Durin's song

It was for the last dinner before the fellowship's departure that Frances had to bow to Arwen's wishes, and she spent more than two hours in the elf maiden's care who carefully brushed and braided her hair in elven fashion. Wincing whenever one of her strands refused to cooperate, the young woman could not help but wish that she would stop keeping promises. Arwen apologized profusely each time she pulled on a loose strand, but her good manners prevented her from swearing. It however was not for lack of envy. She had dismissed Frances' warning and was now struggling with her hair. The texture was smooth enough – not like elven hair but she was a second born - but still, every strand seemed to have a will of its own. Needless to say that the ever patient Evenstar was getting frustrated at disciplining them.

- "I told you my hair tends to grip, Arwen. You really don't have to… ouch !"

Arwen smirked. There, it should keep Frances from speaking out of turn again. Obstinate and focused, the elf maiden did not accept defeat, and after a few hours' work she sat contentedly, swearing that she would never touch human's hair again even if her life depended on it. Apart from Estel, that is

As Frances shook her stiff neck and turned to Arwen, the elf's mouth twisted in a satisfied shining smile. The effect of her crowned French braid was perfect on the young lady's oval face, and the few strands she had let free in front framed her features and broke the severity of the hairstyle. She took one of Frances' hand in hers and led her to the mirror where she could contemplate the work. Her gasp was the best of compliments.

The Keeper of Time stood, unmoving, trying to recognize herself in the polished silver surface. The top of her hair had been braided around on the first third of her head, and the braid turned around in itself like a tiara and was snatched to her skull with silver hair pins that glittered like the moonlight. A single white flower had been added for the effect, its stem buried into the twisted strands that ran loosely around the braid. The rest of the mass was left flowing, the natural wavy form contrasting with the strict arrangement at the top, but some silver ribbons ran along the length, creating a contrast with the deep reddish color.

- "So what do you think?", asked Arwen, impatient like an elfling.

- "This is… it looks incredible", said Frances, dumbfounded by the skill of the maiden

As a brilliant smile illuminated the elf's face, making her glow even more than usual, Frances pulled her close and hugged her.

- "Thank you, Arwen, I was never taken care of this way…"

- "Really?, that is indeed a pity for it suits you well."

The slight twinkle in the Evenstar's grey eyes taught her that it had been a tough struggle. Once the hairstyle completed, Arwen sent her back to her room to get dressed by a maid.

Dinner was magnificent, as always in the Last Homely House. People feasted like never, knowing that this gathering would probably never be seen again. Some melancholy hung in the air, called by the parting of wounded souls. Frances, seated next to Arwen this time, received her share of compliments. With her hair done like a princess, and the light blue dress that had been adjusted to her frame, she nearly felt at home. The absence of the twins, though, put a damper on her mood.

Estel, seated in front of them, participated in the festivities with a wrinkled brow. He knew that Frances would accompany them on this fearful quest, and could not overcome his reluctance in the matter. The young lady had called something very deep inside of his chest, the lack of siblings maybe.

At least, Arwen had chosen to stay in Rivendell for his sake. It was not from lack of courage though, but her wisdom far exceeded anyone's sight in the matter. His beloved knew better than anyone that she would be a distraction, and that Aragorn needed to know her safe if he was to fulfill his destiny. The choice wasn't easy, but she embraced it nonetheless. How wise the daughter of Elrond!

Songs and music kept them awake for many hours in the hall of Fire, and Frances drank their beauty with rapture. A few elvish words rang a bell in her mind, and she recognized the tale of Lúthien Tinúviel. Her Sindarin was improving. Beside the great fire, the people of Imladris showed their true heart, and enchanted the minds of many. Gone were the stern nature and serious looks as they sang. Nowhere on earth would Frances ever find such beauty, but it would be kept alive in her heart.

And when eventually, another song started, the young woman couldn't help but stare at the fire with a furrowed brow. The voices, deep and sorrowful, were so very different from usual. They only hummed, and Frances could already pick at least two different tunes. Puzzled, she turned to Bilbo. The old hobbit's face was split by a large smile, both of his wrinkled hands resting upon his cane.

- "tis the song of Durin. Hush now, listen"

And listen she did, started to realise that she could indeed understand the lyrics. Bilbo would explain, later, that Khuzdul was a secret language and never spoken outside the community, hence the common tongue. The whole company of dwarves now sang the first days of Durin, one lead following the melody as the others produced a background. There was no music needed, for the strength of those voices created a harmony so strong that it turned Frances' heart.

" The world was young, the mountains green,

No stain yet on the moon was seen,

No words were laid on stream or stone

When Durin woke and walked alone »

Another dwarf picked up the singing, one with such accent that it reminded her of scottish highlanders.

" He named the nameless hills and dells

He drank from yet untasted wells »

Beside her, Frodo sat his wide blue eyes mesmerised by the shadows that danced in the Hall of Fire.

" He stooped and looked in Mirrormere,

And saw a crown of stars appear"

And two more here, starting where his fellow dwarf had finished, with a voice so deep that Frances shuddered on her seat.

" As gems upon a silver thread,

Above the shadows of his head »

More voices joined the first as the rhythm picked up, and the melody washed through her like the roll of a gentle sea, deep, huge waves who moved her from head to toe. They spoke of Nargothrond and Gondolin, of western seas and the elves' paradise far in the west. Carried away by the song, Frances failed at noticing how Glorfindel, Lord of the golden flower, shuddered at the mention of his former home. Neither did she understand why tears suddenly prickled at the corner of her eyes, dismissing the emotion to the beauty of the song. Elves had joined the singing now, adding their voices to the Dwarven choir in such a polyphonic and spontaneous harmony that Frances swore she could never hear something so beautiful again. A few women, then topped it with their soprano voices so effortlessly that she was nearly jealous.

They seem to respond to each other, speaking of hammer and blazes, carvings and stones in Khazad Dum. When the back and forth of couplets eventually quietened, the dwarves' voices were the only one that remained to conclude the song.

" The world is grey, the mountains old,

The forge's fire is ashen-cold;

No harp is wrung, no hammer falls:

The darkness dwells in Durin's halls;

The shadow lies upon his tomb

In Moria, in Khazad-dûm.

But still the sunken stars appear

In dark and windless Mirrormere; »

The last two sentences were uttered by voices so profound, so deep that Frances could only close her eyes in sorrow. When had Khazad Dum become Moria ? There was so much she didn't know about Middle-Earth yet.

" There lies his crown in water deep,

Till Durin wakes again from sleep. »

Waking from sleep ? Did the dwarves think that During would wake again ? Did they believe in reincarnation ? Why did this song shake her so much ? Unwilling to cross' anyone's gaze, Frances kept her eyes closed, mulling about the significance of such a song. How she wished she could record it and play it back a thousand time. It was so complex, so intricated, so beautiful. Perhaps Bilbo would consent singing it again.

Seated beside the hobbits with her eyes closed, Frances failed at noticing that an observant blond elf was detailing her features. The mystery of her origin wasn't fading, especially tonight since she looked very much like an elven maid. An elven maid, with a very human energy, a human woman moved to tears by a dwarven song…

The next morning, envoys left to reach their respective homes. Of the Greenwood delegation, only the prince Legolas remained at the last Homely house. Of the dwarves, Gimli, son of Glóin greeted his kin goodbye, much to Bilbo's chargin. From that day, the little hobbit became distant and gloomy. And despite her best efforts, Frances had trouble cheering him up, even when she talked about her antics with the twins sons of Elrond. Where were Elrohir and Elladan now ? She had no clue, for Estel had not spoken of it. He had not tried to persuade her to stay in Rivendell either, and she was glad that even if he disapproved, her respected her decision.

The fellowship left one week later, on 25th of December as was planned. Many words of encouragement were shared, but much more was left unsaid. With one last look to Arwen, Estel turned away. With one last look to Rivendell Frances followed him without knowing if she would ever see the city again.