Where time is suspended

On the following day, Frances decided that she would abide by the elves' wishes and made to get to her rooms. Unfortunately, she could not remember her way around the place. They had walked in such a haze on the day before, focusing on not stumbling down to keep a little honour in front of those ever-perfect elves. But Aragorn knew the golden woods from his previous visits, and he offered to take her to the guest quarters.

The ranger was pretty silent as he walked, his face reflecting some sort of melancholy as his grey eyes gazed over the wonders of Lothlórien. But unlike his usual poise, his body was relaxed. Frances could feel this strange out of time mood that should have soothed her as well, but she could not relent just yet. They very forest was unsettling. Every part of it seemed alive and waiting for a reason to awaken. The trees themselves seemed to be watching them, the Dunadán's crownless king and the Keeper of Time. How grand it sounded when in fact Frances was very, very lost. Just a woman, really. Did Aragorn feel that way too ? That his title was too big for his frame ?

They arrived at the bottom of a grey tree and the young woman swallowed back her questions.

- "I believe you can climb the steps to the first level. There should be maids awaiting for you in the common room."

- "Should I join you afterwards in camp?" she asked, suddenly intimidated to be left alone.

Frances did not usually shy away from solitude. In her world, she used to research it quite actively. But after travelling for so long with the fellowship, she had got used to their presence, even Gimli's snoring. Aragorn frowned, visibly unsure about what to answer. In truth he had no idea what to say. He knew not how long the fellowship would stay and a part of him hoped that the young lady would remain in Lórien.

- "You are free to come and go as you please. I will consult with Lord Celeborn today as to the length of our stay. The company is in great need of rest and I think wise to take it while we can. Meanwhile none of us would bear you ill will should you choose to remain in your quarters."

Frances frowned. She had asked what their leader wanted of her, and the only answer she got was that he didn't have any wishes. But Aragorn was probably right. Rest was needed.

- "All right then. Good luck with your meetings."

Her speech must have seemed a tad modern for the ranger gave her a queer look before nodding. Frances watched him as he went, broad shoulders graced with his brownish hair. How much could they hold? Was the fate of the world quite enough? And what of Frodo? The hobbit was a wonder, so frail and yet so sturdy.

Stair after stair, Frances climbed the tree that was supposed to host her for the following nights. She reached a room of branches where carpets and wooden furniture showed off their elven elegance. A soft breeze was the only reminder of its openness for it enclosed visitors in a cocooned space. No one was in sight and Frances made to sit on a beautifully carved bench. But no sooner had her legs touched the wood that an elvish maid entered the room. Had she been so loud?

The maid was beautiful and ageless, a very common trait among the elves. On her face there was no hint of friendliness or disapprobation, only a careful neutral expression. A flash of Legolas' face came to her, and she could not help but compare them. He was so genuine and expressive, merrier.

- "This way my lady," said the maid, and her voice was as light as a feather.

They climbed a few steps on the other side of the room and came upon a lovely carved door. There was no lock on either side of it; it was only a token of privacy. One could easily walk through the slips in the branches; they were only covered by curtains and tapestries. The silken material looked like it would fly away, but it hid the occupants from view. Obviously sound insulation was not even considered. After all, elves were so silent that it made sense. Wait, did elves ever snore? Or sweat for that matter?

The maid opened the room and gathered a neat pile of fabric folded on the bed. And then she took her downstairs. Frances' legs protested against the strain. It was only yesterday that they had walked blindfolded to Caras Galadhon and her muscles were still quite sore. But it made sense that the bath should be found outside. After all, it would have been folly to drag such an amount of water to such height, especially when one had to tiptoe on the stairs rather than weight heavily on them. They seemed so fragile and yet they had probably been there for centuries and seen many guests, some of whom were probably heavier than her.

But elves were weightless, Frances had witnessed it firsthand when Legolas had literally walked on snow. Like this could be possible! The main question, however, was how he did manage to fight like he did. A weightless man should not have been able to hit anything. Inertia was key to give momentum and strength to a blow. But somehow he did, and she had finally gathered that it had to be a conscious effort in this mind. How did it work ? Fascinating all the same.

While her thoughts were being occupied by the trickeries of elves, the maid led her to a secluded area covered in rocks and plants. Some mysterious steam roamed all over the place, transforming it into a strange garden. No one was in sight, and the elleth settled the bundle of clothes on a rock.

- "These are the ladies baths. You can wash your hair with the contents of those pots, and I have left a comb for you to untangle the strands. Will you need assistance while you wash?"

Frances reddened a bit. Of course elven hair didn't become tangled, or caked with blood and mud. But she wasn't used to having people seeing her naked.

- "I will be well on my own, thank you very much."

The sentence seemed much less polite than she intended to, and the maid merely snorted before curtsying.

- "In that case I will go back to my duties. Should you need my assistance I can be found in the common room."

- "Hannon le."

But the maid had already turned around and left, her shoulders tense but her demeanor graceful. Frances sighed. She felt every bit human in her dirty clothes and guilty to have dismissed the elleth so rudely. But the steam garden intrigued her much more. The soft sound of falling water greeted the silence and she observed the scenery before her. A large pool welcomed a light waterfall filling it up with crystalline water. The high banks were made of dark rocks similar to those of Moria.

Very soon, Frances had set aside her travel clothes. Naked, she tested the waters with her foot. It was so warm, it felt fantastic. She had not enjoyed a hot bath since their departure from Rivendell and had to refrain from diving in. Flat rocks covered the ground, devoid of any slippery substances and she knelt into the basin for a while. The slight callous caress under her feet felt marvellous and she let the hot water soothe her aching muscles.

She didn't know there were hot springs in Lothlórien, but given the position of the forest on the edge of the misty mountains it made sense. Frances swam around before finding a soap-like object on the side. She spotted a bucket next to it, and realised her mistake.

- "Ooops"

Like in Japanese Onsen, she should have washed with the soap and bucket before plunging into the waters. She climbed out and filled the bucket several times, removing the grime, dirt and blood and washing it off. It felt like a rebirth. Each parcel of her skin was getting rid of the weariness and the horror of the last days. Once this first step was completed, Frances attacked her hair. Literally. The fight took longer than expected, and at the end her arms ached more that after Moria's fight. And her wrist still throbbed. She would have to ask Aragorn to take a look.

Several buckets of darkened water later, the young lady had finally got a hold over her mane. She disappeared in the hot pool with delight, floating from one side to the other, revelling in the warmth and the atmosphere of the place. Once more a fish, Frances soaked into the hot spring until she felt that her skin would come off.

Frances finally consented to leave. The maid had left soft sheets and a very simple dress. The fabric was heavenly light but it felt good on her skin. She had never seen such clothes. Even with the multiple layers of white and light blue the dress was surprisingly easy to put on. It fit nicely, and she tied up the side laces by herself. A fresh braid crowned upon her head, Frances got her old clothes into a bundle and left. After spending hours in her room, marvelling at the bed, the finery of the sheets and curtains and the beauty of the arches made of trees, her stomach.

Time to explore the city !

After much comings and goings, Frances eventually found the fellowship sharing lunch on a huge table. The hobbits' eyes seemed like they would pop out of their heads such were the dishes presented. They were in a merry conversation on one side of the table, the men and elf more reserved after the shock of Gandalf's disappearance. Each of them coped the way they could, and it seemed like the hobbits needed food for comfort.

- "Am I too late to grab a little food?"

Frances' voice shook the men out of their sad musings, but it was Legolas who recovered the quickest. The flowing dress was typical of elvish clothes, and he wasn't used to seeing her in such garments. But the red hair caught his attention, and soon enough he realised his mistake.

- "Not at all Lady Frances. Please have a seat and share sustenance with us. Your presence can certainly cheer some of us up!"

The Prince of Greenwood looked brilliant in his new tunics, the shade of grey highlighting his own glow. The whole company had given away the old worn-out clothes as well, and even Aragorn looked presentable.

- "Waaa, have you seen Frances? She's wearing a dress!" exclaimed Pippin.

- "That is worth the sight," responded Merry.

- "Should I remind you that I was also wearing one when we met?" she said as she settled on the bench.

The two hobbits shared a look.

- "It had been such a long time, we had forgotten that you can dress like a respectable lady."

- "Should the respectable lady show her wrath at being wronged so?"

Boromir chuckled in his plate, showing the first sign of mirth since their arrival. But the hobbits started to apologise, and Frances cut them off.

- "Never mind, I know what you meant. May I ask what a respectable lady can eat?"

As soon as the words were pronounced, an avalanche of names and descriptions greeted her. Merry and Pippin talked at the same time, sometimes corrected by Sam who could not accept that one ingredient could be mistaken for another, and half of those vegetables unknown to her anyway. On the other side of the table, the Prince of Greenwood was observing her.

The colour of the dress complimented her silhouette, although she had lost quite some weight during their trip. But overall, she did not seem out of place within this elvish garment. For a daughter of men, she certainly had a noble poise. The sadness in her eyes matched the one he saw in Aragorn, and he suspected that his own gaze was somehow darkened by the loss of their companion.

But she smiled at the hobbits nonetheless, looking utterly lost. Legolas took pity on her and interrupted the little ones.

- "What does your stomach yearn for my lady?"

His interruption did not go unnoticed as the whole table fell silent. But rather than being intimidated, the prince gazed into her eyes. Frances maintained eye contact for a while, looking into those blue pool as if he could carry the pain away. His eagerness to help was oddly comforting, and she looked back to the dishes.

- "Uh, something hot would be nice. And then fruits or vegetables, I miss fresh food so much."

Legolas nodded; he also grew tired of eating dried meat and bread on the road.

- "May I recommend this soup? It is very tasty and yet refreshing."

Frances nodded, and thanked him in elvish. Then conversation started again, and the awkward moment was dissipated.