Cécile, the life saviour

One day passed. Twenty-four excruciating hours of which she felt every damn second. How could she continue living like this, with this gaping hole embedded in her chest? Each breath was a struggle, each thought a regret. Nothing in this world made sense, everything was too clean, too noisy, as lifeless as it was meaningless. Hospital food was a nightmare as well, and her parents' visit in the morning had been quite a torture.

She could not tell them the aches of her heart, nor the dilemma she found herself in, nor the reason for her sorry state. She could not tell them … anything. None of it, lest she found herself committed in the psychiatry ward. How badly she would need a shrink! But she would trust no one with this information. A normal psychiatrist would commit her directly. A corrupted one could contact the government, and she would be in very deep shit. Experimented upon, they might steal her rock and attempt time travel, or torture her until she managed to sell all her secrets.

No. Talking was impossible. She should have been used to it; while working with Mulder and Scully she had, for a long time, been the witness to weird things that could not be told. Secrecy and Interpol rules and all. But at least, they could talk about it among themselves. Frances considered giving Mulder a phone call on the other side of the Ocean. But now that he had enrolled in that Stargate program, her secret could prove dangerous to him. He would be lying to the very people that were helping him find his lost sister, and to the American government.

Needless to say, that with his history, both of them knew they couldn't trust them either. True, Fox Mulder was one of her closest friends. But she could not bestow this weight upon his shoulders. And there was the problem of this internship they had proposed for the next summer. After saving the SGC from this horrible Goa'uld alien – by mere chance – the doctor Daniel Jackson had suggested that she joined them for a while as his apprentice. Frances and the linguist had hit it off; he was a good man.

Before her passage in Arda, the young lady had pondered the wisdom of accepting it. It could replace her Interpol assignment now closed off because of Mulder and Scully's departure. But now that she knew more about their new line of work in the Stargate program, she was not quite sure that she could keep her little secret. A time and dimension travelling object could NOT be disregarded by the Stargate Program.

Lost in her thoughts, Frances was trying to make sense of it all. But it didn't make sense. Never before had she felt so lonely! And then, someone she wasn't expecting to see knocked on the hospital door. A dark head popped up, an uneasy smile lighting her features. And Frances, ready to lash out, straightened in her bed, her mouth agape.

"Cousin!"

It was only one word, but it said it all. In a flash, Cécile was at her bedside, squeezing the life out of her. And then everything lightened. Her loneliness was no more.

"Come," said Frances, "there's a lot I need to tell you".

She literally dragged her cousin outside, enjoying the fresh air and sunlight of the warm end of March weather. Cécile followed, as she had always done in their childhood, used to the drive of her only female cousin. In the meantime, she observed her under her long dark lashes. Frances had lost weight, and the playful side of her was now gone completely, replaced by desperation. Whatever had happened was bad enough that she would be on the brink of breaking.

Yes, she knew her that well.

No matter how strange her past dealing had been with Interpol and the various groups she had been involved in, the cousins had kept a close contact. Frances only shared parts of it, but it was enough for her to deduce how she was faring. And today … well. Saying that she was in a bad place was an understatement.

Frances made sure they were out of earshot before collapsing on a bench, winded. The bags under her eyes were horrendous, as was the paleness of her face.

"What happened?" asked Cécile, her hand grabbing Frances' and holding fast.

She saw the hesitation of her cousin's face, her mind pondering on whatever she could tell or not. And then, resolve set it, an expression Cécile knew well. This stubborn, headstrong expression Frances always showed whenever she decided to face her older brother, or get into a fight with whomever was bothering them in their games.

"I bled to death. Almost."

And with that, her cousin started to relate the most extraordinary and unbelievable story she had ever heard. A plot so inventive that any artist still had to invent such was its intricacies. Elves, dwarves, Dunedains, Noldor, Sindar and Sylvan, rings of power and horrendous beasts, epic charges and murders. And love, pure and blinding love. Cécile marvelled at it as much as she dreaded its consequences. The extend of her cousin's injuries were invisible to the eye, but deeply embedded in her soul.

And she believed her, with all her soul, all her might, for Frances had never lied to her. And her speech was strange too, slightly poetic, and very ancient. So unusual for the ever lively and witty Frances.

No. Frances had never lied. Never even once, even when it would have spared her some heartache. She was her most trustworthy friend. In the end, Cécile could not help but understand Frances' predicament. Her pain was hers, and she looked for a way to convey hope through their sisterly bond. An idea then, formed into her mind.

"So what if you move in with me in the flat I rent? You'd be out of this terrible boarding school, and we could talk whenever you feel like it?"

Frances' eyebrows nearly disappeared into her hairline.

"Wait … what. You don't think me nuts?"

Céile laughed this time.

"You've always been nuts. But very consistent in your nuttitude. And not this kind of nuts anyway. Let me help you. And in the meantime, since you have trouble talking about it, why don't you write the whole story?"

Dumbfounded, Frances considered the idea in silence. For years, she'd been writing to her cousin in parallel of taking notes in class. Thoughts that needed to be shared to the only person that understood her. It wouldn't be so much different, and it might sever the link little by little.

Would it ease the ache?

Perhaps, yes. The idea was altogether brilliant! Frances nodded, relieved. And this is how her only cousin became her rock in the hardest times of her short life.

The class seemed to extend indefinitely, time flowing too slowly. Suddenly, as the expert hand of her biology teacher started to sketch on the board, Frances felt something weird. The blue rock wasn't glowing, but it gave off heat that warmed her bare skin. Zoning out for a few moments, she was soon called back to the class by a sharp voice.

"So, are you going to make this drawing today or tomorrow?" asked her teacher with a sarcastic voice.

Frances dismissed the comment with her left hand. Her teacher's priorities had ceased being her own a long time ago. Frowning, she picked her green pen and stared to draw the horrible vegetal thing dancing on the blackboard. Her senses stretched as she drew; those classes bored her to death ut somehow, learning biology made sense to her. It could prove useful, one day, and it grounded her in some kind of normalcy. Frances needed to go on living, even if she was doing a poor job about it.

Eyebrows scrunched, she concentrated on the weird feeling. Something was coming for her, but it didn't feel like a threat.

"You all right?" asked her neighbour, seeing her zoning out again.

"Uh uh," she answered absently.

The class went on for a few excruciating minutes before the feeling intensified, tingling the back of her mind with enough force for her to turn to the door.

And then it happened.

The door burst open with a loud bang, silencing the whole class before a familiar blond head adorned with warrior braids popped up.

Frances' heart stuttered. That was him, irradiating power and awareness Legolas.

The elf looked as impressive as ever, his kingly posture exuding pride and confidence. Shining like a star in a moonless sky, he crushed every presence in the room by his own, not even noting the wide eyes that stared back at him. As he finally locked his eyes with Frances, her mouth fell agape, her senses drowning in his fantastic deep blue pools.

"By the Valar!" she murmured, totally dumbfounded.

"Frances," he cried out, leaping forward, his eyes holding such distress that she felt her heart constricting.

Legolas, prince of Greenwood. Two months since she had last seen him, sixty days of misery and heartache. She could hardly live with the fact that she had been the one to steal Legolas' happiness. Yet, his arrival meant worse; Legolas had somehow been taken to her world, a world where no elf could be happy and where his family and friends would be lost to him forever. If the joy to see him again was overwhelming, despair soon followed and the elf knelt at her feet.

"What the…?", started the teacher, outraged about this outburst in her classes.

"I don't know, but it seems important," said her neighbour, trying to temporise.

The teacher called her name but Frances was oblivious, it didn't matter to Legolas either. As the elf started speaking, the young woman froze; she didn't understand him!

Such was the blue rock's magic, only lasting when she was out of her own world. Damn it!

She tried to stop him by shaking her head left and right. Frances grew more and more frustrated. Suddenly, elf grabbed Frances from her seat and pulled her behind him. The young woman gasped, taking a peek from behind his frame. Her teacher had been marching upon them threateningly. The quick movement caught the woman off guard, and she let out a small gasp.

"Calm down," Frances ordered. "He means no harm."

The older figure of speech had returned with Legolas' presence in her life, as if it had never left.

"Who is this … man, and why is he disturbing my class?" exclaimed the professor, getting angrier by the minute.

"Er…" started the young woman, her arm still hold by Legolas

"I demand an explanation !!!"

Fumbling for an answer, Frances was interrupted by elvish words.

"Meleth."

Frances gasped and closed her eyes for a second, a single tear running down her cheek.

"Le melin, Legolas," she breathed.

If none of her classmates had understood the Sindarin words, the silence had, however, settled in the class as a result of the deep emotional tension. The young woman turned to her prince, two immense blue pools met her eyes, and his warm hands settled on hers.

"I love you," he repeated in Sindarin, "I am fading without you."

"Legolas…"

Turning to her now purple teacher, the young woman said:

"I'm sorry madam, I need to go."

And then, she grabbed Legolas' hand and fled the room, her teacher screaming her outrage in the corridor. They would be hell to pay later, but Frances couldn't give a damn. Legolas was here, his presence so bright and pulsating beside her as they ran through the corridors. They darted to the stairs, so fast that it felt like flying, and finally reached the courtyard.

Frances eventually stopped, cheeks rosy, blood rushing. In the blink of an eye, she was in Legolas' arms, relishing in his rich scent, revelling in the steadiness of his embrace. It didn't matter than she could not understand westron, no more than it mattered that he had travelled through space and time to join her in a foreign world. The implications of this were as broad as they were complicated, but in that blissful instant she cared about nothing more than being in his arms.

Their eyes met, blue plunging deep into her hazel ones, and it took no more than a second before their lips crashed. Need, angst, undying love and desperation all bundled into a kiss, neither of them willing to break contact. Her arms circled his waist, and she gasped when warm hands grabbed her nape. Frances was in paradise, her tongue sliding over Legolas' lips, his hands holding her close, his scent surrounding her like the smells of a damp earth after a rainstorm, his form tall, nearly overbearing bent around hers.

Safe, loved, and at peace. But then, an anguished cry escaped Legolas' lips, and his knees buckled. It was all Frances could do to prevent him from crashing on the floor as his lean body suddenly collapsed. Crumbling down, Frances awkwardly stumbled, her grip tense around his shoulders as his eyes seemed to lose focus. His breathing was erratic, and he thrashed for a second.

Frances was terrified. Never before had the elf shown weakness. Hell, even in the worst of battles he only escaped with a few bruises and scrapes. And now he was utterly helpless, his body despondent when he choked. His eyes blurred.

"Legolas!"

He was drowning in her arms, struggling to utter the simplest of words as if the air was poisoned. Frances' mind was running a hundred miles a minute. Was the elf allergic to something? Could she drag him back inside? To the emergency shower of the chemical aisle maybe? But he was too heavy for her to climb the two levels with him in tow.

"HELP!", she screamed, her voice breaking as she shook him. But no one came. Tears sprang from her eyes as she bellowed.

"SOMEONE, PLEASE HELP!"

Legolas' body convulsed in her arms. In the end, she grabbed his face into her hands. At once, his eyes found hers, and the extend of his sorrow was so great that her breath hitched.

"Goheno nin, meleth," he mouthed. (Forgive me, my love.)

And then his eyes closed, and the hand that was so painfully gripping her forearm went slack. His light faded at once, and all that was left in her arms was a dead body.

Shocked to the core, Frances started to shake. She couldn't breathe, couldn't cry, couldn't even tear her eyes from the elf that had sacrificed his life to see her one last time. His features were not peaceful, his beautiful face contorted in pain as he passed, struggling for breath. Frances stayed on the ground, catatonic, until the light changed. She would have felt the air change, and the warmth had her body stopped shaking, but she could not. The voice though, deep and benevolent, she could not ignore.

"He cannot live in your world, child, as he is a magical being. Only Arda can sustain the form of the eldar. But fear not for his Feä, for we will take good care of him."

Frances blinked, tears falling from her eyes in rapid succession. Before her stood a magnificent being, a male that could have been an elf had he not radiated power and wisdom. His eyes, a stunning blue of a darker shade than Legolas, looked upon her with sadness. In her grief, Frances froze. She knew those eyes. The light surrounding the magical man brightened, engulfing him until she could see no more. Left alone in the darkness, the young lady blacked out.

And awoke.

Heart hammering, Frances took in her surroundings and breathed in relief. Just a nightmare…

Limbs shaking, she curled into a ball and exhaled to calm her racing heart. Once she was sure that Legolas had not died in her arms, Frances pondered her options. It had seemed so real, the feel of Legolas' lips on hers, his convulsions as he frantically tried to breathe, his limp form resting in her arms for eternity. She would never forget it, how could she?

And those eyes … those eyes told her this wasn't an ordinary dream, but a warning; the elf could not live in her world. The forests here had been devastated, nature trampled upon, and pollution of the modern life was everywhere. Even for the love of her, Legolas would go nuts and lost his will to live in such a decayed world. In Arda, there was some hope to renew, rebuild and cure the land.

On Earth, there was no hope left. It was too late. But somewhere in the back of her mind, Frances had always hoped that they could find a haven, a safe place where the forest still lushed. But now, she knew that it was not to be. And once more came the impossible choice. Earth or Arda? Could she abandon all those people? And the missions that the Valar bestowed upon her when they had chosen the Keeper of Time? Would they allow it? For as much as she hated being back on Earth, she was not ready to renounce to all of it.

Her family, her friends, her purpose in life laid there. Her parents would be devastated, and so would her brothers. Who would then go skiing with them, or play tennis with them two nutcases? How could she continue being the Keeper of Time, and complete her missions if she married Legolas? How could such a future be possible? And if the Valar had wanted it, why was she stuck here still?

Her brain was in overload. Already, Cécile was preparing breakfast in their small living room and Frances decided to speak of her worries. The smell of hot chocolate drafted through the door, and she smiled; lembas was but a memory now. Little by little, the weight she had lost was settling upon her bones. As they ate, she decided to speak to her confidant.

"I had a horrible dream. I'm sure it was a warning."

"A warning?"

It was a simple query, said with a nonchalant air. Cécile knew better than to pry in the can of worms that had become her cousin's mind.

"Yes… I've seen those eyes somewhere, I just can't remember where!"

"I'm listening."

Her cousin's dark eyes were serious. Worried. Frances sighed. Someday, she would have to repay Cécile for all the attention she gave her. For this unconditional support she so desperately needed, and that her cousin granted her without a second thought. And for all the time her temper rose and she lashed out without meaning it. So, she recounted the events that had happened in her mind, and in doing so, let her grief out without hiding. Tears fell, but then, as she thought she was going to break down in a puddle of despair, Frances suddenly stood.

"Gandalf! It was Gandalf that I saw!"

Cécile frowned.

"What? The wizard?

"Aye"

Cécile started; Frances' speech had still not reverted to normal. Sometimes, she wondered if it wasn't on purpose, a way for her to keep a link with Arda. It took some getting used to. The notion of the wizard though, puzzled her and Cécile voiced her doubts.

"But I thought he was an old man!"

Frances nodded, amazed at the sheer amount of information her cousin was able to absorb in such a short time.

"In middle earth, yes he was. But his spirit if one of the Maiar, a lesser God or a servant of the Gods. Like Sauron was before being a big eye."

Her cousin lifted a sarcastic eyebrow.

"The guys definitely have an issue with physical form in this place."

Frances harrumphed; she was pacing left and right while thinking out loud.

"Yes. It's quite complicated. But anyway, it was him, I'd recognise his eyes anywhere. So he came to deliver a message, the message that if I want to be with Legolas, it can only be on Arda and not here."

Cécile's face suddenly fell, realising the implications of this message. If Frances managed … she'd never see her again. But still, she was the only one who saw the depth of her cousin's misery. She heard her sniffles at night, and was sometimes crushed by the weight of her despair lingering in her hazel eyes when she lowered her guard. If she had to lose her closest friend, then so be it.

"I'd definitely miss you."

Overwhelmed, Frances suddenly hugged her cousin.

"So would I. But I'm far from having decided to leave everything behind. And even if I wanted to, I'd need permission from the Valar to go back. The necklace would activate … and it doesn't! It's so complicated! I don't even know what I want! I'm dying without him, but it'd be so bad to leave you all. And if I did, I'd break his heart nonetheless because I'm mortal! He'd probably fade from the grief!"

Cécile puckered her lips, thinking hard. But try as she might, there was no good solution to offer.

"Well … this is a mess."

"You bet."

"Listen. Why don't you take some yoga or meditation classes for a while, just to settle down and determine what you want before doing anything?"

Frances frowned. She wanted to wallow in her misery, not join a couple of freaks that spoke about Buddha all day long.

"Will you try it, pretty please?"

The young lady sighed. Cécile was worth it, if only to humour her. And so, just like that, Frances started meditation classes. Once per week, she joined a few disciples in a dojo, a group of illuminated people, in all senses of the terms, that spoke of ascension and enlightment. Of the leader's speeches she did not remember much. She had no care for the changing of the world in ten to twenty years from now. She only wanted to find her inner self. Right now, right then.

Frances exhaled slowly, concentrating on stopping her spiralling thoughts. Her body was vibrating, just as the teacher said, and she focused her mind on the places she could feel best. Her back, her legs, her hands were pulsating with some sort of inner vibration. Plunging deeper into herself, Frances entered a deep meditative state. It had taken a while to master it, and a lot of frustration, but now she couldn't live without it. It helped her centre herself, and keep the despair at bay. Just a bit. So that she could go on living and breathing without the second part of herself.

For the void was still there, the deep ache set in her heart that she avoided acknowledging at all cost. If she did, she feared she would fall into an endless pit to never resurface again.

But today was different, because today the group was set to work on the heart chakra. Frances sighed. She would just meditate without following the instructions. But then, just as she refused to delve into her heart, a familiar light tugged on her senses. A pair of blue eyes transfixed her, and she felt like a hand had grasped her spirit to drag her through the darkness. Frances thrashed, and panicked in her mind, but Olorin's soothing light enveloped her totally.

"Come, child," he said.

And it was all it took to coax her into following. And as she plunged into the pit that was her weeping heart, she was surprised to see a pulsating light in the distance. It was flickering, like a candle in the wind, but it awaited her eagerly. Very soon, she found herself at the bottom of the well, the timid candle lighting its wall. By her side, Olorin's light was dimmed, his presence discreet so that she could contemplate the little flame.

Still, he remained by her side, accompanying with this difficult journey. "Feel," came his voice as his hand once more settled on her imaginary shoulder. Frances closed her eyes, and opened her senses around her. And then, the unimaginable happened. She felt … him. Subdued and distant, yearning and immensely sad. But it was him. Her bond to Legolas, so far away from her, but rooted in the very core of her heart, was alive. Legolas was alive! Right now, right then, so far away. And if she concentrated enough, she could almost feel him.

Frantic, Frances left the meditation class in a hurry. She was flabbergasted by the news. Until now, the blue rock had only taken her to alternate realities, or the past. Never before had she travelled into this reality, in the same time frame. This meant that Legolas was alive at the same time that she was – or so she hoped. All it took to find him was a means of interstellar transportation.

It would have been nigh impossible to anyone else, an altogether silly notion. But Frances had been handed a solution on a plate nary three months ago. Was it fate, or a streak of chance? Who cared! For the first time since her return, hope bloomed in her chest anew. Estel.

"Hold on my love," she thought, "I'll find you."

A mere hour later, she was calling Daniel Jackson of Stargate Command:

"So about that internship…"