I didn't expect to get so many story alerts/favorites in one day. I freaked out like a little kid everytime something from FanFiction showed up in my inbox. c:

True to her word, just as the council was starting, Miraleth settled herself atop the railing on the balcony above the circle of beings. She looked below her. Frodo, Gandalf, Aragorn, Elves of Mirkwood—Legolas—Dwarves from who knows where, Men of Gondor, Elrohir and Elladan, and her father were sitting in a circle, quietly, suspiciously observing one another.

She could almost hear the hobbit's breathing when her father began to speak. "Strangers from distant lands, friends of old." He paused and looked around the circle of beings, as if confirming that, yes, they were indeed all friends here. "You have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle-earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite…or you will fall," He promised as his stony gaze turned towards the Men of Gondor. "Each race is bound to this fate, this one doom. Bring forth the ring, Frodo."

The small Hobbit uncertainly stepped forward and placed the One Ring on a stone pedestal in the middle of the circle before just as uncertainly returning to his seat next to Gandalf.

Meanwhile, the council broke out in gasps and murmurs. "I dreamed," One man murmured. Miraleth turned her attention to Boromir, who stared at the Ring with barely-concealed desire. He stood. "I saw the eastern sky grow dark, but in the west a pale light lingered. A voice was crying: Doom's near at hand. Isildur's bane is found." With each word, Boromir stepped closer to the pedestal, enthralled by the golden piece of jewelry. He reached out his hand to touch it. "Isildur's bane…"

Miraleth's father jumped to his feet. "Boromir!"

"Ash nazg durbatulûk!" A voice roared, commanding and demanding. A dwarf yelled and brandished his axe. Miraleth's breathing quickened as an unexplained terror blossomed inside her like a bloodstain and she sank down to the ground.

"Ash nazg grimbatul!" The skies grew dark and thunder boomed around them. By this point, every member of the council was on their feet, but Miraleth saw none of it. She did not know the words spoken. She did not even know the language. But they ignited something terrible in her and she cried out, holding her head as her mind screamed. A great, monstrous eye on fire. Mordor. Death. Despair. The One Ring.

"Ash nazg thrakatulûk," When the pain was lessened enough for Miraleth to peer meekly through the railing of the balcony, she saw that Gandalf was on his feet, holding his hand high and his staff higher. Her father had his face in his hands. And then the Ring was speaking as well, its warped, twisted voice one with Gandalf's.

Agh burzum-ishi krimpatul!" The words echoed throughout Imladris for a dark moment as the skies lightened once more and the thunder retreated. Miraleth's breath came in gasps as the council seated themselves, shocked.

"Never before has any voice uttered the words of that tongue here in Imladris," Elrond's tone was hard, his face stony with shock and anger as he looked towards Gandalf, who looked, more or less, just fine.

"Do not ask a pardon, Master Elrond," He said, scolding. "For the black speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the west. The Ring is altogether evil." He spat at Boromir as he returned to his seat.

Boromir paid him no mind and only shook his head. "It is a gift," He proclaimed breathlessly. "A gift to the foes of Mordor. Why not use this Ring? Long has my father, the steward of Gondor—" That's right, Miraleth thought. Steward. Not King. You'd do well to remember it, Boromir, son of Denethor. "—kept the forces of Mordor at bay. By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe. Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy. Let us use it against him!" By this time, Boromir was standing, speaking with conviction as he looked around the council, daring each member with his eyes to stand and disagree with him.

It was Aragorn who had the courage to shake his head at Boromir. "You cannot wield it, none of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master."

Boromir turned to glare at Aragorn, who met his eyes without fear. Boromir sneered. "And what would a ranger know of this matter?"

And then Legolas was on his feet, his brow angrily furrowed for the insult of his friend. "This is no mere ranger. He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance."

Miraleth did not miss Frodo's confused, lost look towards Aragorn, but had no time to question it. Someone hasn't been truthful. Boromir turned back to Aragorn and stared at him. "Aragorn?" His voice was quiet, disbelieving. "This is Isildur's heir?"

"And heir to the throne of Gondor." Legolas looked close to drawing his bow on the man.

Aragorn sighed and raised a hand towards Legolas. "Havo dad, Legolas." Legolas, though still angry, sat back down and glared at Boromir, who snickered.

"Gondor has no king." He turned to sit as well. "Gondor needs no king."

Gandalf interrupted their glaring contest with a scolding huff. "Aragorn is right. We cannot use it."

Elrond stood. "You have only one choice. The Ring must be destroyed."

At these words, the Ring seemed to whisper, as if it knew exactly what they were plotting. A Dwarf swallowed hard. "Then what are we waiting for?" He stood and with a yell and struck his axe down onto the Ring, and Miraleth winced as Sauron's eye flashed through her head and the dwarf was thrown back from the pedestal. By the gasps among the council, she could only assume that everyone else had seen the same image in their minds. When her gaze returned to the Ring, it was murmuring and whispering in that same dark tongue Gandalf had been speaking in. The Dwarf's axe was in shattered pieces around it.

Elrond was unsurprised. "The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Gloin, by any craft that we here possess. The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom…only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came." Elrond ignored the whispers and looked around the council. "One of you must do this."

Absolute silence.

Boromir was the one to break it, with his forehead in his palm. "One does not simply walk into Mordor. Its black gates are guarded by more than just orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep." He made a circle with his hand, connecting the tip of his thumb to the tips of the rest of his fingers. "And the Great Eye is ever watchful. Mordor is a barren wasteland, riddled with fire, ash, and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume." He shook his head and settled back into his chair, grimacing and chuckling in defeat. "Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly."

Legolas was on his feet again, glaring at Boromir. "Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said?" He looked around the circle of beings. "The Ring must be destroyed!"

The same Dwarf that had tried to destroy the Ring—Gimli—cast an angry gaze upon Legolas and spoke in rough, gravelly tones. "And I suppose you think you're the one to do it!"

Boromir joined Legolas as he stood, shouting. "And if we fail, what then? What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?"

Gimli struggled to his feet next, completely ignoring the angry man beside him. "I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an elf!" All the elves now stood, angry.

"Stupid dwarf," Miraleth muttered, watching the commencing feud with waning interest. They were all no more than insolent children, fighting as they were. Boromir fought with an elf from Mirkwood. Legolas and Gimli argued ("Never trust an elf!"), each backed by their races. The men argued amongst each other and with anyone else who would raise their voice. Such are the ways of men. But even the wise Mithrandir was drawn into the fighting and he soon began a shouting match with Boromir.

The only one who remained quiet in their chair was the hobbit Frodo, whose troubled gaze was stuck on the Ring. His face grew more and more troubled, contorting in discomfort and worry, until he too stood…but not to feud as the rest did. "I will take it!" He shouted into the fray.

Miraleth straightened up. "No, Frodo," she murmured.

"I will take it!" Frodo shouted again, and the council grew quiet. Gandalf turned slowly to see his hobbit standing, determined. "I will take the Ring to Mordor," Frodo repeated. "Though," he continued, his resolve to be the hero fading along with his voice. "I do not know the way."

The very air was stricken into silence until Gandalf nodded towards Frodo. "I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins," Gandalf rumbled and went to stand by the hobbit, clasping his shoulder. "As long as it is yours to bear."

Aragorn stepped forward. "If by my life or death I can protect you, I will," he promised. He knelt before the hobbit. "You have my sword."

"And my axe," Gimli grinned, a glint in his black eyes. Miraleth was caught between crying out for Frodo's protectors and keeping her hiding place. She couldn't have explained, but she feared for each of them. Terrible things were going to happen to them if they set out for Mordor.

She was just about to retreat to her rooms when Legolas started forward towards the hobbit.

"And you have my bow."

She whimpered out a gasp and clapped a hand over her mouth as soon as the sound escaped, too late. Legolas and Elrond's eyes snapped up to where she was.

Miraleth did not hear Boromir's promise to protect Frodo as well. She did not see Frodo's three hobbit friends jump out from their own hiding places to stand by their friend and demand to go along. She did not hear her father proclaim the nine travelers as the Fellowship of the Ring and wish them all the best tidings. She was racing to her rooms, her gown billowing behind her as she ran, as if she could outrun the knowledge of the fates of her dearest friends.

Miraleth was in her father's study when he returned from the council. His face was harsh. "I told you to stay away from that council, Miraleth."

She ignored him. "Ada, how could you?" She stood from the chair she had taken while waiting and shook her head. "Legolas, Aragorn, Gandalf. How could you allow them to offer up their lives just like that? And to what—to march into Mordor as if taking a pleasant stroll? You heard the man Boromir. It is folly, Ada!"

"It had to be done," Elrond snapped, moving towards his desk. "You don't understand the ways of the world quite yet, daughter, and sometimes sacrifices must be made."

"But I have Seen—!"

"Yes! And you must not let them know it!" He interrupted her anxious worries with a stern face and a sterner tone. "The Men and Dwarves say that those with Sight speak in riddles. They are right!"

Miraleth sputtered for a moment. "But…why? If there is a way to save someone by knowing the future, if there's a way to change someone's fate…why would you withhold such knowledge?"

"Because," Elrond sat himself into the chair at his desk and calmed himself, reminding himself that Miraleth was only just young. "Knowledge leads to power, and power leads to recklessness, and reckless people do careless things." Miraleth's silence was enough of a response. "Fates are not meant to be changed, Miraleth. They are meant to be accepted."

She sat down across from her father, who reached over and tucked a stray curl behind a pointed ear. "Legolas was supposed to stay with me." She said. "If anything happens to him, I…" She trailed off. "He is my dearest friend, Ada."

"Look into his future. What do you see?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. I don't know how to just…look and be able to See. It does not come on command."

"Well then I will tell you what I see." Elrond said as he circled around his desk to stand by his daughter and wrap his arms around her. "I see a long life. I see adventure, and honor, and happiness. I see friendship. I see…life."

"Is that all you see?"

"It is all I will share with you," he released her from his hold and looked down at her. "It is more than you need to know."

"It consoles me nonetheless," She smiled softly, half-heartedly. It did console her. She trusted her father with everything she had, but she didn't think there was anything in the world that could completely console the awful feeling in the pit of her stomach.

After leaving her father's study, Miraleth began the walk to her rooms but after a short while, found herself walking elsewhere. She walked straight past her rooms, Arwen's rooms, Elrohir and Elladan's rooms, and kept walking until she found herself in the guest rooms the members of the council had been staying in. She followed the slight twang of bowstring until she hovered just outside the room where Legolas sat on a bed and restrung his bow.

She was just about to walk away when Legolas smiled, like he knew exactly what she was thinking. Of course, he'd probably heard her coming from down the hallway. "Are you going to come in?"

Miraleth stayed quiet, but stepped into the room, her eyes never leaving the elf before her.

He glanced at her. "Do not be angry with me, Miraleth."

"I am not angry."

"Oh?" His eyes caught hers and held her gaze there. She flushed and was the first one to look away, her eyes roaming the room until she found something of interest for her to distract herself with.

She was not angry.

But a bit of hurt welled up inside her when she saw his trunk at the foot of his bed. "Already packed?"

He returned to restringing his bow. "We leave at first light tomorrow." She didn't reply, and wandered over to the edge of the room, where there was no wall, and placed her hand on the railing. "I am sorry." Legolas' voice was hoarse.

She looked over her shoulder. His face was honest and sincere, as it always had been. "As am I," She murmured and looked back out over her city of Rivendell. "Which path will you take?"

"Gandalf says we will go south for forty days, to the Gap of Rohan, and then turn east towards Mordor." Legolas said, echoing what he had heard from Aragorn earlier. It was a fairly quick path that Gandalf had chosen. The safest, by far. "We will be very quick. Only to Mordor and back, and we will be home before you know it," he chuckled, as if he was talking about taking a stroll down to the river before breakfast.

Miraleth scoffed and cast him an annoyed glance. "Yes, it's only a quick run to the other side of Middle-Earth."

He laughed then. "No need for your wit here, Miraleth. For going to the other side of Middle-Earth, then, we will be quick. We will be gone for a few months, at most." He set his bow done, satisfied with the weight of the string, and stood to join her at the railing. "And when you have an eternity of life, what is a few months but a slight annoyance?"

She sighed, her lips a tight line. "I suppose."

"It's only logical."

"Of course."

"You will be here when I return."

"Yes."

"Why do you worry so?"

Miraleth's voice was soft when she spoke. "I do not know what is yet to come. I only know that there is little happiness where you are going. The sun does not shine in Mordor. The grass cannot grow under the ash and rock. The trees cannot speak, for they have been cut down and burned."

"Then I will have to hurry back to where the sun shines, and the grass grows, and the trees speak."

Miraleth turned to face him. "You will hurry," she urged. "Promise me."

"I swear it." Miraleth turned away, satisfied, but Legolas put a finger under her chin. "Come now, smile. Perhaps the sun does not shine where I am going, but here it is shining always for you. Sadness does not look as lovely on your face as happiness does."

She crossed her arms. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Legolas Thranduilion."

"Ah, but the truth gets me anywhere," he grinned, eyes sparkling. This drew a reluctant chuckle from Miraleth. "Much better," Legolas commented. "Run and sleep now. The hour grows late and we leave tomorrow the moment dawn breaks."

"Do not think yourself so bold as to command me," Miraleth snipped, but swept towards the door all the same. She paused in the doorway and sighed, bravado fading away. "Tenna' tul're san'."

Legolas smiled softly. "Quel esta. Tenna' tul're."

"The ring bearer is setting out on the quest of Mount Doom. And you who travel with him—no oath or bond is laid to go further than you will." Elrond's voice commanded the attention of the small courtyard inside the gates of Rivendell. The Fellowship was leaving—they were packed, their horses saddled. Miraleth stood with her siblings, just behind their father. Arwen clutched at her hand, shooting worried glances at Aragorn all the while, and Miraleth was having her own staring match with Legolas. Legolas, who had promised to stay. Legolas, who was leaving. Legolas, her dearest friend whose future she had not Seen. They had said their goodbyes earlier that morning. He had given her a dagger of his ("More of a keepsake than a weapon," he'd said. "It's a little off-balance for you. I know how you like your weapons made.") and they had stood in Miraleth's room and embraced until Aragorn came to get him.

"Farewell," Elrond continued. "Hold to your purpose, and may the blessings of Elves, Men, and free-folk go with you." Aragorn and Legolas were the only two in the Fellowship to give the traditional sign of respect in return—they inclined their heads and placed their right hands over their hearts.

"The Fellowship awaits the ring bearer," Gandalf announced, his eyes on Frodo, who still looked slightly lost in all of this. He was too far from the Shire for comfort. But after one long, last look around at Rivendell and one worried look around at his Fellowship, he (uncertainly) started towards the gates of Rivendell, holding his head a little higher. That's right, little hobbit, Miraleth smiled fondly. One foot in front of the other.

He was just outside the stone gates when she heard him whisper under his breath, "Mordor, Gandalf, is it left or right?"

One hand still on his hobbit's shoulder, Gandalf jerked his chin towards the left fork in the road and quietly rumbled, "Left."

Aragorn and Arwen shared one last look that made Miraleth want to vomit before he, too, followed the hobbit. But then there was a flash of blonde out of the corner of Miraleth's eye and she forgot just how sick the looks shared between Aragorn and Arwen made her.

"Asca," She murmured with a watery smile when Legolas looked at her, and waved him away. "Tenna' ento lye omenta, Legolas."

He gave her a reassuring smile, placed his right hand over his heart, murmured a quiet "my lady" so soft only she could hear, and was gone, out the gates with the rest of the Fellowship.

Only when he was gone did Miraleth's attention return to Arwen's death grip on her hand. A droplet of moisture landed on Miraleth's skin and she glanced up at Arwen, slightly shocked. "No, no, Arwen," she muttered, reaching up to touch her sister's face. "Don't cry, don't cry, everything is going to be ok…"

"He…" Arwen's voice broke. "He is gone. And he is only but a man, and where he goes, danger is behind every corner. It only takes one second of defenselessness and he will be struck down."

Miraleth shook her head and wiped a few stray tears from Arwen's rosy cheeks. "No, I don't think so. Isuldir's heir will not be struck down so easily, and especially not when he has such beauty to live for."

Arwen's tears still did not stop. "The Evenstar is but a necklace. That's all it is—a piece of jewelry. It will not protect him."

Miraleth tugged on Arwen's hand and led her away from the gates. "You underestimate the mentality of a hopeful man. He will be just fine."

Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg grimbatul. Ash nazg thrakatulûk, Agh burzum-ishi krimpatul.—One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them. One Ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them.

Tenna' tul're san'—Until tomorrow then

Quel esta. Tenna' tul're.—Sleep well. Until tomorrow.

Asca. Tenna' ento lye omenta.—Hurry. Until next we meet.