze, they had the good grace to look sheepish. Legolas opened his mouth to present an apology, his royal upbringing taking over to wash the offence, but she lifted a finger and cut him sharply:

- "Ahaa, I do not want to hear that. Odd things can make sense to somebody else"

- "Wise words my lady", said the elf as he bowed.

Little did he know that Frances had been raised in a society where differences were accepted and even magnified. On earth in the 21st century, it was easy to roam the internet and confront your own point of view to others. In middle earth, she was an open minded lass, but on earth, she just followed the anti-racist current and embraced it as her own. There was nothing extraordinary in that.

- "Are you conversing with the rocks?", Boromir asked with a hint of sarcasm.

Frances sighed; he was riling her up on purpose. Count on him to be as unsubtle as possible, but somehow she liked it. Even with his father being the steward, he definitely was surprisingly a poor politician. She had no trouble believing him when he stated that his younger brother was more suited to the court. This Faramir guy must be quite a saint ! So it was without remorse that she started her geology class 101 for dummies.

- "This landscape, mister Boromir, indicates the nature of those rocks by the round from they take while battered by rain and wind, and by the type of vegetation that lingers over them. This acidic type of bush tells me of the type of rock we are walking on – granite - and these boulders can indicate the presence of metallic deposits if conditions are right. The size and color of the crystals tell me that we are on our way to a lighter colored rock, but also stronger. This means that when we find the cliffs, there will be more veins like the shiny one that is pointed by my finger, right here!"

Puzzled, Boromir's eyes swept over the company who had finally stopped to witness the argument. The hobbits seemed puzzled by her argument with Boromir; Merry and Pippin were now rather friendly with the tall man of Gondor. But Gimli enjoyed beyond understanding when she managed to beat the arrogance out of him; if she did so by speaking of the beloved walls of Khazad-dûm, all the better. Gandalf's eyebrows were furrowed in a frown, and Frances nearly regretted her outburst before seeing the amused expression on Strider' face. The ranger winked at her, himself quite lost in the explanation but measuring its sense. Then he met Legolas' gaze, and his smile became totally frank at seeing the expression of pure chock upon his usually flawless features.

- "Everything is related, from the amount and composition of the rain to the ground we are walking upon. Every landscape as its reasons for being so shaped. This is just a matter of seeing what we usually discard as mere chance."

- "The lady is right", came the grave voice of Gandalf, "everything has origins and reasons to be, and this does not apply only to rocks and landscapes, but to living beings and history also. Unlike this place who was not been offered a choice, all of us have decided to challenge fate. Come, Fellowship of the Ring, we must make it to the gates before night falls upon us".

Frances wanted to apologize for delaying, but the amused look that the wizard gave her dissuaded her from doing so. As the little company started again, Pippin slowed down a bit to walk alongside his female friend on the path. Bending on the side to share his secret, he whispered:

- "I didn't understand a word of what you said"

- "That does not matter", she chuckled heartily, amused by the confidence, "I'll explain again if you want me too, but none of this will change your life"

- "Oh... Well it seemed interesting but I'm not so sure about it..."

Frances' smile grew wider. Trust a Took to know his ancestry line by line to the fifth generation, but lecture him about rock composition and he would bail.

- "Do not worry Pippin, I will not force any studies on you if you are not willing"

- "Yes... I just want you to know that I find you very clever"

As the hobbit blushed, feeling totally awkward about confiding such a thing, the young woman laughed again and gave him a large smile

- "Thank you, this means a lot to me"

- "You're welcome, my lady", he stuttered formally before escaping to catch up with Merry.

The little appellation was flattering coming from Pippin. She knew he had a soft spot for her, and she found him totally adorable. He reminded her of Charlie, so cute and so shy. His character was very similar, and Pippin was as genuine as her American lover could be. Speaking of which, the young woman wondered if she could still call him her lover. After their last mission in France, their trio had gone back to Los Angeles. Calls and contacts, at the beginning quite insistent, were getting scarce. Frances kept hoping that the jet lag, and their current missions were responsible for this, but something in the back of her mind told her otherwise. Charlie called a great deal of tenderness to her heart, but would it be enough to keep the relationship going? Would she even survive this to find the answer ?

Pippin only stirred awake her maternal instinct, contrary to the relation she had with her boyfriend. It was different, right ? When Legolas fell in step aside her, his footing assured and silent, Frances could not help but gasp at the contrast, the permanent and graceful control over his body striking her speechless. The elf was agile like a cat, but as dangerous as a panther. From his ever sweet and gentleman ways he could turn into a destructor, his blows falling like a murderous wind, dispatching unavoidable death with incredible swiftness. The warg attack had revealed a formidable warrior where before she had always seen a crowned prince. From this day, once the shock passed, the young lady admired the elf even more, longing for his skills and knowing that she could never be as efficient even if she trained night and day.

- "I am curious to know more about those landscapes, lady Frances"

The young woman's eyebrows rose, startled by his admittance. Geology, apparently, wasn't part of the elvish Prince's skills. Perhaps it was considered to dwarven to dwell upon? It felt nice, for once, to know something he didn't. So it was with pride that she bowed her head to him.

- "I will be glad to share what I know when we are safe enough for this conversation"

The company continued silently in the desolate countryside. Nothing bigger than a few inches could grow, and the grey sky did not really cheer the place up. They finally stopped beside a dark lake, the path they were following coming to an end before the cliffs where the doors or Moria should have been. Frances could not help but shudder. The long walk left her exhausted, and from the looks of her companions she wasn't the only one. The yells of the wargs clung to her memories like moist to her skin. It was the fear of them who chased them to the mines so swiftly, and now they were stuck in a dead end. The hobbits, like herself, were totally self-conscious of their surroundings and prayed that the doors would open soon to reveal the warm welcome that Gimli kept praising. The silence felt like a bad omen. Where were the dwarves and their crowded halls? Why had they closed the door to their magnificent kingdom?

The night was clear, and very soon the moon rose upon the black lake, revealing in the process the doors of Moria.

Gandalf then, translated the writings for them.

- "The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter. I, Narvi, made them. Celebrimbor of Hollin drew these signs"

Mouth agape, Frances watched the magnificent display of art upon the cliff, volutes and elvish writing. The lines shone in the pure moonlight, sparkling, even, in the darkness. Two trees framed them, brilliant and vibrant as if alive. In the middle, a crown and seven stars stood out, and Frances recognized them from the song of During; the symbol of the seven families of dwarves. The bigger star, thought, left her puzzled as well as the names of the builders; she would have to ask Estel about it. Or Gimli, perhaps.

As the wizard set his staff upon the rock, his voice rumbling in elvish, she expected the doors to open and reveal the greatness of the dwarven kingdom. But... nothing happened. Nothing happened for a great while, and only remained Frodo and Gandalf, grumbling and exchanging in elvish. Strangely, the elf did not feel inclined to search for the password that would open the gates of Moria. Perhaps he felt inadequate, or believed that dwarvish customs were too foreign for him to guess it. Perhaps his own prejudice kept him away... his long blondish hair shone in his back, his glow recognizable in the night. A beacon of light in those gloomy surroundings.

Tearing her gaze from him, Frances stood. The air was heavy, the silence thick. Its only comfort; there were no howls echoing in the distance. The sense of emergency slowly disappeared as Gandalf tried password after password, and she eventually found the courage to approach to touch the Ithildin that caused the doors to shine. The patterns had been carved into the dark, thick stone. Then sparks of material had been added inside, like a powder that stuck to the cliff wall. The perfect craft of dwarves and elves reunited; in the second age, when both races were not estranged yet. Once more, a pang of sadness greeted her at seeing this deserted place. Those doors had seen millennia of dwarves and elves alike, men, maybe, coming to trade and feast in the halls. Now, they were but a carving in a deserted, barren land. What a shame, but such was the way of the world.

Compared to earth, five thousand years went way beyond the fall of Roman civilizations. And yet, the doors still stood. Lost in her musings, Frances slowly walked to the hobbits. Pippin, always impatient, was throwing rocks in the pitch black waters. Unnerved by the plic ploc noise, the young woman frowned, walking ahead with the firm intention to berate him. But a shout of triumph from Frodo distracted them all; he had found the password ! Such an easy one, in fact, solving the riddle in a flourish. It should have been obvious; the doors awaited them to declare they were friends. The world 'Mellon', friend, in Sindarin, caused the rock to roll on its hinges, only to reveal... more darkness.

Frances shivered, but Gimli bounced on his feet at once, his enthusiasm lifting her spirits as he rumbled about fires and roasts, and hospitality. His cousin Balin was supposed to be on the other side, in the great city of Dwarrowdelf. The young woman nodded, passing the gates with no little apprehension; it made sense. Durin's gates meant at connecting both sides of the mountain to the city, but there was some distance between the cliffside and the heart of the kingdom. Feeling slightly better, she dove into the pitch black corridor by Gimli's side. At least, the walls were high; it wouldn't trigger her claustrophobia too much. Yet... something was wrong with the smell. Frances paused, so did the others.

Boromir's torch shed light to the ground, revealing bodies, Goblins and dwarves alike. Long dead, and rotting away in the darkness of the mines. The young woman backpedaled with a sharp intake of foul air, hitting the captain of Gondor who took a step back and unsheathed his sword. His muffled exclamation was lost in a chorus of cries coming from behind.

It all went in a blurr; Frodo's yells as he was dragged away from the group, the monstrous tentacles that slithered by their side before the unthinkable happened. For there, fifty feet away from her, a giant squid creature loomed out of the water. Its huge mouth opened to swallow Frodo whole and Frances was too frozen to even faint as more tentacles shot forward. The disgusting appendices took hold of two more hobbits, and lifted them up in the air. High pitched screams echoed; Pippin !

Frances' heart thundered, yet her limbs refused to obey. Danger, everywhere ! Her senses were in overdrive, hands shaking as she watched the hobbits being flung about. Aragorn, Boromir and Legolas reacted quickly, jumping to the little ones' rescue with furious hacks of their swords. While the men fought, water coming to their knees, the elf started releasing his arrows. Who knew what beast lay there deep in the water; Frances felt her heart clench at this prospect. They needed to step out of the lake. At last, Frodo fell into Boromir's arms and he yelled at her to fall back. Into the mines ! Into the tomb ! But there was no choice, for the great squid was following in a flurry of foul tentacles.

Gandalf led the company inside, and she was quick to follow. As she passed the door, the young lady paused, ashamed of herself. Would she not help the warriors? Legolas was still behind, drawing his bow in an attempt to cripple the beast. She followed his example, drawing her own weapon to cover Strider's flight. She adjusted her aim, terrified by the monster, as the blonde elf bounced forward to get a cleaner shot. The beast lunged in a heap of tentacles as the ranger passed them.

- "Fall back !" , he screamed, grabbing her arm in the process.

Frances ran as fast as her legs would carry her, feeling the horror of that monstuosity behind them. A horrible noise rumbled in the depth of the walls, as if the mountain was folding under its own weight. The tremor of rocks being ground in a pepper mill. She screamed in terror, but her wail was covered by the tantrum.

Then darkness fell upon them. Durin's doors were sealed, destroyed. Buried they were in Khazad-Dûm.

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