Live another day

Frantically searching through Helm's chaos, the three companions were very soon joined by families and soldiers, all of them looking for fellow survivors. There was little hope in Aragorn's heart, but it wasn't the first time that the odds seemed desperate. If Merry and Pippin had survived, so could Frances … but how? How could the young lady be alive if she wasn't there to prove it?

Scattered across the chaos, his companions hovered over the battle field, looking for her familiar reddish braid. A quick peek at Legolas told him everything there was to know. The elf had lost the spring in his step as well as the ability to form coherent sentences. Of the three of them, he was the one whose guilt felt heavier. After the explosion, he had been the only left standing. The only one who could have protected her. Or so he thought.

Aragorn sighed. When he had realised her absence in the fort, all sorts of scenarios had assaulted his mind. Maybe Frances had made it to the caves, or hidden in the valley upwards? Frances was light-footed and swift; he had no doubt she could have covered a few miles in the short span from night to dawn.

But now that the battle was won and the women had returned, the young lady was nowhere to be seen. And so, Gimli, Legolas and himself had joined the Rohirrim in search of survivors. The ground was the impersonation of destruction, people torn apart all over the place, their lives shattered in a single blow, their dreams broken in the blink of an eye. It was devastating to see all those good men slaughtered by monsters, the reason of their struggle resting in the greed of only one man.

Some of them were far too young… a quarter of his age. Those pierced his heart, but there was nothing he could do for them.

Aragorn remembered something Frances had said about her world. Countless wars had happened, and the balance of power was still precarious. He had trouble fathoming how could men lay such destruction over their own counterparts while here they struggled against monsters for the survival of the race. Frances admired middle earth for the courage of its people.

Here, humans could put aside their differences to fight against annihilation. She held hope for this world, and in a moment where Estel himself had felt desperate she had been there to lift him up to his feet. So now, the future king of Gondor felt indebted. He would search until the sun had set again, until they found her.

In a daze of pain, Frances eventually surfaced. She could not move her limbs, and for a moment the young woman felt no numb that she didn't acknowledge it. However, once her mind registered that she was probably injured, her rationality pushed her to take long breaths. The first attempt failed, and she tried again. As the second one did not have more success than the previous one. Unable to move, her aching muscles tried to lift her body up, but she couldn't manage a single movement.

A heavy weight was pinning her to the ground, its horrid smell permeating the foul air. Coughing in the attempt to get rid of the terrible vapours of death, the young woman started to panic. She could hear some voices, but everything was hazy. Her throat was so sore that she could not imagine screaming for help. Taking a few seconds to regain her bearing, Frances decided to get rid of the foul brick wall that sitting on her chest.

She tried to push the orc corpse out of her but it would not budge. Frances panted, her lungs constricted; she did not have much time before she passed out again. Her rising panic increased her need for oxygen and the effort she was putting on her muscles to untangle herself from the heavy burden did little to help. Gathering everything she had left, she managed to get the body aside with a groan. The tremendous weight shifted slightly to rest on her lower body. But instead of relief, a sharp pain shot up her leg. She cried out, black dots filling her vision and she clung to the waves of consciousness.

On the top of the fortification, Legolas sharply turned his head, his keen senses having heard a familiar voice. Unfortunately, whoever had cried out was now silent. Panic overriding his caution, the elf started running alongside the walls to call for Aragorn. Seeing the blond elf landing right next to him, the man gave him a startled look:

"Did you find her?"

"No, but I think I heard something."

Aragorn frowned. He knew how accurate elven senses could be, but he couldn't prevent from doubting his friend in this very moment. Nonetheless, he darted off after the elf, losing ground as the young warrior made its way to the top of the walls with ease. Climbing in equilibrium over the machicolation, the elf led him to a pile of bodies lying on the wall. The ranger passed him, frantically searching through the remains of the massacre.

And then he saw her, right at his feet. A patch of red hair was lying on the ground, black blood spread over her leather armour. Eyes closed, chest unmoving. Cold dread seized Aragorn's heart as he knelt and took hold of her wrist. And then, a great wave of relief passed over his features.

"Legolas !" he called.

There was no need for another word. As quickly as one of his arrows, the elf was by his side. The sight of Frances shattered body, sprawled awkwardly on the ground seemed to stun him for he did not move an inch.

"She is alive, her pulse is weak, but steady."

The elf's shoulders tensed, but he said nothing. Like a marble statue, he remained still, his chest constricted.

"We must remove the Uruk without harming her. I do not know what injuries..."

Nodding, Legolas seized the stinking body and lifted it with the utmost care. And then, once it was removed from Frances' side, the elf threw the lifeless corpse with unconcealed rage. Frances let another yelp of pain, and he recognised the cry that had guided him in the first place. It was a harrowing sound he wished he never had to hear again, but he released a relieved breath.

At least, she was still alive. Hurt, for sure, but alive. The elf did not approach, leaving Aragorn in peace so that he could assess the damage. Embracing the warrior path, Legolas had never been one for healing. How he regretted it today! So the prince of Greenwood did not dare touching the young woman, unsure of where she might be hurt. Instead, he hovered protectively over her, watching intently the ranger's face for a diagnostic.

Black dots were dancing around Frances' vision and she could not seem to distinguish who was kneeling next to her. Giving up the idea of seeing what happened, she opened her senses instead to the companion who was twisting her over, passing his hand in her back, probably looking for any injuries.

"How is she?", asked a familiar enchanting voice.

Aragorn was probing her back for serious cuts and bruises. Frances tried very hard to focus, but they refused to handle the light. Her head had probably taken a might blow to hurt like this. And then, a familiar booming voice was heard.

"Oh, you found her! Mahal's beard! Is she …?"

"Her leg is harmed Gimli, the rest of the blood is not hers," said Aragorn's deep voice, his tones filled with concern. "But I dare hope she hasn't suffered any other serious injuries."

When wounded, dwarves were louder, and stouter. It made Gimli uneasy, the fragility of her body. The stillness.

"I'll take her inside," Aragorn stated.

Relieved beyond imagining that her three friends had finally made it alive, the young woman started to realise how being awake brought her pain. The deep gash in her leg was throbbing, and her conscious state allowed her body to finally acknowledge the nervous message that started to overwhelm her. The battle finally over, Frances' will started to surrender control.

Struggling to utter some thankful words, she barely managed to murmur Aragorn's name. The pain was numbing her senses and her breathing's pace increased slowly. She had taken serious blows everywhere, and she knew that her muscles would be sore to death for a few days. However, it was the sharp ache that was pulsing through her leg that worried her most; she grit her teeth to prevent from passing away.

She heard Legolas's voice offering some help. His presence became more intense, his glow perceptible even with her eyes closed. The gentle light soothed her a little, and when his hands came around her, Frances sighed in relief. The elf was surprisingly strong, his grip steadfast yet soft as he lifted her up. The comfort was short-lived; the movement tore apart some skin that had crusted with her blood and Frances cried out in agony.

How could a simple cut hurt so much! The pain was the only thing she could feel now, oblivious of the warm body that held her against him. Her chest, constricted, sore from the Uruk weight. As Frances struggled against the pain shooting through her nerves, she could not get enough air to calm down.

Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop, her mind screamed.

"Hold on," muttered Aragorn, his heart broken by her cries.

As Frances tried to regain her breath, her body contorting in pain, Legolas has to struggle to keep her steady. The young woman's panting became heavy, and when he saw one of her hands reaching over her chest, the elf frowned.

"Aragorn," he said, concerned.

The ranger gave her a concerned look.

"Hurry," he said, and all three companions increased their pace.

Each moment that passed had Aragorn more worried. Little did he know that Frances had eventually lost control of her nerves and gone straight into panic crisis. As her chest constricted, she tried to apply pressure over her thoracic cage to ease the pain away. Breathing was getting harder by the minute, and every intake seemed like the last. Eyes closed, her features struck in agony, she was drowning. In a final call, Frances managed to utter one word before she passed out.

"Help…"

The young woman went limp in the elf's arms. Aragorn gave him a stern look, and reached out.

"Legolas. Get Gandalf."

Worried beyond understanding, Legolas had to kick himself to surrender the young woman from his protective hold. Somehow, it felt only right that he would be the one to carry her. But time was short, and he deposited her with great care in the ranger's embrace. Once her frail body had left his arms, he took off at full speed, his blond braids disappearing in a sea of corpses.