The Entwash

Hours went by. The sun set, ignoring Frances' shifting in an uneasy sleep. Exhaustion had finally taken its toll and her body needed the rest. Her dreams were angsty, brutal even. Many times she roused in a sweat, fighting off a band of orcs that drove her out of her hiding place. She was not fully awake when she realised that she was still safe, and that the forest was clear before she fell into slumber again.

Eventually, when the light of the sun graced her face through the young leaves, Frances arose totally. There were a few dried fruits left, and Lembas as well. Washing them out with a mouthful of fresh water, she took off again. Very soon, there were not trees to hide her path. The immense plains of Rohan faced her, their grass rough and rolling with the gentle relief. It looked like giant molehills had dug the ground.

There was little choice - if she was to reach Edoras - but to walk in the open. She had to cross the plains to the white mountains; there stood the Golden Hall. Aragorn had showed her where the Rohan people dwelled, lifting his finger to designate a particular valley in from afar. With the plains, she would not lose it from sight. Frances congratulated herself for keeping a copy if the map in her backpack; bless her knack for geography !

At last, all this time spent in the library studying middle earth was proving useful. So Frances took off across the grassy hills, trying to find an efficient path between mounts and streams. There was not a tree in sight except for the patch of dark resting at the feet of the misty mountains. She knew this forest to be Fangorn's. And it was quite different to see the trees drawn on a map rather than contemplate it from her own eyes. Shuddering, Frances sighed in relief; it wasn't in her way. After the giant spiders of Lothlorien, she had to admit that dark forests had somehow invaded her nightmares. She was quite content to leave it alone.

As she climbed a hill higher than the others, a series of marshes and rivers appeared southwards. A quick glance at her map informed her that it was the Entwash. With the sun being high in the sky, its waters gleamed so fiercely that it looked like a little sea. The young woman paused, quickly hiding behind the hill and contemplating the shining waters as she ate. Rohan was a rare sight to behold. And compared to her world, so wild and unsoiled. Frances sighed for earth. Why had men been so irresponsible that they had to scar their beautiful dwellings? Sometimes, when Legolas was in the mood, they would speak about their respective cultures. And Frances realised she was ashamed. Ashamed that she participated in wrecking her beautiful planet in her everyday routine. After all, she owned a cell phone and studied to be an engineer.

Another day passed. Slowly, the fear to be discovered by a band or rogue orcs receded. She could see them from far way. Granted, if they ever spotted her, she would have nowhere to hide. But she had the advantage of being quite slender, and wearing her elvish cape. It would conceal her, while their heavy feet ruined the grass. As to now, she had only spotted a rider going to God knows where, far away from her. There had been such a distance between them that she had not even tried to signal her position. Her bow rested gently on her back, waiting to sing should the need arise. At her hips, the elvish sword crafted in Rivendell. Everything needed to keep her safe.

So she went on, making good time even if the hills were somewhat treacherous. A quick look at the rocks told her she travelled on a large area of granite. The rounded mounts were characteristic, and the holes in the ground here and there as well. Grass sometimes grew between the boulders, but it still tended to leave a cracks covered only by dirt. If one was not paying attention, it was fairly easy to sprain an ankle. The riders of Rohan probably knew where they could lead their steeds safely, for such a terrain could result in catastrophic injuries for a horse.

On the second day, Frances came closer to the Entwash. And she had no idea how she could possibly cross it. Granted, the river probably possessed fords here and there, but she had yet to come across a path to guide her. The young lady climbed up a hill higher than the others and extracted her map. She had not detailed much this part of her drawing; the fellowship had not been meant to wander around in the area. Setting aside her piece of paper, Frances closed her eyes and called her memory. Getting back to Elrond's library in Rivendell, she tried to remember the many maps she had studied of the misty mountains and Rohan. For a long time, she rummaged through the numerous drawings popping into her mind, the lines blending together. Eventually, an image came clearer than the others.

Aragorn had shown her once the path Boromir had followed to reach Imladris. After leaving Edoras, he had passed the gap of Rohan to follow the misty mountain's ridge, heading north. Her eyes had lingered on the Entwash strange pattern has it joined the Anduin. The numerous braids of the river had called her curiosity; it usually suited mountain streams better than the plains. It also meant that the ground was harder here than in any other places, dividing the river into fast paced rivers with a shallow depth. There was for sure a way to cross them.

Frances opened her eyes, proud to have found a solution. Never had her memory betrayed her in times of need. And then her eyes lingered on the landscape. Her face fell. Edoras was plain west, while the Entwash's numerous braids stood well in the south. It would take days to travel there, and then follow the ridge of the white moutains ! Had she been heading to Minas Tirith, it would have made sense. She dared not make such a detour. Frances sighed. She would have to find another way. The people from Rohan surely used many fords to roam their own land freely. She just needed to find one.

Sighing, Frances decided to join the Entwash. From here, she would follow its banks, north or south, until she found a good spot to cross. Maybe she would even find a bridge? So she walked, on and on, and by the evening she finally managed to set her aching feet into the river. Its waters were cold, icy even. And they ran with great speed, in haste of joining the mighty Anduin to the south, to the sea… Marvelling at the sigh of the rushing waters under the setting sun, she refilled her waterskin. The young lady camped here, hiding behind a few trees that managed to grow on the sandy banks of the river. Here, the ground was soft enough for their roots to spread and their crown to thrive. Protected by their strong branches, Frances felt safe enough to sleep properly.

The following day started miserably. A slight drizzle woke Frances from her uneasy dreams, soaking her to the core. Heavy clouds had covered the sky as she slept, and they gently rolled with the southern wind. Feeling very wet, the young lady took off. The stupid wind was blowing her cape around her, removing the hood so many times that Frances eventually dropped the issue. Her bare head was already soaked anyway. She walked for hours without stopping, her hands turning white from the cold. Step after step, Frances followed the meanders of the stupid river who didn't know how to flow in a straight line. Many times she had to turn back, stuck in a marsh. In the end, she paused, wondering if she should stay closer to the shore and waste any more time, or take a little distance.

And all this time, her thoughts wandered to the fellowship, or what remained of it. Where were Frodo and Sam now ? Had they escaped the Emyn Muil and its sharp edges ?

Had Gimli, Legolas and Aragorn found Merry and Pippin ? Saved them ? What if… ? No, she should not think of their death. But still… at the hand of the Uruks, how could they possibly survive ?

Eventually the clouds cleared, and Frances danced under the first rays of the sun to call forth a little joy. It was probably mid-afternoon already. With the light, it was much easier to spot the places where the river was shallower. If her luck stayed, she might even start to dry up. Fixing her cloak to the side so that it could flap in the wind, Frances resumed her progression with renewed vigour. The faint heat wasn't strong enough to warm her completely, but at least the dampness was giving way to better conditions.

Not so far ahead, Frances spotted a strange band of cleared dirt. Was it a path she saw ahead? A large smile spread over her tired face.

— "Whoop whoop!" she cried out.

Another cry responded to hers, and Frances whirled around. With the flapping of her cloak, she had failed to hear the presence of anyone else. Friend or foe, it was now too late to escape. Her eyes searched frantically for a place to hide, but the hills were not even remotely caved. So she unsheathed her sword, and took her combat stance.

A white rider was galloping towards her at full speed. His light was so bright that she had issues seeing what he looked like. If his face remained hidden, the noise of the hooves pounding the ground told her that he came fast.

Frances face fell. White light, white cloak… Saruman !

If he captured her, she would have to pray the Valar very convincingly. On the other hand, it might be a way to get Merry and Pippin back. Provided she survived. Suddenly, an idea hit her. Saruman was a great wizard. She could not let him have her necklace. If he laid his hands on the artefact, the Valar knows what he could do? Mess up the worlds together or conquer them all?

Frances detached the rock with haste, and took off uphill in a false attempt to flee. Pretending to fall, she managed to throw the necklace under a rock before sliding up and angling her steps to a slightly different direction. There, no one would know that her artefact slept in this place! However, finding it back would be quite another story. She tried to commit the place to her excellent memory, and prayed that she could, someday, put it in its rightful resting place again.

The rider approached, slowing down now that he knew she had nowhere to go. Trapped, Frances planted her feet in the ground, her sword firmly in hand. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest; she was no match for a wizard, and yet she could not accept to surrender without a fight. Granting one last thought to her family and the member of the fellowship, the young lady prepared herself for her last stand. "Forgive me" she whispered. For sure she would have preferred to die alongside Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli. Boromir even, God rest his soul. But she was alone.

Breathing slowly, Frances lifted her gaze to the intruder.

Her eyes widened in surprise, and she couldn't help but emit an unladylike snort, soon replaced by an incredulous smile. The white rider was clad in an immaculate cape, its brightness complimenting the silver coat of his steed. The Meara, lord of the horses from Rohan, held a royal bearing. With his white rider sitting proudly on top of his mighty back, the sight was incredible to behold. Two legends sharing a common goal. And by the smile that enlightened the features of the rider, he was close to completing his tasks and felt very self-satisfied.

Eventually, Frances found her voice.

— "Gandalf? Straight back from the dead? Or not?"

The wizard smiled, and the light surrounding him seemed to shine brighter as his lips quirked up.

— "Come," he said. "Your friends await you, and we must make to Edoras in haste."

Frances bowed her head in greeting.

— "Which ones exactly? Have you found Merry and Pippin? Are my companions unharmed?"

Gandalf's steed snorted impatiently and the rider patted its neck. Frances furrowed her brows.

— "Actually, are you going to tell me anything at all?"

The wizard laughed this time.

— "We must hurry. Until we find Strider, you will ride with me."

Frances sighed in relief. Aragorn was alive, and even if he was a quiet one, he would tell her more than the lunatic wizard. Said wizard's voice was getting impatient.

— "Get your artefact and gather your pack."

Giving up on the idea to get more explanations, Frances jumped out of her skin. Dumbstruck by the news that Gandalf had eventually survived, she had nearly forgotten about getting her necklace back. Fortunately, it was but a few feet away.

Giddiness overtook her as she mounted behind Gandalf. After losing him and Boromir to death, Frodo and Sam as well as Merry and Pippin to the unknown, the burden had been difficult to bear. Having to abandon the three warrior companions had left her very insecure and depressed. It seemed that now, the tide was turning in their favour. Especially with Gandalf being alive. Or here. Or in any state that he was in.

She could not wait but see their faces!

— "By the way, why are you here?" she asked as Gandalf turned his steed around.

— "But to retrieve you, of course!"

Before the redhead could ask any other stupid question, the wizard urged his horse forward. Shadowfax took off as such speed that Frances nearly got thrown off. Muffling a cry, she bent forward and cast her arms around Gandalf's form. Between the robes and the cape, it was quite hard to finally find the "man" under the clothes. But hey, she couldn't complain too much. At least now she wasn't walking miserably under the rain, and her companion was the greatest wizard alive in middle earth. It was quite an improvement compared to her previous situation.

Frances' heart soared at this change of situation, and she realised how worried she had been until then.

Shadowfax ran, swift like a gush of wind, passing rocks, trees and patches of grass like the TGV back home. If felt like hours during which the only thing Frances could do was to hold tightly to the wizard's form in order not to fall. Every muscle in her body ached from the strain. Her jaws were set in determination, and the young lady was trying very hard not to think about a bath. Oh! A sweet and warm bath to relax her muscles, wash her catastrophic hair and plunge her tunic to remove the unbearable smell of the past days.

Eventually, Shadowfax slowed down.

— "We will pass the ford," shouted Gandalf to be heard across the noise of the hooves.

A moment later, cold water splashed around them as the Meara galloped through the Entwash without even slowing down. Frances squeaked, surprised by the freshness of the river. Her legs were soaked through, but luckily her walking boots were treated against water so it kept her feet dry. She would have to thank the elves for getting her all those fantastic garments. Basically, everything she had on her back had been gifted by Elrond's house, except for the cape from Lorien.

Just as she thought that Shadowfax couldn't get faster, he picked up the pace.

— "He recognises the path to Edoras," commented Gandalf.

— "For sure he does," uttered Frances through gritted teeth.

When would the blasted beast decide to slow down to a walk? It took a little while but eventually, her wish was granted. Frances lifted her head from the wizard's back in curiosity.

— "Hide behind me" Gandalf demanded.

Frances shuddered at the wizard's tone, and yet she felt no tension in his body. She was too tired to fight anyway; even her thoughts were messy. So whatever Gandalf had in mind, she let him do whatever pleased him. Shadowfax slowed down to a trot, and the rider lifted his right hand in salute.

— "I have found what was lost and wandered" he said, his voice rumbling in his chest.

The formulation left Frances with a weird impression. Had she heard it from someone before leaving Imladris ? Her fuzzy mind could not remember what this line was about. Hiding behind Gandalf, she heard someone answer his statement. His low tones were familiar. The sound of hooves battling the path, like a set of horses impatient to set forth, indicated that he wasn't alone. As they came closer, Gandalf suddenly dismounted, leaving her exposed. Frances blinked in the sunset, not expecting her support to disappear without warning.

Three incredulous expressions met her own. And then a familiar dwarf exploded into a mighty cheer.

— "Aye lass! There you go again! Blasted wizards and their riddles, you could have said you went to retrieve her, it would have saved much sorrow to be expressed!"

In front of him, Legolas elbowed him to the ribs. And yet his expression was nowhere near embarrassment. His blue eyes were alight with such awe that Frances would have loved to take a picture. Never had she seen such a brilliant expression.

An overwhelming feeling greeted the prince of Greenwood, a discomfort he had never felt before. His chest was constricting. The elf dismounted, jumping gracefully from his steed to greet Gandalf. His voice caught in his throat, and he had to concentrate to utter a few words.

— "Thank you," he said, his eyes shining with gratitude.

A smile graced Aragorn's lips beside them as his mount came around Gimli's. His eyes held such relief, more than he had realized. The man would have danced with joy had he not been so levelled, so glad was he to throw away the weight that rested on his shoulders. Turning to Frances, he bowed to her. Now all was well. For the time being.

— "Come now young lady," said Gandalf. "You have been lucky enough that Shadowfax accepted to carry you, but I doubt the Rohirrim would take kindly to you mounting one of the Mearas."

Frances nodded. Her thighs were so sore that she did not look forward to dismounting. But a hand extended to her before she could fling her legs above the beast. Graceful fingers offered to help without a word, fingers that held such a strength compared to the beauty of their built. Legolas' golden hair was so close, and yet his head was titled to the side in a troubled expression. Instead of linking her fingers with his, she claimed his forearm and leaned against it to balance her descent.

Slightly surprised that she did not take advantage of his hand like any elleth would have done, Legolas accepted the charge gracefully. As she swung her legs above the horse, he seized her waist to help her down. She was so light, and yet still strong. But her muscles trembled. He didn't dare looking at her face, they were just too close for his own comfort. Her chest rose with every breath she took. Just a tad too fast. She was exhausted, that much he could guess.

And yet they had to move. Before he left her side, she brushed his arm with her little fingers. Despite the numerous tunics and layers he wore, her touch left a trail of heat.

— "Thank you, mellon nin" she said with a smile.

And he smiled back. Then left.