56 Back to Edoras

After several hours of tough riding, the company eventually made it to Edoras. The sun was low; its orange glow enlightened the city, reflecting on the golden hall of Meduseld and setting its roof on fire. Frances sighed, unable to marvel at the sight such was her exhaustion. The healing process was taking its toll on her, and the fever was receding slowly, leaving her sweaty and aching.

Her sore muscles did nothing to help the condition, and the deep pain coming from her leg was tiresome. During hours she had been trying to find a way to lessen the ache, but the dull sensation that came from the constant moving of the ride was torture. It was also the first time she travelled by herself and, needless to say, that she wasn't very proficient in the art of riding.

Frances grit her teeth. Had she been home, this whole ordeal would have been much simpler. A ride in the back of a car with her leg propelled in front of her would have done the trick. And the distance would have been covered in less than an hour. An hour! When it had been a full day of struggle on this blasted beast. Not that her mount didn't make any effort to make her comfortable, bless the Rohirrims' horses. But still, she was tired of it. Tired of moving no faster than an ant on those immense plains, tired of being incapacitated like this.

She was, by all means now, a cripple. Perhaps it would not be permanent. Surgery and a few physio sessions could probably do the trick once she made it home. Perhaps, even, that the reconstruction of her body through the blue portal that took her hom would be enough to set things right. But for now, her inability was enough to feed her frustration. One moment of inattention! One single little moment, and there she was. She couldn't even walk on her own save this blasted cane! Like an elderly woman! It was the first time that she suffered such a crippling injury. And the inefficiency of her body made her mad. She that, last week, was able to climb an impossible cliff under heavy rain, could not even bend to fasten her shoelaces. Not that she had some, mind you!

As the company entered the city, one of her body guards set her down and she smiled her thanks. To be honest, she could not remember his name, nor any of the guys that had been watching over her during the long and painful process of coming back to the capital. She had no memory of names, and had met more people than ever in those last few days. Most of them were blond, and she recognised them by their features mainly, knowing which ones were nice or grumpy.

However, whichever their characters, all of them had shown a great deal of kindness, and she suspected that her friends had been distributing threats in case of mistreatment. It had taken all of Mithrandir's will power to persuade Legolas to accompany them to Isengard and leave her in Helm's deep in the care of healers, so she guessed that the elf and his friend had left a few instructions.

"You have my thanks," Frances said as the guy unloaded her pack.

"You are welcome my lady," he answered with a nod.

My lady. Right. Daughter of a communist and a socialist teacher, grand daughter of factory workers. My lady. She snorted.

Her guide spared her a curious glance before he handed her two wooden sticks; they would help her walk.

"Would you care to enlighten me?", she eventually asked.

The soldier frowned; what was that all about? Ensuring the welfare of a woman was one thing, but he was altogether out of his league with all the new people that had shown her recently. Elves, kings, dwarves, and now her.

"I will if I can."

"Who did you get your instructions from?"

The well-disciplined Rohirrim gave her his most convincing blank look.

"I do not know of what you speak my lady."

"Come on," she cried, tapping the ground with one of her sticks.

Her breath was short because of the effort of climbing the hill, but she pressed her case:

"There have been at least three different people taking care of me and not leaving me out of sight, I'm sure you know who asked you to watch over me."

The solider eyes her suspiciously and she addressed him a levelled stare. Eventually, he relented.

"I took my orders from the lady of Rohan herself, my lady."

There. Would she drop the issue now, out of respect for the white lady?

"And?"

Damn. Wasn't she stubborn! And she knew. He was sure of it. Better to relent then.

"We might have had words with the elf…"

"Aha," exclaimed Frances with a smirk.

I knew it, she smiled to herself. She thanked her guard, and hobbled to the hall only to be greeted by a maid.

"There is a room prepared for you, my lady. I will ask for a bath to be drawn directly."

"Oh. Thank you. But a bucket of hot water will suffice. Do not trouble anyone with the bathtub."

Taking in her filthy clothes and face, the maid couldn't help but grimace. Still, she didn't contradict her guest.

"As you wish, my lady."

Frances sighed. She was dying for a hot bath, but her injured leg couldn't be immersed in water until the stitches were removed. Even with the massive dose of antibiotics she was taking, the infection was hardly kept at bay. Limping behind the maid, she was shown to a small but tidy room. On the bed lay a dark woollen dress, its neck cut square and embroidered with golden thread. Frances frowned at the daring décolletage, but the maid produced a vaporous white scarf destined to cover her shoulders and secured with a pin to hide her collarbone. Far from the luxuries and silky fabrics of the elves, this dress was still an impressive show of Rohirrim craft.

"Who do I have to thank for this lovely outfit?"

"The lady of Rohan wishes for you to look your best to honour the fallen warrior of Helm's deep."

"I will make sure to thank her profusely."

The maid bowed, and left to return a few minutes afterwards with a bucket of hot water, which she set on the washstand.

"Will you require my help to undress and wash my lady?"

Frances' head energetically shook from left to right. If there was something that she could not get used to, it was being naked in front of other people. The maid's blue eyes widened slightly, and Frances stood straighter, her voice colder than expected.

"That will not be necessary, Thank you."

The young maid, spooked by her reaction, simply bowed and left with the assurance to be called whenever Frances would be ready to dress. When the last ray of light disappeared through the door, she eventually collapsed on the bed. She could slip into the sheets and give way to her exhaustion, or join the party that was getting loud enough to prevent her from sleeping.

Word had reached her ears that Merry and Pippin had been found, both of them safe and sound. She was glad, very glad that they had returned. But her body refused to move. A wave of homesickness hit her like a train at full speed, and before long, tears were streaming down her face. For once, she truly missed home. Maybe she could stay in her room, relishing in the comfort of a bed beneath her battered body? Then, she wouldn't have to play the part and smile when she wanted to weep.

It came crashing down all at once. The lack of running water, the faces of her parents, her brothers and friends back at home, waiting for her return. She missed all of it, down to the smell of damp earth in her garden whenever a storm raged, to her vacations on the beach at her grandparent's house. The burn of the summer sun on her face while salt dried on her tanned skin, the feel of the rocks under her bare feet when she searched for crabs. Chocolate and ice cream, water melon and garden tomatoes.

Hell, she could eat a good burger at the moment, even if she tended to flee McDonald's like the plague. She missed the sunlight in her childhood bedroom in the late afternoon, when its rays reflected upon the soft green and white paper. She missed her drawings, and mosaic works. Her cousin and her imagination to tell stories. She even missed cars and technology. The only item she had with her was her mp3 player and a set of batteries to keep it running.

Frances nearly turned it on, staring at the machine for a while before putting it down. If she did so, she feared she would never emerge from that room again. She would be lost in souvenirs, and lost to middle earth.

And Charlie? Where was Charlie in this whole mess? His smile, his nervous laugh, his embrace came alive before her eyes. She had liked him, from the very beginning, as she shared their usual missions Interpol. And now that he was back to the States... It had been a long time since their last embrace. Frances sighed; her heart heavy. Middle earth had changed her, she could feel it. As time passed, and the fellowship's travels became dire, Frances had grown. Grown like a child transforming into an adult. And somehow, she felt like she was outgrowing this relationship as well.

She loved Charlie, very much. But did she love him enough to make a life with him? Did she trust him to be a partner in hardship? He surely was not as level-headed as any of her companions. Could their couple possibly survive her eventful life?