Helm’s deep

Frantic preparations gave Frances some time to consider her options. She could either go to the caves with the women or stand and fight with her friends. Both choices frightened her. Were she to hide and survive, would she lose what remained of the fellowship in this hopeless battle? Around her, wives held their beloved husband; it put into perspective her own attachment to Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas. From the original company only three remained by her side. The loss of Boromir, still heavy on her soul, would leave a scar. As a result, an even stronger bond had formed between the survivors.

Aragorn, for his gentle presence and kindness, had nearly adopted her. Gimli, with his gruff exterior, treated her like a companion. And Legolas … with his intense blue gaze and enchanting glow… Her fingers flexed where, but an hour ago, his hand had touched them so softly. Frances shook her head; she didn't know why her attachment to the elf was so strong, but he was the one she feared losing the most. Yet she could not interrogate her feelings. The turmoil was too overwhelming to handle, especially when she faced this difficult decision.

Lost in her thoughts, Frances separated from her group. Her steps led her to a set of stairs that she started climbing, higher and higher on the walls until she reached the very top. There, she dominated the fortifications as well as the plains of Rohan. Walking on the deserted square, she came upon a smaller wall that overlooked the valley. There she sat, wondering why her feet had brought her here. Did she hope to gain perspective over the situation?

Her survival instinct screamed to hide and flee. What would her parents do if she died here? They would never find her body and believe she had disappeared, elaborating all sorts of scenarii where, raped or starved, she would have suffered before dying. They might even wait for her return for the rest of their lives. How cruel to them! A few tears escaped her eyes at the souvenir of her loving parents and brothers.

She needed to find a way to leave a message in her cupboard in case she didn't make it next time. The necklace always sent her back at the exact same time that she left. Thus, all those months spent in whatever mission were non-existent. It made her older than she was on earth. She kept a thorough count of the days in those alternate dimensions to keep a tab on her age. It was, also, a reminder of all of those she had lost on the way: the dead as well as the ones she would never see again.

Her thoughts spiralled downwards from there. Even is she did fight and survived alongside her friends, there would come a day when she would leave. The fleeting nature of this strange magic embedded in the necklace was the cause for so much heartache! Maybe she needed to learn not to be sad. Maybe she had to accept that even after she left, the people she had come to love were safe and happy, that even without being by their side they would have a good life. Now though, with the impending doom, she couldn't help but feel deeply connected to the fellowship. How would she handle their loss, getting back to this absurd life of studying, after walking through battle and death?

Gandalf's words had never been truer.

I have not passed through fire and death to brandy crooked words with a serving man.

Adjusting to studies, with teachers who sometimes fed their own ego by crushing their students, was going to be difficult.

But she couldn't leave said life behind. Parents, friends, even her cousin were counting on her to come back. Yet, in the short span she had been here, she felt a strong connection to middle earth. Well, of course, the absence of running water and infrastructure was annoying. Still, she had adapted fairly quickly to the ancient manner of speaking, the food and the habits. Everything was slower done here. The air was so pure, unlike at home where all was polluted by the presence of their kind. It would come, eventually. Or not.

Men in middle earth had a different consciousness of what they owed to the planet. They respected it instead of spending time arguing about an imaginary God. None of them had questioned her faith, everyone believing their own way without feeling the urge to fight with the others. As if they didn't need to prove their beliefs, as if they knew who watched over them. For the first time, Frances considered the option to stay in middle earth.

Yet, she had a mission to accomplish, and a life to live on earth. This necklace, with this blue rock embedded in its silvery frame, had come to her for a reason. This was her mission, for as long as she wished it, until she could pass it onto another. And she was not ready to relinquish it. Not yet. She had many more feats to accomplish before the time came, she felt it in her guts. Giving it away would just be an act of surrender, the acceptance of her failure as the Keeper of Time.

This was where Aragorn found her, feet dangling over the side of the fort as she contemplated the plains before her eyes. Plains that would be, in a few hours, swarming with Uruks haï. The reddish strands escaped the braid secured at the back of her head, as if dancing in the wind. The times ahead were dark, he knew it. Yet, this simple vision gave him hope. She was a human, a lesser human in the scales of middle earth with such a short life span. Yet she fought with them with as much rage as a ranger. As dire as the situation was, he found solace in her dedication. Still, he would not encourage her to stay by their side. He knew how ghastly a real battle could be, and this one held the promise of a tremendous massacre.

Frances had held her own admirably in the depth of Moria, and through the battle of Amon Hen. Yet, nothing could prepare her for a full scall battle.

His footsteps were light, but she turned around before he could greet her. Golden eyes met grey, the strain of the choice clear in her disturbed gaze.

"Aragorn."

"Lady Frances."

The young lady quirked an eyebrow, amused by the formality. After fishing him out of the water and supporting him back to Helm's deep, they were past the point of pleasantries. The ranger corrected his slip with a bow.

"My friend."

The answer was quick to come, yet raising many questions.

"Much better, Ô, Lord of mine."

Aragorn chuckled; only Frances could make fun of him in such a blatant manner. Sometimes, she reverted to her strange speech. Short sentences and cynical retorts that threw the others for a loop. The ranger was happy that she would use that with him though; the easy banter meant she feared him no more. Still, there was wonder in his eyes at the title she so seldom used.

"Am I?"

"Yes. Definitely, and you will always be."

Her face was set, her gaze resolved. Aragorn reached the wall she was perched upon, and bent his upper body over the edge. His grey eyes got lost in the plains of Rohan, and he was silent for a while. Frances let him be, relishing in his closeness. Although he didn't realise it, the heir of Isildur had a soothing aura. He always pondered and thought before acting, and that ability to put things in perspective would make him a great king. Or so she believed… If they made it. Eventually, the ranger seemed to draw a conclusion for he turned to her.

"How so? You are from another world. Do you not have someone to whom you owe allegiance in the land you hail from?"

A crooked smile graced her lips, one he recognised as a bitter one.

"Ah, well. In my world, there are no supreme chiefs anymore. There are many to whom I owe some respect, and some who have authority upon me. But none that may have a right on my life. We do not have kings anymore, for they were too corrupted to take care of their people. Hence, I will not bow to anyone, for I trust no one to direct me and my people."

Aragorn nodded, his mind considering her words, and the desperation in them.

"How cruel it must be, to know that a leader would not consider his peers with kindness, that no one would make any sacrifice to keep them safe. Yet here too, it has happened … in the time of Numenor, corruption also killed too many."

The fall of Numenor. It was a tale she had read in the library, with difficulty at first, until the twins translated it to her. She could relate to that, having studied the French Revolution as well. Somehow, power always found a way to bring down the line of rulers. Corruption by evil. The obvious proof of it was Saruman's treason, whatever his reasons. Of course, they made no mention of the King of Rohan who had been mislead by his counsellor and driven to madness. How could they, now that they stood alongside King Theodén and protected his people?

"You are right, I have no allegiance to swear to anyone. And yet, I trust you to be a benevolent ruler. With Arwen by your side, love and wisdom at your door, and the strength of your character, I will follow you to the end. Not as my King, but as my Lord. The one I chose."

A sudden gush of wind brushed some strands from her face, and Frances felt surprisingly powerful. In a fleeting moment she saw him; tall and proud, with a silvery crown upon his head, people cheering in the highest level of a great city of men. She breathed in slowly, filling her chest with hope and power, with the joy of Gondor.

"Heed my words, Aragorn, son of Arathorn. I will bow to you once you are king."

Those simple words were spoken with so much conviction that Aragorn started. Warmth spread in his heart where anguish had once been. In Arwen's absence, Frances' trust meant the world to him. And her words, the sayings of the Keeper of Time, gave him hope again. The young lady saw her companion's face lighten, and she kept hers cheerful and open.

Doubt was crawling back and she pushed it away. If she was wrong, they might all be dead by morning. But a part of her knew that Aragorn was made to be king. Was it her intuition or her deepest wish? Many times in the past, she had had hints of what was to come. Unfortunately, she didn't know how to sort those intuitions yet. Still, it was no use setting those doubts on the table. Now was not the time to despair.

"Thank you. Your trust means a lot to me."

"It is well-earned Aragorn."

The ranger nodded before asking:

"Will you go to the caves with the women? To protect them should we fail?"

Frances laughed out loud this time, surprising him with her mirth.

"I am no Eowyn! You do not need to lure me into the caves with a promise to be a hero. I do not seek fame and glory in battle. I only wish to protect what remains of the fellowship and do my part in this battle."

Aragorn stilled, his breathing harder than usual. The choice was hers, and hers only. He had no right to push her, other that give counsel.

"So you will fight?"

Frances's eyes turned back to the plains, a frown marring her features. Then, she seemed to make a decision and looked at him.

"Nay Aragorn. I have thought this over for a while. I do not find my fighting skills acute enough to risk it. Would I really make a difference compared to the warriors or Rohan? What if they try to protect me and die in the process? Would my presence be a distraction? Even if I am reluctant to leave all of you, would you think less of me should I stay in the caves?"

The ranger released his breath slowly. Trust Frances to take a wise decision. After his altercation with the lady Eowyn, and her plea to let her fight, he had expected his young companion to react the same way. Hearing that she acknowledged her limitations was a pleasant surprise. She sold herself short though. After this month in Lothlorien, she had become quite fierce. If the strength of her arm lacked power, the swiftness of her moves was more and more efficient. Still, the Uruks were immensely powerful. He was far too happy to have Frances relent her will to fight side to argue.

"No Frances. None of them would think less of you for being wise."

Frances' feature brightened, and she smiled.

"Come Aragorn. Let me wish good luck to our companions. Then I will join the others in the caves."