4 The library

Sighing, the young woman realised how difficult elves were to read, even for her. She knew that there probably was a full history behind those two. Their bearing spoke of experience, and they even might be warriors. Fighting seemed inevitable in the insecurity of this world, and she wondered which ill fates they had witnessed. However, whichever had been the experiences in their life, their dark eyes did not betray any of them. The only thing she was sure of was that most of it must have been common for it seemed that both twins were forming only one entity. Rarely had she seen such acquaintance between two siblings, and if the fact that one was finishing the sentence of the other was a clue, there was so much more that was unsaid that it blew the mid away. Centuries passed together could probably do that, she thought, leaving the mystery of the twins aside for the moment.

Turning the page of a dusty book while waiting for someone to join her, Frances marvelled once more at the size of the library. The huge rounded room was filled up with continuous shelves stretching to the top. The white stone vault reflected the few rays of sunlight penetrating through the high windows, creating a cosy atmosphere. Granite. Pure, white, and imperishable granite. This is why she felt so well protected inside the vaults of the last homely house, the rocks themselves were as permanent as anything can be.

Most of the books seemed old enough to be priceless, and they literally held history within their pages. Even in her wildest dreams she would not have imagined being allowed to wander freely inside such a magnificent building, but there she was, caressing a book written in common language with unlimited access to knowledge. Well, almost unlimited, the only little issue being that she could not speak elvish and all the old books predated the common tongue. Hell, some even predated Sindarin! Two languages to learn, and there probably wasn't many elves who still spoke Quenya. Needless to say that she needed to start with Sindarin first. Yay!

Her first elvish word was Estel, it was the name of Elrond foster son from what the twins had told her. She had a few doubts about who this might be, and a good part of her really wanted Strider to be the one. Perhaps she was mistaken, but for sure there was something more than a man in the ranger, the depth of is grey eyes told her so. AND, he was the only human in Rivendell. A good candidate then. For the moment, she had realised that if elves did not bear their age through skin or posture, their eyes betrayed it all. Frances was slowly coming to terms with the idea of living a thousand years old, but still she got issues with that thought. However, in Strider's eyes there was some wisdom rarely seen on other men his age, and that intrigued her. Even Maximus, who had suffered a great deal, or the Jedi had not given her this weird impression.

When the heavy door was pushed slowly, the young woman stood up, watching a familiar figure as it entered the room without a single noise. The surprise was quite total for both of them, and a little gasp escaped the young woman's lips while he kept his reaction hidden but for a smile. Strider was dressed in elvish robes and breeches, an embroidered bluish shirt covering up his torso below the rich fabric of his jerkin. His clean hair gently framed his face, the colour a deep brown that would have been quite impossible to spot without the cleaning process. Now dressed like a noble man and the hardships of their wanderings erased, he looked quite regal.

She, standing like a statue, was altogether very different from how he had known her during their hastened march to Rivendell. After days of walking and fighting, the young lady had turned more like him in his rangers days rather than any lady's usual state of being. The strange clothing she had worn by then revealed quite a lot for a woman, for they were men like. Her hair, usually bound tight and worn out by the drizzle, were now falling into wavy cascades down to her waist. Needless to say that their unusual colouring was even the more intriguing on an already mysterious lady. The light blue colour of the silk enhanced her tanned figure, and the caramel skin underneath seemed a little out of place in Rivendell, but it gave her a very exotic look. The young lady standing now in front of him was a subtle mix of strangeness and nobility, and Aragorn discovered in her somebody totally different that what he was used to.

That woman had multiple facets, and for the moment they were none that seemed out of place in middle earth. However, something told him that she was not from there, something totally independent from the secret and mystery that hung on her like water was bound to the leaves after a storm. Aside from all those clues and unanswered questions, there was a manner in her that said that she was a stranger to this part of the world, maybe even a stranger beyond any measure. Strider had not drawn conclusions yet, there were too many implications for him to understand and much more observation to do before he could reach any enlightenment, but he knew for sure that surprises were far from being over. There was something off with her, something he had sensed in the first instant he had met her, blindly going after ringwraith that could have exterminated her in the blink of an eye had he not flung himself on the battlefield. Yet, she had been more than faithful on the difficult journey to Rivendell, but deep down strider knew that there was more to it than met the eye.

- "Estel?" she asked innocently, waiting for his reaction to reveal if this was indeed his real name

Aragorn's eyes betrayed his shock, but his face gave nothing away.

- "My lady"

- "What does it mean?"

- "It means hope,' he murmured, walking briskly to her.

- "Why? Why would Lord Elrond name you Hope?" she slowly said, half to herself.

Her companion's gaze focused on something she could not see, suspended for Frances to contemplate a story she knew nothing about. Finally, the ranger turned to her, and she realised that his grey eyes looked exactly like Elrond's. Was it common in middle earth or as scarce as in her home planet? How could there be a parental link between an elf lord and a human? It made no sense at all, but the answer did not lie far ahead.

- "Because he wanted me to embrace a destiny that I have refused for many years…"

- "Er … destiny … it is never easy to be ordered great deeds in the name of destiny," she whispered, half to herself.

Frances kad some qualms about destiny, especially when, being thrown into a desert in the Roman empire time without warning, she had learnt what it meant to be the keeper of time. She had, for sure, quite some issues with destiny. Sensing that the subject was getting touchy, the young lady decided to let it rest for a while and so her next question was meant for idle conversation.

- "Surely you have many names. You seem to have travelled a lot. In the hills you go as Strider, but what of your given name?"

Stiffening further at the inquiry, the ranger turned to her in low motion, and his eyes pierced her to the core. As Frances sustained his hard gaze, realising that maybe her innocent question implicated much deeper secrets. Aragorn bore holes into her, but there was not an ounce of lies and treachery in her eyes. If his foster father, that knew much, was trusting her in his walls, then so should he.

- "I am called Aragorn, but not many know of my name for I am the son of Arathorn."

- "Ok…," she said softly.

Arathorn, had she read anything about it? No, it didn't ring a bell. The ranger seemed flabbergasted at her lack of reaction, especially since he didn't know what 'Okè' might stand for. Albeit he had all her attention, Aragorn eyed her with obvious surprise.

- "You know nothing of the line of Isildur…"

- "Obviously not, and I hope it is not an offence but I have never heard of him. As I told you before, I am not so used to the place…"

Aragorn considered her words for a few moments, her manners of speech threw him off balance sometimes. If she had been aware of the dying line of the Dunedain, mentioning his father would have at least created a little reaction, but there was none. This told him that she was truly ignorant about all the things of middle earth, or being an extremely good spy. However, Elrond had always been very careful and far-sighted; he would not have allowed them to bound if she was representing a danger.

- "I am in no way familiar with your history, and would be grateful to you if you would share it with me but, before that, pray tell me how an elven lord like Lord Elrond could ever be related to a human family like yours?"

As soon as the words got out Aragorn gasped. There was nothing that could link him to the elf Lord, except for the grey eyes. For sure they were not common, and the first sign of the descendants of the Dunedain, but still that was a bit far-fetched from somebody who had just seen his foster father in the darkness of his study and never heard of the Dunedain.

- "How?" he questioned a bit sharply, not even bothering to form a sentence

- "It was just a guess, but there are a few clues here and there. First of all, there is your elvish name, and then the fact that you were adopted by a powerful elf lord, and finally there is not so much in common between you two, but your eyes are a dead giveaway…"

- "Yes, I had thought so…" he sighed. "You are quite observant for a young woman of your age…"

- "Well… Better safe than sorry…"

She had said that as much for herself than for his sake, but the weird way of speech struck him once more. She had some expressions that he had never heard before, especially on a woman's tongue.

- "There are many tales to share to a woman that does not remember anything about the earth she walks,' he started, giving her a look that showed that he was not convinced at all by her story.

As she did not answer this little hint, Estel started talking about the beginning of his line and the birth of the twins Elrond and Elros. Fascinated by his tale, Frances drank his words for hours while she was taught the history of middle earth. Strider did not provide an extensive teaching over the Eldar and the second born, since that would have taken ages, but he gave her the main lines. He told her about the choice both brothers had faced, about the line of the Dunedain and Númenor, and about those few elven and human couples that had existed over the years. Hours passed at a fast pace, and soon both companions were digging into maps and dusty books, Frances learning her first few words of Elvish in the meantime. When they got called for dinner this day, the young woman at least knew that Elladan stood for elf-man and Elrohir for elf-knight. She wondered if those names reflected the strong desire of their parents that they choose immortality.

Honestly speaking, the young woman could not fathom why one could choose to forsake the privilege of the eldar. It prevented ugly things like sickness and aging, keeping the elves in full physical and mental capacity over the years, protecting them from human weaknesses. However, she wouldn't want to be immortal for the world. Estel had explained that, apart from the many flaws of being a mortal, some elves considered that the little time men were granted was lived more fully, with more passion than what elves were capable of after so many years. They called death the edain's gift. Men were prompt to lay down their lives if needed, despite the fact that their passage on earth was so short and therefore so meaningful. Elves had grown detached and distant when men kept fighting with the fury that characterized their passionate will. Where the first born were eternal, dwelling in middle earth like fireflies, the second born brought sparks wherever they passed, and never were they forgotten.