The immaculate ship

Frances turned around in her bed, or was it damp grass? After tossing back and forth most of the night, she couldn't make sense of the contradictory signals. One minute she was in bed, safely stuffed under the covers of her bedroom, the next she felt like fresh air was blowing on her face, tangling her messy strands of hair. However, something in the back of her mind told her everything she needed to know. It was the weirdest ideas of all. Yet, she remembered this odd dream, and the strange sensation to stare into her own eyes.

As the young woman blinked awake, sunshine streaming down her face, the solution popped up in her sleepy brain.

"We are two…", she murmured, opening her eyes to the world.

And then the bed and sheets disappeared, and Frances plainly woke up. Rubbing her eyes, she sat up in the grass and kept them shut. She was afraid that the sheer realisation that seemed so logical in her mind one instant earlier ran away with the intake of new information. Why could it seem so normal to think that there were two of her? Now that she was awake it didn't make sense, but in her dream it seemed perfectly consistent.

I am a clone.

Repeating the sentence again and again so as not to forget it, Frances finally opened her eyes and took up her surroundings. Beside her sat her travelling bag, filled to the brim, but she had no remembrance of packing anything. Someone else had given her that bag, and wished her farewell, someone looking suspiciously like … herself!

The waves of logical thinking started to creep inside her mind when she took notice of the smells that surrounded her. The gentle breeze called to her, heavy with the very unique scent of iodine. And then she heard the waves crashing on the nearby shore. She was sitting over a grassy hill, the greenish slope covered here and there with bushes, a few trees and some shiny flowers. In the background spread the endless sea, bright blue in the morning light, a few waves creating scattered foamy ridges. A graceful white ship sailed close to the coast, going swiftly over the deep blue waters.

Eyes wide open, the young woman realised that nowhere on earth existed a ship of this crafting style. The twisted lines, the graceful bow, the bright sails … this was an elvish ship, and there was no doubt about it!

Her heart leapt into her chest, her throat constricting. She had made it! At last, she was back! Overjoyed, Frances jumped on her feet and took off in the direction of the cliff, her nightgown flowing. Her legs pumped as they ran to the ridge, her brain eventually processing the situation; the dream started to make sense.

They were indeed two of them, and she was a clone of Frances sent back by herself. Deep down she knew who stood within the white sails, it could have been only him. Frances continued running at full speed to the shore, barely missing from tumbling down in her haste. The ship was not too far from the coast, he must have left mere hours ago! As she descended the slope, her eyes noticed two familiar silhouettes.

A tall man and a stout dwarf watched the sea, side by side on the edge of the cliff. The man's right hand rested on the dwarf's shoulder, and his posture betrayed him. There stood Aragorn, King of men, witness to his friend's departure to the undying lands. Even in grief the ranger had always shown kingly manners, and today was no exception. Still running down at a dreadful speed, Frances cried out for them.

"Hey!"

Surprised, the man and his companion turned around. Gimli's eyes grew wide with astonishment, and Aragorn stumbled in shock. There was only one woman that could actually sprint like a hell goddess in such a treacherous land, and it seemed like the Valar had given her back to them.

"Frances! Finally!" exclaimed Gimli, his mouth agape.

She smiled tentatively, before missing a step and making a face at the rock that nearly sent her flying. Aragorn's face showed disbelief at first, and then it lightened up so brightly that she could not help but grin like a fool. Without thinking of her strange attire – who ran around in a nightgown ? he took off and ran like a kid. The two friends clashed into each other in a very un-kingly manner, and the ranger gathered the young woman in his arms, stopping her before she went tumbling downhill. As he laughed and kissed her forehead, she panted against him and smiled brightly.

"It is good to see you again, Estel."

She still called him by his childhood name. The one that tugged at his heartstrings.

"I have no words to express it."

They descended the hill, arm in arm, to greet Gimli. And then it hit him. The ranger's face fell at the sight of the white ship making sails to the undying lands. No man's ship could ever catch up with the elvish one… She was too late. Three years, three long years he had witnessed Legolas' fading, only for her to reappear at this very moment! The elf was gone, and he would never know that Frances had found her way back to him.

After embracing the chattering dwarf into a friendly hug, Frances turned back to the King only to find his broken expression. As brown eyes met with his grey ones, silence descended on the three friends.

"It's him, isn't it?" she breathed.

Gimli's head fell, his gaze strained to the ground. Beside him, Aragorn swallowed before answering gently.

"Yes. Legolas has sailed."

Frances' words were so silent that he nearly missed them.

"So it ends," Gimli sadly concluded.

"Nay, Gimli. It cannot, not after all we've been through."

Silence settled, words that could not be expressed stolen by the breeze. Frances' heart sunk in the depths of despair as the white sails shone in the sunlight. She understood that there was nothing her friends could do for her; their silence a clear testimony that they had no solution to offer.

Glancing downwards, she studied the waves crashing over the cliff. The water was deep. Deep enough. Well, better be dead than sorry. She was, after all, a clone. The consequences of her death would not impair the Valar's missions, nor Frances' life on earth, the real Frances. The one that had been left behind.

Aragorn's eyes were on her the whole time, his face immensely sad. Yet, he made no movement to come close, giving her the much-needed space. Or so he thought, missing the resolve glint that shone in her eyes. How cruel! Why had the Valar granted her return, if only to witness her fading in grief?

"Do you know if the tide is in ?"

The dwarf frowned.

"They said they had to go before they missed it… whatever that means."

Dwarves of the lonely mountain didn't deal with the sea too often, but the information was precious. If it was pulling out… the current would be in her favour. The young woman squared her jaw, hazel eyes shining with determination.

"This is not the end, I will not allow it," she said casually before taking a few steps back.

Neither King nor dwarf expected what followed. Giving him a curt nod, Frances suddenly darted forward and jumped from the cliff. It was a fifty feet plunge, and her heart stuttered in the free fall. The men yelled their fear; she shut them off to stiffen her muscles in order to lessen the strain of the landing. And what a landing!

Splash.

Ice cold water pickled at her skin, the shock so overwhelming that she didn't realise she was sinking fast. Reflexes took over, propelling her body upwards. In a matter of seconds Frances broke the surface. Aragorn was shouting frantically, pointing the shore next to the port. One look backwards was all it took before a wave crashed into her, and rolled her around.

Frances emerged, gasping, facing the open sea. Already, another wave threatened to throw her on the rocks; she needed to get away from the cliff lest she finished splattered. The young woman dove into the incoming wall of water, deep enough to avoid being dragged by the roller, and emerged on the other side. With a few powerful strokes, she was facing the next one, and dived again. Fortunately, they were not the biggest she had faced, nor the more powerful. If she dove at the right time, and stayed under the roller, she had a chance to make it.

It lasted a few minutes, the struggle against the current. Eventually, Frances managed to make it to a quieter place, and both Aragorn and Gimli sighed in relief. Would the stubborn woman return to the beach? From what Aragorn had witnessed of her skills, he was confident she could reach it. And then he'd never let her out of sight again, he'd treat her like the sister she was and grant her quarters in the citadel. Arwen would be delighted! But his assessment could not be more wrong, for the young woman turned around and started swimming in the ship's direction.

"What is that mad woman doing?" grumbled Gimli by his side.

Stunned, Aragorn passed a hand across his face.

"She intends to reach the boat before it sails to the high seas."

"This is madness!"

"Indeed. She will drown before long, and we will definitely lose her."

Having had enough, Gimli advanced on the cliff side and started shouting at the top of his voice.

"Get back there, you crazy lass!"

But of his yells Frances could hear none, for the wind came from the sea, and the sound of the waves drowned it all in the background. The cold was difficult to withstand, her efforts bringing some welcome warmth. Trying to even her breathing and optimise her moves, Frances was slowly making her way to the elven ship.

Frances was a good swimmer, the top of her class in sixth grade, for a girl anyway. At the time, she had not thought much of it except that water was her element; she always felt at ease as she fended the waves. But today, it could mean life or death. Still, a part of her felt uneasy. Being a clone, a copy of the original Frances was a lot to take in. Did she deserve to live as much as Frances did, on earth?

As she swam, long powerful strokes that took her further from the shore, she surmised she had just reached a fork on the road, the point were both Franceses went separate ways.

A wave washed her face with salty water, and Frances spluttered. "Come on, concentrate," she thought. She turned her face opposite to the wind to breathe. When her limbs started to go numb, Frances lifted her head for a second, legs dangling to keep her upright. The boat seemed a little closer. Fortunately, they had not set full sails yet. Frances smiled; Legolas lingered whether he wanted it or not… Had he felt, deep in his Feä, the strength of their bond?

Hope blossomed in her chest; she definitely had a chance, but there was at least a mile between her and the ship, and she could not afford to slow down. Deep down she hoped that Legolas would be on the deck and spot her at some point. But if he did not, if he called for the main sail to be hoisted, she was as good as dead.

Her muscles were burning now, aching from the intense effort of pulling against the waves, and she had not covered half of the distance yet! Swimming in the pool was easy enough compared to this, and she had never gone further than a mile and a half anyway. Indoors, the water flat enough, and she could rest whenever she needed to by sticking on the line. Here the current kept trying to cast her ashore, and the waves prevented her from breathing evenly. She could not afford to rest since that would mean allowing the waters to take her back to the cliff, and her heart was already pounding. It this was to be her last chance to get Legolas back, then so be it!

The Valar had granted her to be there in time, she couldn't afford to blow it! Straightening her jaw, the young woman pushed her muscles further, stroking again and again, swallowing mouthfuls of water sometimes, desperately trying to join the bright ship. Her movements were angry, but with time they became less and less efficient. Already, her arms seemed ready to cramp.

But deep in her heart, a new light was awakening. The bond flared to life, renewed, infusing energy and warmth in her limbs.

Legolas!