11 Yrch

Frantically searching her mind, the young woman observed as Aragorn detached himself from the trunk to get more space. The leader stepped back, apparently keen on watching the game that was about to be played. Suddenly a light clicked in her head. They had nor bows nor arrows, which meant that they could not take her down. Well, that was a bit different then, she though with a smile. As a yell resonated in the same husky voice as before, Frances refused to watch in horror as the inner circles of the group started moving on Aragorn. Instead pulling on the cord and knocking an arrow, she left the string fly and missed. Cursing under her breath and reloading as soon as possible, the corner of her eyes caught a scene she had not expected to witness.

For sure Aragorn was greatly outnumbered, but for now his dancing form was digging holes in to the first lines of orcs that had dared approaching him. He was everywhere, moving aside here and kicking there while beheading an enemy or disemboweling another. The energy and anger he poured in this battle was enough to make them flinch, and when his blade struck there was no hope left. His lethal blows were literally raining, the death dance putting him everywhere at the same time. Any moment of hesitation or slowness was punished. Severed members followed his long blade anytime it swung. The orcs, at first over confident and sluggish had become a bit more concentrated now that the heads of their companions were lying at their feet.

Targeting the leader that had his eyes lifted to the tree, Frances finally managed and the shaft of the arrow soon protruded from the orc's chest as he fell to the ground. Yay ! Frances gained a bit of confidence and started pummeling into her enemies. Releasing arrow after arrow, she started clearing the closest ranks, giving Aragorn some space. However, despite her keen work and the ranger's furious blows, they kept closing on him. The fight was becoming more difficult with such a long sword, and Aragorn abandoned it into an opponent while producing another shorter one in the same instant. The change had been incredibly swift, but still an assailant managed to take advantage of it, and while he got ready to stab the ranger in the flank, Frances released one of her last arrows. For an instant she though that it would miss, but fortunately she had anticipated well the movement of the orc. It didn't, piercing his left shoulder as he lifted the blade.

Then it was over. Her depleted stock of arrows protruding from the broken forms of bleeding orcs could do nothing more for her, and still more were coming. Aragorn's blows were getting weary, and the young lady decided once more against common sense. Launching herself into the branches, she finally ended up a few yards from the ground, behind the group, and she let herself hang with one hand as she produced her sword with the other one. The elvish blade rang into the mess of the battle, and she started shouting.

- "Want me guys? Come around and get me!!!", she screamed, her voice not as assured as it should have been.

She was only a few yards from the ground, but still easily reachable from one that could climb the closest branches. The diversion however, worked quite well as several orcs were cut down swiftly by an angered ranger. His shock was immense, but he did not allow himself some time to think about it as he took advantage of the breaking ranks to cut them from behind. This was insanely stupid and clever at the same time because the lure of fresh woman meat took precedence on numerous orcs. They rushed to the young lady and started climbing the tree now; their leader was dead and his orders forgotten.

This would not end well, but now that they had taken the bait it was time to get back to gymnastics and play the squirrel. As she made her way up, faster than a little tree mouse, two identical yells echoed through the woods, petrifying the orcs for an instant. The voices were elvish for sure, and the very slight distinctive tone between the two of them indicated that the twins had returned.

- "The tree!", Estel cried out.

Neither twins asked for details as one of them rushed up the branches, and the second came to fortify Aragorn's position. In half a minute, Frances realized that the tree was still again. All the orcs that had followed her were now laying on the ground. An instant after, one of the dark-haired elf landed on the ground without a noise, jumping into the fray immediately.

Her eyes bigger than flying saucers, Frances contemplated the orc's doom as they were mercilessly hacked into pieces. If Aragorn's fighting skills had reminded her of a dancer, the twins' were more akin to God's wrath. Destruction oozed from them like a wave of darkness, bodies dropping at an amazing rate as their swords literally flew around them faster than the eyes could see. It was unnerving and distressing to watch them fight, the anger they radiated burning their opponents like holy fire as they slashed, diced and reduced to pieces anything that stood in their way. A few orcs tried to escape, but an arrow stopped them before they had gone more than a few dozen feet. The last one at last fell from Elrohir's sword, while another got pierced through the back at least four hundred yards from her tree.

Silence came back, unchallenged by any living creature after the sheer massacre that the forest had witnessed. Breathing heavily, Aragorn wiped his blade clean on an orc's piece of clothing before sliding it back into its scabbard. There was an uneasy feeling in the air, a lurking anger and reproachful looks passed between the three sons of Elrond, but nothing was spoken. Instead, the ranger tiptoed between the bodies to get close to the tree.

- "Are you alright my lady?"

The formal speech tried to hide his concern, but Frances knew better; Estel was livid.

- "Yeah, she answered shakily, "er...coming right down".

- "Do you wish for one of us to help you?"

Frances took a deep breath, willing for her voice not to shake.

- "No, I'll be ok"

- "Ok?"

The dark haired elf, Elladan or Elrohir, seemed puzzled. As he turned to his brother in questioning, this one shrugged and got back to the survey of the dead and wounded. Estel inwardly smiled, glad that, for once, the twins were at loss while he knew how to translate Frances' words. His anger towards their reckless actions could not be voiced nor appeased for now, so focusing on the young lady seemed like a good start before they had the unavoidable discussion... argument. Elrond would be furious that they had left their need for revenge dictate their actions and thus nearly gotten their guest and his foster son killed in the meantime.

As Frances made her way down, carefully stepping because of sore muscles from the rough climbing, she noticed the stench emerging from the blackened ground and already rotting bodies. Yuck ! How could creatures smell so bad ? Needless to say that she would remember her first brush with Yrch – orcs – without fondness.

Below her, heavy silence had settled. No need to be a genius to figure out what was going on, but still she could not understand how such hatred could animate elven faces. There was an underlying story to this, and she intended to ask Estel once they would be alone again. For the moment though, they had to make their way back. She hoped that her mare had survived ... without much conviction.

Estel's hand shot up, and she grabbed it as he seized her waist to cushion her landing. The ranger was covered in scratches and darkened blood from the battle. Frances frowned, trying to assess whether he was hurt or not. Finding that he seemed to move properly, she reached for his arm.

- "Thank you", she told him, her face totally sincere.

- "You're welcome", he shrugged.

The young woman almost rolled her eyes. 'Of course, dear lady. I'll pass you the salt, have tea and biscuits... and save you from certain death, torture and defiling anytime. My pleasure.' Men ! Obviously, the ranger had not fathomed the depth of her gratitude.

- "No I mean, thank you for protecting me..."

There was a softness in his grey eyes when he turned to face her fully. Relief, and worry as well.

- "Well... Had you not come down I would be dead"

Frances snorted and he lifted a hand to silence her, reverting, once more, to the stern ranger she had known on the road. The leader. Given what she knew of him now – heir to the throne of Gondor – she had no trouble reconciling the part with his character.

- "That was a very reckless thing to do, Frances. I wish to never have you in this situation again"

- "I was short of arrows", she shrugged casually, "I was useless up there"

- "No you were not"

Elrohir almost startled her as he handed back a bundle of arrows. She had been so engrossed in her analysis of Estel – well, Aragorn – that she had failed to hear his footsteps. Sneaky twin ! Nodding her thanks to the elf, she was surprised when he told her:

- "All those arrows are yours, and you have killed at least eight of them. Next time take some more..."

Frances' cheeks reddened, a part of it from the compliment and the other part because she had not taken enough arrows and had ended up in a very dangerous situation.

- "I will", she answered. "I am sorry I didn't take more..."

- "You would not have needed more had we possessed the twins"

Estel strode away after his angry retort. The sudden outburst did not go unnoticed, but none of the elves reacted. Feeing rather uneasy, Frances frowned. Around her, the smell was unbearable, and the young woman felt lucky that adrenaline was still flowing through her veins because if not she would have thrown up right then and there. Blocking the smell away from her mind, she suddenly turned around in search of her white mare. Dusk was there, and her white form was easily noticeable in the gloomy atmosphere.

- "Alca!", she cried out.

Reaching the horse, she fell to her knees. The mare had probably stopped breathing a long time ago. A blackened blade was dug deeply into the horse's chest, and the scarlet blood pooling around the wound. Her eyes filling with tears, Frances hardy saw Elrohir's hand removing the orc's foul steel through her blurry vision. Her hands absently stroked the white horse's mane as her mind blacked out from shock. Death. A few instants later, Elrohir lifted her off the ground and made her mount his stallion. He then placed himself in front of her, and the little company departed in silence.

The ride went smoothly, the horses responding much better to the elven twins than to her clumsy riding skills. Frances tried to adapt to the speed by keeping one hand over Elrohir's waist and another over his hip, modeling her moves to his. Other than this effort to keep stable and not slow down the little company, she stayed silent. To the elves, it seemed like she had gone non responsive to external stimuli, but Estel knew better. What went on in the little head of hers was usually inaccessible, but there was no doubt that she kept altert at any time.

Overall, Frances was just trying to process whatever had happened earlier, and there was much to think about. First of all, she needed to deal with the violence and death she had witnessed, included her soon to be friend the white mare. Then there was the orcs' behavior, the tale of their origin coming back to her mind, and the actual absence of resemblance with elves. There was also the realization of the risk she had taken, but the success of her diversion. This meant a lot and could be used later as a desperate strategy. When their leader was down, orcs got back to their inner essence and were more vulnerable to temptation. Then, and most importantly, she was trying to remember every move of Estel's fight, and the crazy dancing with which the twins had annihilated every living creature around them. There was much to learn. Frowning, the young lady was wondering about the fury that had taken control of the twins. The ranger's reaction had been different. She doubted that it was an experience born difference, given the age of her elven friends, and she swore to find the truth about it.

Finally, they were home. After crossing the river and following the steep path in the gloom, the little company crossed the arches of the fortified gate. Their arrival sent the household in turmoil, probably because of their shaggy look and horrid smell. As Elrohir helped her dismount, his whole posture was tense. The lord's arrival followed a few seconds afterwards, his face wearing a deep frown and his grey eyes burning. 'Daddy is angry', she thought, understanding that the twins were about to get a beating. How could he possibly know what had happened ?

- "Get cleaned and join me in the study", he said, his voice harsh.

The glare he wore had Frances' knees tremble, but as his gaze crossed hers his face sweetened a bit.

- "Get some rest and a decent dinner, lady Frances, this does not concern you"

Cowardly accepting the peace offer, the young lady bowed and was taken away by one of the maids. It was never the same one, and she did not bother because she anyway could not remember names. As the elf maiden prepared a bath in silence Frances welcomed this display of courtesy, and did not utter a sound. Once soaked into the warm water, she finally realized what had nearly happened. Rape, torture and death by foul creatures. The sobs came without warning, and soon she was loudly shaking her fear and distress out of her mind. It was oddly frightening to lose control of her own body like this, her convulsions reflecting much deeper fears and insecurities than she would have admitted, but soon enough she was exhausted and the tears stopped from themselves.

A tray was brought to her room, but the maid told her that if she so wished she would be welcomed in the dining hall. Being in an awkward mood, the young lady ate a lonely dinner before deciding to retire and get some sleep. However, she had not counted on it to be so elusive, and after about an hour watching the beautiful ceiling, Frances grabbed a simple set of robes that she could lace by herself, and she threw a cape over it before heading out.