To save myself

As Gimli's heavy steps retreated, a voice called Frances back to the campfire. A voice that she'd rather not hear again. Too bad the man couldn't keep silent.

"Do you not cook, Lady Frances?"

Irksome, this one, she thought. Had he not seen her injury? Or was it just a way to make her mad? The young lady turned to the badly behaved ranger, and straightened her spine.

"Only when I have my induction stove" she answered.

The ranger's dark eyebrows rose to his forehead.

"Will you always answer my questions with riddles?"

"I have to admit that I enjoy it immensely."

Ah. He was stunned now. And angered as well. She could see the tension of his jaw, and the sparks his grey eyes sent in her direction. They were nothing like Aragorn's; where his showed wisdom, Halbarad's only reflected the harshness of his character. Around them, several of his men, all dark-haired, were listening to the conversation. One of them, a lad, was trying to stifle a laugh.

"So, if you do no cook. Maybe you can mend shirts?"

Frances stiffened, remembering the last shirt she had mended for Boromir. Her ire grew then, and she snapped harshly.

"Unless you went them to turn Frankenstein."

"If that means no, then what talents do you bring to this company?"

Halbarad was no fool, so he refrained from veiling an insult as to the use of a woman in a soldiers' camp. Especially when she seemed to be in the good graces of most of the men around him. Elf and dwarves included. A few paces from here, the blond prince was ready to bite his head off, his jaw tense. Still, the woman was infuriating. How could they stand keeping such a liability among them?

"Wow, you sure know how to talk to women."

Her icy tone was laced with anger.

"Do not mistake my meaning. You are wounded, and in no position to fight nor to cover great distances. We will accompany our lord Aragorn to war, and it is no place for a girl. Especially a wounded one."

Girl. He had called her a girl. Frances was fuming. He could see it from her clenched fist and the hard look on her face. Yet, Legolas did not dare defend her. In his own way, Halbarad was right. Only death awaited her. Couldn't she see it too? No, of course, she was too stubborn to relent. And he knew what was coming. Frances would lash out, her words unforgiving, before draping herself in her dignity. She could be, sometimes, so immature. The elf let his gaze drop to his knees; his hands were trembling. Why was he so angry with her?

"My decisions are my own." Eventually came her stern reply. "So get a wife; she'll quench your thirst for domination."

Suddenly, Halbard was standing, a dangerous gleam shining in his eyes. Frances refrained from shifting further away from him. She did not want to show him how frightening he could be through his rage.

"I have a family. And it is to protect them that I fight!"

Frances's face softened, and the elf saw a pang of regret in her gaze.

"All right, it's no use getting all emotional. Aragorn will decide, and we will follow."

The ranger's eyes darted behind her. Aragorn, chieftain of the Dunedain, was exiting his tent and coming their way.

"Let us settle the matter at that."

As he sat back, a mischievous gleam shone in the lady's eyes.

"And no, I'm not mending your shirt. You don't have to look pretty and stuffed up to meet a bunch or orcs."

A few snickers greeted the last sentence, some of them coming from behind Frances. Elrohir and Elladan, especially, had been having quite some fun witnessing the exchange.

"Aye, sweet lady. Sometimes I forget how you sting."

The twins plopped down around her, and soon conversation took over.

The prince of Greenwood, though, was eerily silent. His heart had delivered a warning; the need to preserve himself. This argument, fuelled with anger and pride, had shown a dangerous gleam of Frances. She could hurt, and pretty badly if she so wished. And no matter how hard he had tried to ignore his feelings, the elf was well aware of his infatuation with her. It could go no further. He could not bind himself to a mortal, no matter how incredible.

Frances was dangerous. To him, to his heart and his survival. And she had proven, a few times already, that she did not obey to anyone. Not even to stay safe. If she died … well, the Valar knew what he would do. His kingdom awaited his return, his father longed to see him, and his people… Well, he could not lose himself like this.

Aragorn had joined them around the campfire, and lifted Frances from the log she had occupied until then. They were speaking quietly.

Legolas sighed. Distance would provide him with a little perspective, and the freedom his mind needed to set himself right.

A quick look at Aragorn's weary face shocked him. The ranger looked exhausted. His keen eyes glided then to the young lady by his side. For a short while, her hazel eyes found his. In a silent plea, she told him how worried she was for Aragorn, and her intentions to help him. Then, her gaze came back to the ranger's. Loyal to the core and beyond. Legolas knew that she would do everything within her power for him.

Damn her! They had such a connection than a quick look was all it took for her to share her feelings. And for him to understand. So distance it would be. Legolas jumped on his feet and left the camp.

Frances didn't grant him more than a quick look. Still, she couldn't help but notice how troubled the elf seemed to be. He too, probably condemned the way she had talked to Halbarad. Following Aragorn into his tent, she expected to be hotly scolded. Her surprise was great when the ranger all but sagged on his cot.

"Aragorn!" she cried. "Are you ill?"

"Nay, Frances. But there is much we must discuss, and I am weary to the bone."

"I should get you some tea…"

The young lady was ready to depart, but Aragorn laid a hand on her arm before she could escape.

"The twins brought me some. Let us share it."

He pointed to a little table where a bowl rested. Frances retrieved it, and watched as he slowly drank the hot liquid. Then, he handed it back to her.

"Drink. It will do you some good. You look like you need it."

"Ah. Manners. I have missed that."

Her snarky tone did no escape the ranger, but he let it pass. Frances plunged her nose in the cup, smelling the soothing aroma of herbs before drinking a little. The liquid warmed her from inside. Aragorn patted the place beside him, and asked her to sit.

"Although I am aware that Halbarad has not been very diplomatic, he made a fair point. Do you wish to go on with us?"

There we are, thought Frances, her heartrate increasing. Pink was already flooding her cheeks.

"I am sorry for letting my anger get the better of me. But what he said hurt me deeply."

"Halbarad has known many hardships. He will hardly be swayed in his vision of the world. Yet, he has been a good friend to me for many years. Were his questions so unwarranted?"

"No!" cried Frances, standing up in haste and nearly falling down in the process. "No, and that is the problem. You very well know that I am useless to you in such a state! I might as well have you killed in the next battle!"

"Frances. We have talked about it in Edoras. Wounded or not, you are our companion"

"But Merry will stay with the King, won't he? I am now the weakest of our company."

If she had been able to, Frances would have paced into the tent. But with her stiff leg, she could only stand awkwardly.

"But not the less resourceful."

"Tell me, Aragorn. If it was entirely up to you, what would you decide? About me?"

"There are many doubts in my mind at the moment, but the answer to this is clearer than a mountain's stream. It is not my wish to leave you behind"

Frances' voice failed for a moment, and she drank a bit of the herbal tea before answering.

"Really?"

"I only wanted to ask you if you wished to remain here."

"No way. I swore on oath to this company. I'm staying with you."

Aragorn actually fidgeted in his cot. The worry lines ran deeper than what she remembered, and the dark circles under his eyes showed that he was utterly spent. The ranger let his hands rest on his knees as he bent forward.

"Even if it means walking the paths of the dead?"

"Even if it means leaping from a cliff. All right, been there, done that, it wasn't fun."

At this, the ranger had the grace to smile. Still, his face was set in a grim expression.

"So, what's the path about?"

Aragorn exhaled slowly, his eyes boring into Frances' gaze in research of her soul. He was not disappointed to find her resolve firm. Eventually, the young lady sat beside him. She felt better levelled with him rather than standing above him.

"Will you tell me about it?"

"You might have come across it while you were researching the library…"

Since she had no memory of this tale, Aragorn proceeded to inform her on the message passed on by the twins. Elrond and Arwen alike had said thus; should he be in much haste, he should not fear to take the path of the dead. Wondering why both would be conveying such news, he had consulted the Palantir. As this, Frances started.

"Are you nuts? This is why you look utterly spent! That thing has drained all the energy from you."

Had he been in better shape, the ranger might have been affronted. But overall, the young woman was not totally wrong.

"Yes, but I gained the knowledge that I was seeking. Gondor is about to be attacked by the corsairs of Umbar, to the far south of the Anduin. If we cannot prevent this attack, Minas Tirith will be besieged from both north and south. It will be ruined."

"So this path, it is a shorter road? Could we make it in time?"

"Yes. We may. If the dead let us pass."

Aragorn expected Frances to shudder, or shriek in terror, or swoon altogether. Even the Rohirrim started trembling when Dimbolt was mentioned. Little did he know that in her past musing with Mulder and Scully, she had met her share of entities and ghosts. So instead, she pried for some information.

"The dead, I can deal with. It's the living that worry me. Tell me about them all."

Her brown eyes were resolved. If he went that way, then so would she. For sure, she was not going to like it. But hey, what were friends for?

Half an hour later, Frances was trying to wrap her head around the concept of the accursed army. In truth, she felt bad for them. Waiting three thousand years under a mountain because they had broken an oath once. Damn. Isildur must have been quite angry … and not very forgiving. Still, she could understand his rage. How any of his men had died because of their betrayal. A few reinforcements were sometimes all it took to turn the tide of a battle.

And now, the time had come when they could, with their little number, do so again. Aragorn wielded the blade of Isildur. Anduril, flame of the west, has been reforged from the fragments of Narsil. If one man could survive to take this path, he was the one. Still, it was a risky move. But no riskier than charging into battle with no reinforcements.

Frances had to refrain from shuddering. All this talk of cursed souls and lifeless mountains had made her blood chill. Or was it dusk slowly overtaking the camp? She could not tell. Still, she knew that her night would probably not be restful. Aragorn's eyes were on her, never leaving her face, and he saw the fear in her expression, the sagging of her shoulders. So, it was with great surprise that she told him.

"All right, when do we leave?"

His eyebrows lifted in surprise.

"Will you come still?"

"Sure. I won't like it, but I will come. I've seen my lot of ghosts in the past…"

"You have ?"

His exclamation was strong enough to call the other rangers to attention. Fortunately, none dared intruding in their chieftain's tent.

"Yes. Ghost and other things. Yucky things. Anyway… Departure?"

Her relaxed demeanor puzzled him just as much as her strange manner of speech. Still, it felt good to feel her confidence in this. If the Keeper of Time had affronted ghosts before, it bode well for them all.

"I will depart tomorrow at dawn with the Grey Company. Hopefully, Legolas and Gimli will follow."

"Like you could prevent them from doing so…"

Aragorn's lips quirked upright. It was the closest to a smile that his weary mind could allow.

"I'm in. And please, don't leave me behind. I have trouble waking at dawn, send Elladan to shake me up if you must. Not Elrohir please, he might as well throw a bucket of icy water on my sleeping roll."

"Yes. For sure he would be capable of doing this. Thank you, Frances. It means a lot that you would stay by our side."

The young lady blinked; she couldn't help but notice how tired Aragorn looked. And there was something else gnawing at him. Self-doubt probably. As the Keeper of Time prophesied to fulfil whatever she was supposed to do, she felt compelled to stick with the remainder of the fellowship. And as a friend to Aragorn, there was no hesitation to have. Little did she know that her support, her undying faith in his actions allowed him to hold on.

His name, Estel, weighted sometimes too heavy for his shoulders. People looked up to him to keep their hopes high. But there were not many to maintain his own morale. Aragorn was, in the end, but a man. A strong, stubborn and determined man with a long lifespan and mighty ascendants. But a man nonetheless. This impending doom felt so close to crushing them all under his paw; still Frances believed in him. She and Arwen who had sent a banner woven from her hands.

"I have something to show you", he said, helping her stand up.

"Another bit of bad news?"

Aragorn smiled. A few moments later, Frances contemplated the magnificent work of the lady Arwen. On a dark blue cloth, she had woven the white tree, the symbol of Gondor. Upon it rested a crown of gold and mithril thread, shining even if the feeble light of the tent. Seven stars floated above it, the gems embedded in the fabric symbolising the return of the King.

"Arwen wove it in secret, and sent it through her brothers."

His grey eyes were shining from unshed tears, his love for Arwen so brilliantly answered.

"There now, I told you so. Instead of travelling to the grey havens, she was working on your banner, thinking about you."

"Yes. You told me so, and gave me hope when I had none."

The young lady allowed her fingers to trace the lines representing the white tree of Gondor, her thoughts joining Arwen in her solitude.

"And from what I see, there is nothing stronger than your love. Her work is of overwhelming beauty."

"I will never cease to be amazed by her talent. What comes out of her hands is stunning, yet ever more so to me because of what it represents."

Frances smiled, a tear trying to escape her eye as she contemplated Arwen's work. What token could ever be more moving than this one? In this banner was displayed everything that Aragorn stood for. The return of the king, of the white tree, and the stars in the sky.

Love in its purest form.