Ambushed

Everything had happened so quickly; the battle was already over when her sleepy brain awakened fully. A firm hand restrained her as she jumped from her bedroll. A few words were exchanged in elvish, the sweet chanting tones barely disturbing the silence. Even if she could not make up the words, the young lady froze, understanding the need for silence and stillness.

The hand lifted from her shoulder and Frances caught her breath, sending her senses forth to scan the area. Several dead orcs lay dead on the improvised battle field, their blackened blood scattered amongst the grassy slopes of the holy wood. Albeit all creatures of the dark lord seemed incapacitated, tensions still oozed from the company of cloaked wardens. To anybody the change would have been imperceptible between a wary elf and the common expression they usually wore, but Frances could feel it nonetheless. It was a sixth sense she had always had and it was a part of her.

Everything spoke of danger. It could have been their postures or the intensity with which the marchwarden scanned the surroundings that gave it away; she could simply feel it in her bones. Something was coming. She had never seen elves being so focused, so acutely waiting. It was like impending doom was upon them, the tension so thick that it made her bones ache. Exhaling slowly, she waited, opening her senses to whatever was coming. A growing sensation of evilness slowly crept under her skin, the little hairs over her nape standing on their own.

A loud screech tore the silence and Frances nearly jumped out of her skin. The light bulb lit up in her brain. It was this unbearable noise that had woken her up, this frightening scratch of nails over a chalkboard. Dread filled her body with its claws. She knew ... she knew that whatever was coming was worse than anything she had faced before, potentially worse than her recent encounter with the Nazgûls. But how could it be so, when the ringwraith brought such despair with them? What could possibly be worse than the evil ghosts?

For a moment – eternity ! - nothing happened, and the waiting would have been enough to drive her mad had it not been for the comforting presence of the elf beside her. The guard, whose name she had already forgotten, stood still, his sword at the ready. The characteristic shuffle of scattered leaves was heard, quickly closing in around the isolated group of marchwardens. Whatever came in their direction was moving very fast for nothing else than shadows could be seen in the golden forest.

Another loud screech.

In a blur of crunched golden leaves a dark mass descended upon them at frightening speed. Only a reflex saved her from being struck down by a wandering appendix as she leapt aside and drew her sword. The blade slid over a solid filament that rung with a metallic sound, the elvish weapon biting scales. As she regained her footing, the creature gave a horrible high-pitched noise. And then she saw it.

A gigantic spider faced her, its ugliness having nothing to envy to the horror movies of her childhood. With its scaled legs and rounded body hanging in between, the dark creature was the scariest animal she had ever seen. Her arachnophobia kicking in immediately, Frances could not even scream and she found herself totally paralysed by the sight. Unfortunately, the monster before her wasn't humanophobic and ready for a counter attack.

Frances could not breathe, she could not move... it was a nightmare. The creature played its fangs in anticipation, and she lifted her sword by reflex. The blow landed true, thank goodness for Glorfindel's blade, effectively slicing through the beast. Frances yelled at the top of her lungs, terrified.

Helpless.

The spider would have hacked her into pieces if a guard had not shown up. The rest of the fight was a blur, but Frances could not remember any of it. She crouched in a corner of the talan, trying to take as little space as possible, hiding shamelessly as the marchwardens battled fiercely. Why had she insisted on accompanying them? It was such a horrendous sight, those eight legs still moving around as spider's heads were severed from their bodies.

Somebody was shaking her shoulder insistently. Frances was so afraid to lift her eyes, dreading what she would see. Her sensible mind was no longer in control, sending waves of images that plagued her nightmares. It had been a long time since spiders had populated her dreams; it would be a while before she slept properly. She'd tamed so many fears in the course of her travels, but arachnophobia stuck to her like glue.

Legolas kept talking but she did not react. The Prince frowned, worried. He checked up limbs and skin for any wound without shame. Now was not the time for propriety. Nothing. Frances was shaking so badly that her teeth shattered. It didn't make sense: she had fought wargs, goblins and even seen a Balrog without faltering. But now, now she was trembling in fear and not even acknowledging his presence.

Gimli climbed up the Talan noisily, complaining about the horrid beasts and the gore they had left on his armour. But when his face caught sight of his friends he blanched.

- "Is she harmed?"

- "It does not seem so," answered Legolas, "although I could not check thoroughly."

The elf couldn't possibly undress her to see any part of her frail body; he feared she has been stung by one of the poisoned hairs of the spider.

- "Then what are you waiting for?" asked the dwarf.

Haldir, usually so collected, raised one of his eyebrows in wonder. Would the Prince of Greenwood assent to undress a lady?

- "Haldir" asked Legolas. "Do you know the effect of Spider's poison? Are you familiar with the ailing if would bring upon a human body?"

- "I am not. But nor have I seen such an ailment amongst my troops. I would expect a fever to appear after some time but not so quick."

Elves and dwarf discussed the matter for some time; they were at loss about what to do.

In the meantime, Frances was trying very hard to gain control over her body. She'd never convulsed to badly and didn't know how to snap back to reality. Their voices echoed around her, but the phobia was eating at her mind. Little by little, she tried to make sense of what they were saying. The presence of her friends should have been enough to shake her from the maze. Yet, never before had she endured such a fright.

Surprisingly enough, it was the scent of pinewood that brought her back. It called upon her memory, reflecting on happier days where the Prince of Greenwood had lingered by her side. Even in Moria which darkness smelt like death, his presence had brought his light fragrance, bringing a little freshness into the world.

Frances was still shaking like a leaf, her thoughts becoming a little less incoherent. She heard the voice of Gimli, the strong sound rolling through her body. Beside her was a reassuring presence ; the elf, his hand locked on her forearm. Her back was propped on a tree trunk, but no doubt that Legolas's grip would have prevented her from falling anyway. He was clutching her arm so tightly that it was beginning to throb.

- "Just bring her back to Aragorn already!" came Gimli's antsy voice. "He'll know what to do. Obviously, she has lost her mind."

- "Do not speak so Gimli!" chastised the Prince. "That is unusual for sure but surely something has happened, something beyond our grasp."

- "Beyond or not there is not much that we can do. Even HE doesn't know what to do!"

Legolas sighed, sending an uneasy look to the marchwarden. Truth be told, Haldir had to admit that the dwarf was right. They had never faced such a predicament. He had opposed the lady's presence in the first place anyway, and this was all the proof he needed.

- "The border patrol is indeed no place for her," he said bluntly.

His smug face was too much to bear, and for once, dwarf and elf felt alike. The two companions glared daggers and the marchwarden. Frances had trained so hard, sparring with Boromir, and even Aragorn who was never soft on her, training with bows and arrows countless hours until her aim had improved tenfold, exercising on her own with the elvish blade. Years of practice would make her an accomplished fighter, but she lacked neither courage nor strength of character.

- "I assure you that she is a very capable warrior," answered Gimli stubbornly.

- "I have yet to witness such feats."

Had he not been gripping Frances' arm so ferociously, Legolas Greenleaf would have stood to full height and glared at the insult. But he did not dare letting go lest she tumbled over the edge. Yet, his response was icy.

- "She attacked the ringwraiths, a feat marchwardens have yet to do."

- " ... on her own," finished Gimli.

Haldir pursed his lips but he refused to relent. Before he could retort any unfeeling comment, a feeble sound cut his musings, only heard by the elves.

- "Not ... fight," came Frances' shattered voice.

That was the first intelligible sound she had uttered since they found her, and Legolas's eyes widened in relief. That was proof that her mind was still here, wasn't it? He had not realised before, but the elf was terrified that the beast had somewhat tainted her soul, or crushed it altogether. Sauron's minions were aplenty, and there were no limits to the evil they could spread.

- "I beg your pardon lassie?" asked Gimli.

Frances' eyes were trying hard to refocus, and her mind was still a mess.

- "Do not fight"

It sounded like an order. Trust Frances to chastise a prince and the marchwarden of Lothlórien so. Haldir could not believe the nerve of the lady ! By her side, Prince Legolas was fidgeting over the maiden. He did not mind being ordered around...

Frances really had a hard time not losing herself into the contemplation of Legolas' worried gaze. His soft hands seized hers, the warmth of his skin permeating hers in a disturbing manner.

- "What happened? Are you injured?"

The elf's voice was filled with worry. She tried to sit up, and his arms came around her to steady her. They were warm and peaceful, bringing a little sanity into this phobic nightmare. She seemed to think for a while, her features lost in concentration. The Prince frowned at this. How worrisome that she needed to think before assessing her own body's wounds.

- "No... It seems not."

The spider had died before any harm had befallen on her body. But to her spirit a fair amount of damage had been done. How many years of therapy awaited her? Who would believe her, on earth ?

Blasted beasties! No matter how hard Frances tried to still her body, her limbs still trembled from the memory. The adrenaline rush had come and gone, leaving her very vulnerable. Despite her exhaustion, the simple thought of closing her eyes was terrifying.

Whispers called her back to reality, along with the sudden absence of two reassuring arms. Frances shuddered, feeling the loss keenly. A quiet conversation in Sindarin was happening just below the Talan. The marchwarden was discussing the matter with his brothers and most trusted lieutenants; they decided that she should return to Caras Galadhon.

Frances felt immensely bad for her seizure, and assured them that she would find her way. But her friends would have none of it. Truth be told, Gimli was getting bored ; their encounter with the spiders was the first confrontation they had faced in three days. Better to rest in the pointy ears' forest that to hunt for nothing. As for Legolas, he brushed the matter aside very quickly. His growing friendship with the dwarf was an excuse enough for him to accompany the members of the fellowship, but in reality he was worried to death by the young lady's fit.

Fortunately, there were not really far from Caras Galadhon, a day's walk at the most. A worrysome fact; never before had they suffered such an incursion, and reports of Orcs roaming free in the forest was very unsettling. Once Frances had regained the ability to stand, the three companions bid goodbye to their guides and the marchwarden's company. They made good time, walking steadily over the mossy paths Lothlórien. They were a delight to tread, so soft under her feet.

As they progressed Legolas and Gimli's chatter filled the air, the Prince's words soft and teasing, the dwarf's answers loud and rumbling. Had she not been so preoccupied, Frances would have relished in their friendly banter. Their constant fights during the first course of their long journey had severely grated on her nerves. Unfortunately, her mind was still seriously injured and she set walked mechanically.

Lost in her thoughts, fearing the upcoming night, Frances did not utter a single word. After asking her if she was well without receiving anything more than a brief nod, neither dwarf nor elf dared intruding on her privacy. For hours, they went, and the silence became an impenetrable wall in which she draped herself. The more it dragged on, the less she felt in contact with reality. Frances had closed the doors of her mind and her face wore this impenetrable mask of nothingness.

They finally reached the outskirts of the city, and Legolas stood in awe of the beauty of the lights hanging in the trees. They had spent of fortnight already in this legendary place, but Caras Galadhon always took his breath away. Gimli for once was silent as they marched, respecting the contemplative mood of his elf friend. No matter how loud and stubborn he could be, the dwarf was very perceptive. Frances paused beside the Prince of Greenwood, waiting for him to start walking again. At last they passed in front of the tree that harboured the guest dwelling, and she turned from them without a second thought.

- "Good night," she said, and was gone.

Elf and dwarf stood motionless, dumbstruck by what had just happened.

- "This is not good laddie," finally said Gimli.

Legolas silently shook his head in defeat.

- "I fear you are right my friend, let us fetch Aragorn."

- "Aye, if someone can help her, it is he"

The ranger was found, and immediately took off to the lady's quarters. Her room was empty; he came back to camp with a worry lines on his forehead.