Stranded

In the fort, Aragorn was fuming. Retreat had seen too few of them back safe, and it would not last long; a few hours at the best. Wary to the bone, the ranger waited for his companions to report. All of them had taken serious blows, but they could not bend now. If they gave up then there was no future whatsoever for The Rohirrims. However, his anger at the king for being so stubborn was rising. Still, he surveyed the door as well as Théoden's figure. What would they do now?

At last, Gimli and Legolas came back, their faces sombre. Aragorn's relief was short-lived, and his heart leapt in dread. In three steps, he was facing them, his face lined with worry.

"Where is Frances ?"

Blue eyes met grey, and for a moment Aragorn thought the elf was going to collapse. He said no word, shaking his blond head, defeated. The ranger's voice was shaking as he turned to Gimli's slightly misty eyes.

"When last have you seen her?"

The dwarf swallowed :

"Before the wall flew off. I caught a glimpse of the lass on the far side. Legolas wanted to fetch her after they rang the retreat, but even his keen sight couldn't find her. I had to drag him back inside the wall before they closed the doors."

Stunned, Aragorn left his arm slide on the dwarf's shoulder for support. Gimli's hand braced his forearm, overcome by wariness. What were the chances of Frances being still alive? Had she been projected by the blast? Had she died at the hands of the Uruks? Had she escaped somewhere in the caves? Doubt gnawed at him like a snake hissing in his ear.

"I should have sent her to the caves", Aragorn said, releasing the dwarf's arm.

"Aye. But I doubt she would have obeyed."

Gimli's words were strangely comforting. Still, Aragorn could not prevent from feeling guilty. From the day he had found Frances outside weathertop, he had been the one protecting her. Not once he had left her out of her sight outside the safe city of Imladris. What would Lord Elrond say? And Arwen, sweet Arwen, could she forgive him for this foolish mistake? To let Frances fight in such a hopeless battle when he had been able to turn Eowyn's plea down?

For a moment he thought about letting go. A quick look at the elf's desperate features spoke aloud that grief was threatening to take him. If Gimli looked shocked, it was nothing comparable to Legolas's haggard expression. His despair was so overwhelming that Aragorn nearly staggered. Something had obviously happened after he fell from this cliff, something that had strengthened the bond between elf and lady. And now this fresh new link had been severed, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake.

Straightening, the ranger dug out his last piece of determination. It was not time to give in, all those years he had prepared for the last battles, knowing fully that companions and good men would be lost. He needed Legolas more than ever; he was a formidable fighter. They could not afford to have him in a haze. The ranger gathered his poise; it was the moment for Aragorn, son of Arathorn, to prove his worthiness. So the ranger went to King Thédoen and, talking him into a suicidal sortie, knew that his faithful companion would follow. There was still hope … And if there was none, they would at least give the Uruk's time to regret it.

Frances fell into slumber, her body stuck uncomfortably inside the cracks. Rock spines dug into her flesh and her muscles were failing. Comatose took over her trembling limbs. Drenched to the core, her body was quickly falling in temperature but she was too exhausted to care. She'd handle the fever in the aftermath, if she lived to see it.

Harsh voices filled the air as they took over the place and eradicated the last pouches of resistance that stood between them and victory. Repeated vibrations came to her ears, the sound echoing all over the valley as the battering ram slowly attacked the last standing gate of the fortress. It lasted forever. Boom, boom. Like impending doom knocking at the front door, delivering the deadly message. Boom, Boom. Its blows made her body recoil in fear.

Who, among her friend, still lived into the fortress ? How long would they last under the assaults of Saruman's wrath ?

And then something else echoed on the cliffs, a vibrant sound that seemed to come from the mountain itself, like a call to raise its spirits.

Frances' eyes popped open. Dawn was near, a shy light that illuminated the scene like a curtain of pink and gold. As the deep rumble echoed again all over the valley, Frances realised that it was the hornburg being sounded. Partially extracting from her crack, totally awake now, she opened wide eyes as the heavy wooden gate of the fort burst open… from the inside !

The battering ram was crushed to the side, orcs squashed behind the heavy doors. The sight flooded her chest with renewed determination, and she watched, mesmerized, the cavalry charge crush its enemies below their hooves.

She could not believe her eyes ! King Theodén, Eomer, Aragorn and Legolas were riding hard against the crowd of Uruks, the speed of their stallions throwing the beasts out of the way as they slashed hard into them. It was an incredible sight, them charging like furies into the sea of darkness. Hopeless, too.

Where was Gimli ?

The light intensified, and she felt something different than the sun merely rising. It was the morn of the third day, and it seemed like Gandalf had finally come and fulfilled his promise.

The first rays of sunshine brought with them hundreds of Rohirrims atop the hill. And leading them was the white rider !

Pounding hooves caused the ground to tremble, and the remaining riders diving like one in the sea of Uruks that awaited them, spears sprang forward. Frances gaped; she'd never seen a cavalry charge, let alone this great clash of light against darkness. It was a brutal sigh, and an inspiring one.

Unfortunately, dawn had sold her position; a few Uruks had spotted her. She had no idea if those guys could climb up but they could throw knives and arrows damn well enough to get her in the crack. The crevice was nowhere near deep enough to shield her. "Damn be metamorphic rocks," she thought. Had it been calcite, she could have found a cave to hide and settle for a week. But those sturdy rocks did not suffer much from the elements, hence keeping their integrity. Easier to climb, but impossible to use as shelter.

One last look on the battle field told her that the tides were turning. Her chest expended in joy. There was hope for her friends yet ! Time to move; maybe with the confusion she could slip unnoticed and join their forces. The first step she took was uneasy, her muscles being cold and sore from the night's battle.

"Damn it," she swore as she couldn't find a proper hold.

Climbing down was always much more difficult than going up, and life was cynical enough to send her a little reminder. At school, she had always used the cord. In the light's day the fall was impressive, and she refused to look down. One misstep and death would be greeting her; one last cold embrace. Frances took her time, hands shaking from the strain, the cries of the battle filling her ears. There were fewer shouts from men and more yelps from those ghastly beasties. Good.

Most of the Uruks were now engaging in battle with the massive cavalry that Gandalf had brought in reinforcements, and the piece of wall below her was clean enough to attempt an escape. Panic was spreading fast along the ranks of Saruman and there would be no better occasion. As she made her way down, the few beasts that had spotted her were already disappearing in the crushing force that was the angry Rohirrims.

Frances reached the bottom of the cliff on wobbly legs. Shivering, she looked around her. There was none alive to cross her path, the wall littered with bodies, elves, men and orcs sprawled upon the blood-stained stones. Underneath the great wall raged a great battle where horses seemed to swim amongst a darkened tide. Little by little, the orcs started to flee. A few ones at first, followed by many, many more. And at the bottom of the valley, where only earth and dirt littered the ground the day before, now stood a forest. A deep forest with huge, menacing trees that seemed to advance on their own.

Frances rubbed her eyes for a second. Had she gone nuts? Pinching herself, she realised that she was, indeed, very awake, and very sane. Well, sort of. Her cheek strung, and so did her side. But apart from the occasional bruise and cut, nothing was broken. Walking slowly, the young lady avoided corpses as she progressed, closing the distance to the flight of stairs. Suddenly, a longing noise similar to whales' songs rang in the valley. In the distance, the trees started moving on their own, as if they were fighting their own battle. Legolas had spoken about those shepherds called Ents. Was it a battalion of Ents that answered their plea?

In that case, they were fortunate that the forest fought on their side. Nature, in all its glory, could never be defeated. But luck could only grace one for a while. A blinding pain suddenly assaulted her leg. Crying out, Frances fell to the ground, white spots dancing before her eyes.

"Hi there pretty thing," said a rough voice.

A foul smelling Uruk was smiling at her, his blade slick with blood, her blood. The orc lay sprawled on the floor, incapacitated by a wound to his stomach that should have killed him already. But those things were stronger than any foe.

Frances tried to focus, the pain so raw that it threatened to knock her out. If she did, she was as good as dead. Slowly, with a predatory smile, the huge Uruk crawled over her. His sheer weight was crushing her other leg, she was trapped!

Panicking, the young woman fought like a crazy cat, giving wild blows to the beast already weakened by his own wound. Finding her dagger, she slashed several times, her movements erratic. The Uruk howled in pain, and lifted himself on top of her with the intend to deliver a mighty blow to her head. Frances took her last chance, slashing at his neck just below the helmet with a cry. The disgusting beast gurgled, black blood spreading upon her. His fist eventually hit the stone a few inches from her face while the bulky form ceased to breathe. The Uruk's dead body covered her.

Frances tried to push him, squirming desperately to get free. But the Uruk wouldn't budge. He was so heavy, the armour so thick, and his blood splattered on her hands made them slick. Her chest, crushed under the weight, started to constrict as panic took over. Salty tears started to pour from her eyes as she cried for help, pushing away the horrible beast to keep him from covering her face. The wound from her leg throbbed, the pain irradiating from her tight to her stomach. It was a matter of second before it engulfed her into oblivion. Already, she felt the fire spread through her nerves.

Frances couldn't breathe. No matter how much she tried to gulp, her chest would not heave. Her hands pushed, and pushed again at the body covering her. To no avail. Within moments, the long, delicate fingers stopped moving. Her left arm went limp on the ground, paler than any other on the bloody stone floor.