Forward

They had made good time going downhill, and found the forest at the end of the day. Fortunately, or unfortunately in the eyes of a certain dwarf, a patrol of elves from Lothlórien found them as Legolas attempted to climb one of their beloved trees. The marchwarden, named Haldir spoke westron, unlike his two brothers Orophin and Rúmil. His features, if graceful, seemed set in a permanent scowl. Frances disliked him at once.

But the company was so wary that they were way past caring the warmth of their saviors. They spent the night on a Talan, some sort of wooden flet installed high above the ground in a Mallorn tree. If Frances had not been so tired she probably would have minded the absence of railings. But in her state of exhaustion it didn't matter anymore. Past the shock of Gandalf's fall would come sorrow. But for the moment rest was the only thing on her mind. She closed her eyes as soon as her head was set down, and slept soundly. No nightmares to plague her, no Balrog populating her thoughts this night although it would come eventually. Her forearm stung badly, but she was too exhausted to care.

The next morning came fast enough, and her hand was throbbing painfully. Frances was already regretting that she had not asked Aragorn to balm it, but their leader's worries laid elsewhere. They had already stopped to take care of Frodo's injuries on the way, discovering his Mithril chainmail in the meantime, and had pressed on after that. The guards led them deeper into the forest until they came upon a stream.

The Celebrant's waters were dark, running fast and steady. Frances had never seen such a color, but she wondered if the strange silvery light that passed through leafless trees was the cause of it. Haldir, long hair flowing in the slight breeze, threw a high-pitched whistle in the air. On the other bank, another elf showed up. His garments matched those of the marchwarden, grey cloak over greenish tunics and breeches. It probably was one of the reasons the company had not seen them in the first place. Haldir exchanged a few gestures with his peer, and he turned back to them.

- "We will cross here, but do not set foot in the waters for they are very cold this far north."

On the other side of the river, the elf threw them a thin rope attached to a great tree. Haldir secured it on their hand, and ran across it back and forth to show them the way. Frances' jaw opened in shock. Were they expecting the company to run over a rope without falling in the waters? The current was strong, she doubted she could swim over and survive its coldness for long. Let alone the dwarf. Haldir's face did not show anything unusual, and it was Legolas who pointed out this lack of consideration.

- "I can walk this path, but what about the others? Should they swim?"

For once, Frances noted that the marchwarden looked sheepish; who knew with this despising scowl carved into his face? Anyhow, the elves set two more ropes to create a 'safe' path. The young lady laughed in disbelief. Cultural shock at its best. With different races, middle earth was bound to be a very interesting place when it came to habits.

Let us run across a wire, weee.

Surprisingly, she made it quite fast. Her equilibrium had always been pretty correct, and she had improved it over the years by climbing trees and walking on branches. She had in fact dedicated most of her childhood doing just that. The rope held fast, and didn't vibrate under her legs despite its lightness. In other words, if was a good old motorway... Her only distractions were the painful throbbing of her wrist, and the closeness of the Greenwood Prince who wanted to insure that each of his companions could stay safe. Since he basically weighted so little, Legolas stayed close.

Boromir walked the rope easily, surprisingly graceful for a man of his stature, and the weight of his equipment. Gimli certainly didn't make a fool of himself, but his sheer weight was enough to make her cringe. Would the ropes hold fast? What if he fell in the waters? Could they dig him out with his armor weighting him down? Finally, Gimli set foot on the other bank, and the whole fellowship released a breath. Pippin soon followed, sure footed. Sam on the other hand, was quite a handful, and the elf stayed as close as he could while the hobbit rambled about his father and walking across a stream like a spider.

While half of the company waited for the other part to cross, Frances' eyes were lost in the somber waters of the Celebrant. They were impenetrable, but not nearly as dark as the emptiness of Moria. Gandalf's loss started to settle in her mind, her brain finally processing that he had fallen to his death. A hand on her shoulder startled her out of her thoughts, and Frances jumped. Grey eyes were looking at her in concern.

- "Forgive me, my lady, for catching you off guard."

- "No harm done... Is there anything that you wanted me to do?"

Her response puzzled Aragorn. He had never before given orders, but her reply reminded him that he was the leader of this company now, and was treated as such.

- "Let me see your hand", he said.

- "Oh... right."

Eyes of a healer.

Aragorn may not have remarked anything amiss the day before but he was now chastising himself for not seeing that the lady was injured. She was favoring her other hand, and had not held onto the rope on this side. The elf had disregarded this as normal since neither of them needed the support to cross. But Aragorn knew better.

The two of them sat on the ground, Strider digging into pouches and balms as he examined the wound. It wasn't life threatening, but the cut ran across the wrist and bit the forearm. There was some swelling at the base, it needed to be washed and coated with a balm to stop infection from spreading. As he softly rolled the sleeve higher, the ranger shook his head. The tunic was coated in blood. Once more his blindness assailed him. What if the wound had been worse?

Sensing his mood, Frances felt guilty about not saying anything before.

- "I'm sorry Strider, I should have told you before that this needed attendance. But we were running to safety, and it didn't feel prudent to stop again."

Aragorn lifted his head, considering her words.

- "Please don't be angry ?", she added.

Nothing more than a plea. It said so much; her admiration for him, and her fear he might be mad at her. She could not take it, not now, not after Gandalf's loss and their encounter with the beast of Morgoth. She was so vulnerable in this moment. Aragorn was at loss of words, did she really think that he could chastise her for choosing the company's life over her own comfort?

- "You are not at fault. It is I who should have reacted swiftly."

Tears came to her eyes, and they started spilling silently. Anguish seized him at seeing the maiden cry, and he rested his hand over her messy braid to pass on his message. But Frances would have none of it, and she flung herself in his arms, resting her head above his shoulder. Surprised by such a display of affection, Strider relented as she let go of her grief.

- "You have done what is best for us, and brought us to safety. Thank you."

The ranger hugged her for a while, the Valar knew how much she needed it. Securely wrapped into his arms, Frances finally felt safe. And in the depth of her heart, it gave him a little strength as well.

- "Damned be the stubborness of dwarves!"

- "And that of elves!" answered Gimli with humor.

Aragorn stood up, his eyebrows rising at the sudden dispute. What was this racket about?

- "Peace", he cried like a father would have done with naughty children.

But they would have none of it. All members of the company were standing, some unknown tension filling the air as Gimli and Legolas glared daggers at each other. The dwarf was boiling.

- "Those prissy elves, you know what they asked ? They asked that I be blindfolded on the way to their city"

Frances gasped; talk about racism ! The ranger tried to appease both parties, stating that the whole company would go blindfolded as the marchwardens of Lórien required. A good solution to appease tensions, but this time, it was Legolas who protested.

- "I am an Elf and a kinsman here", said the prince of Greenwood with barely concealed anger.

- "Now let us cry a plague on the stiff neck of Elves", retorted Aragorn, his patience growing thin.

His eyes were dark, and Frances would have sworn that after saving all of them he was now considering to kill a few. The Hobbits did not know what to do, and Frodo's face was sombre. And for once, Boromir seemed at loss. The fight and curses went on, until Frances could not take it anymore. Brushing the last of her tears aside, she stood up.

- "Oh Fuck off the both of you!" she finally cried, and all heads turned to stare at her outburst.

She blushed from her poor choice of words. All elves bore a look of disgust on their pretty faces, but the Dunadán was chocked speechless. Frances exhaled slowly to master her boiling veins. Her bandaged hand brushed an strand of hair that had escaped the tight braid, calling the elf's attention.

- "All right. Let us start afresh, I'm sorry for swearing."

Seeing Legolas' pointed look, she added for his sake:

- "Come on! All of you ! And yes, you too master woodland elf. We are a company for god's sake! Have you forgotten the reason why we travel together? Have you forgotten of our losses? Dwarves, men, hobbits, elves... hell even a woman!"

The elf was about to retort when she lifted a finger, her jaw clenched in anger.

- "I am not finished. You are fighting like bloody children...Who among you is ready to overlook our sacred duty? And for what? Are we on the brink of dismantlement? And for What??? FOR PRIDE! For a struggle that none of you remember? Because you don't eat the same bloody food !!! Well..."

Panting, she watched astonishment settle on the company's faces. Gimli, though, watched her with curiosity. The elf, at least, was lookinh at the ground sheepishly.

- "I'm ready to eat whatever is thrown at me", Pippin said.

Poor thing was hungry again. Frances laughed, as did Boromir. Count on the hobbit to ease the tension. But the lady grew serious again, she was not finished and the company knew it. Surprised by this sudden anger, they realized that they had never hear her shout.

- "Well. I'll go blindfolded because such is our predicament. Nearly all of us are strangers here. Hell, I am even ready to go there walking on my hands and singing 'twinkle twinkle little star' if necessary. So now quit quarrelling, and do as they say. "

The cultural reference was lost on all of them, but the hobbits's head hobbled back and forth in agreement.

- "Wise words indeed" concluded Haldir, "even if crudely stated."

- "Don't start", she retorted sternly.

Frances felt that she had talked enough for the rest of her journey, and also a little sheepish for this unwanted outburst. But they had needed the painful foot in the ass there! She was sick of hearing elf and dwarf fight all day long. The flash of anger seemed to have done the trick since all members of the company accepted the blindfold.