I do not own anything written by J.R.R. Tolkien, and anything Araceil came up with in Fate be Changed belongs to her.


At the open-air pavilion where the Company had sat down to dine, Gandalf was thoroughly enjoying the meal. Not the salad that had been served, that was far from the usual fare for Rivendell's tables, but rather the entertainment the Dwarves were providing as Elrond's prank played itself out. Only two flaws kept his enjoyment from being perfect.

The first was Thorin, hunched over in his seat at one end of the table. Rather than the offended disgust that Gandalf had expected, the king in exile was so caught up in his own thoughts that Gandalf doubted he even realized what was on his plate in spite of the fact that he had been staring at it since it had been placed in front of him — certainly, he had been eating the crisp, raw lettuce and carrots without so much as a grimace.

The second flaw was that the two people that would have gotten the most pleasure from the spectacle weren't present to enjoy it as well. Sakura hadn't yet made his way back to the Company, and Elrond had been called away soon after it had begun.

That Sakura was still missing was a surprise though not anything that Gandalf was worried about, at least not when it came to Sakura's safety. Rivendell was one of the safest places in all Middle Earth, but the Hobbit had to be very angry indeed if his anger hadn't yet subsided under the influence of the Peace on the valley. Perhaps he is simply embarrassed by now, Gandalf mused. I shall have to seek him out later, provide some encouragement. We can't afford to risk losing our burglar. However much of a puzzle that burglar might be.

Elrond, on the other hand was something to worry about, or at least wonder. He had gone to some effort to set up his prank, whatever had pulled him away before he could properly enjoy it had to be serious indeed — and curiosity over what it could be was beginning to eat the Wizard alive. Sakura missed one of a Wizard's defining flaws, I think, Gandalf mused with a self-deprecating smile, curiosity has gotten me into almost as serious trouble over the centuries as a desire to 'meddle'.

"That tinkle-twinkle ain't music!" Gandalf shook himself free from his thoughts and suppressed a grin as he looked over at Bofur, the toymaker apparently not overly fond of the soft, soothing strains of Elvish harp and flute — an addition to Elrond's prank, Gandalf was certain, Elrond must have learned of Dwarvish tastes in music over his long millennia.

Bofur leaped up onto the table and had just started to dance, the ear-flaps of his hat bouncing to his steps as he belted out what he claimed was a real song about the Man in the Moon when Elrond strode through the doorway and paused, an eyebrow lifting at the sight of a Dwarf prancing among the cutlery, plates and glass goblets. When Bofur froze in place and started to stammer out an apology, the Elf lord waved it off. "No need to halt the festivities on my account, I only need to speak to Mithrandir and whichever of your Company is acting as your healer."

That got the entire Company's attention but especially Thorin's, and he jerked upright and growled, "What have you done to our burglar?"

"Sakura has come to no harm since his arrival," Elrond assured them. "However, he does have some possible issues going forward. It is, however, for him and your healer will tell you what you need to know."

Thorin stared at him for a long moment, then jerked a nod at Oin, the graybeard listening intently through his ear trumpet. "See what the Elf ... what Lord Elrond has to say." Turning back to Elrond: "Master Oin is an apothecary, the closest we have to a trained Healer. He brought what potions and herbs he could."

Oin nodded and rose along with Gandalf as Bofur jumped down from the table and the Wizard and apothecary hurried to join Elrond as he turned to lead them from the pavilion.

The tall Elf led them to a nearby room with stuffed armchairs and open, airy windows, what walls there were covered by bookshelves. Elrond quietly requested privacy of the Elves that had occupied two of the chairs before rising at his entrance, and they bowed and left.

As soon as they were alone in the room, Elrond waved the other two toward the vacated chairs as he seated himself in the room's previously vacant third chair. Once seated, he gazed at his guests for a long moment before sighing. "First, something that Sakura wishes kept in strict confidence — you have a young Hobbit lass accompanying you, not a lad." Wizard and Dwarf snapped upright in their chairs, as Elrond added, "She felt that she would not be allowed to join you if her true sex was known, and had some qualms with taking a months-long journey with thirteen strange males, even if they are vouched for by a Wizard. However, as your Company's healer" — he nodded to Oin — "I felt you should know. But please do not let this go any further until she is ready."

"A maiden," a stunned Gandalf murmured, as he dug into his belt pouch for pipe and pipeweed.

"Indeed," Elrond agreed with a sly smile. "That the Dwarves missed it doesn't surprise me, they know nothing of Hobbits. But you, old friend, are getting as old as you seem if you can't see the obvious after your long association with the Shire."

Gandalf loftily ignored the gibe, grumbling as he relaxed back into his chair. He lit his pipe and got it drawing even as he mentally castigated himself. In retrospect it was obvious what had happened, of course, he had become so focused on their burglar's more ... esoteric oddities that he had missed the normal ones — like a missing adam's apple.

"But that is incidental at the moment," Elrond continued. "What I need to know now, Gandalf, is why Sakura is still alive."

Gandalf choked, dropping his pipe as smoke puffed out of his nose and the corners of his mouth. He cleared his throat and hastily poured some wine from a decanter that one of the Elves had left behind and gulped it down as Oin leaned forward, turning his head slightly to make certain his ear trumpet was pointed at Elrond, and demanded, "Still alive? But ... why wouldn't she be? You said she is unharmed!"

"No, Master Dwarf, I said she had come to no harm since her arrival. She has not, this she brought with her. She has been unwittingly starving herself for a decade, eating no more than three meals a day — less when she was with the Rangers and in the weeks since she joined your Company. She informed me that Hobbits typically eat seven meals a day, but she had believed that to be much too excessive." He held up a hand, cutting off the obvious question from Gandalf. "She had good reason to believe as she did but that is her story to tell, you will have to ask her. What I need to know, Gandalf, is why she is not long dead instead of verging on collapse when she arrived here. I know much about Elves and Men, but you are the only one among the Wise that has made a study of Hobbits."

Gandalf bent to pick up his pipe and examined it for damage as he thought. Finally, he said, "It could only have been the Hobbits' magic that saved her."

Elrond raised an eyebrow as Oin shifted his ear trumpet back and forth between Wizard and Elf. Elrond said, "I was unaware that Hobbits practiced magic."

"They don't," Gandalf replied, "they are magic. As Dwarves are one with the bones of the earth that they shape and admire and Elves are one with magic itself that binds all that lives together, so too are Hobbits one with all that grows. That connection works both ways — any land that Hobbits long inhabit will flourish and no darkness can long abide there, but Hobbits as well draw strength from that land. They do not have the hardiness of Dwarves or the nimbleness and immortality of Elves, but they have an endurance and natural resistance to all works of the dark unequaled by any other people. That demands its price in appetites even greater than Dwarves, at least for their size, but also provides the bounty they need to support such appetites — and more, as the ... plumpness that most of them come to share as they age demonstrates. They could probably get by with five meals a day with no ill effect."

"I see," Elrond mused. "So Sakura has been eating somewhat more than half of what she needed, rather than well less than half. That and the endurance you mentioned enabled her to resist the effects of starvation for years. But then she left the Shire — a land that Hobbits have inhabited for centuries."

"And that weakened her endurance even as she ate even less than before," Gandalf finished. "What a mess."

"True," Elrond agreed. "Still, it is well that you brought her with you. I do not think she would have lasted another year even with the support of the Shire. Now, I am asking her to keep to her bed for at least a week and she will be heartily sick of lembas by the time she leaves it, but she will be fine." Turning to Oin, he added, "But when you leave you will have several additional backpacks filled with lembas; she will need one full wafer a day in addition to your usual meals, two wafers if your rations are short."

"I'll see that it's done, my word on it," Oin agree with a nod, then hesitated before asking, "Can we see her? Thorin, certainly, will demand to see personally that the lass is all right. Even if he thinks she's a lad."

"Of course," Elrond agreed instantly. "But she was dozing off when I left her with my daughter. Let us finish the feast before we all go trooping in and wake her up."

Gandalf hid a grin when Oin winced, and noticed Elrond's lips twitching. Yes, their proper and upright host, famed far and wide for his hospitality, was determined to enjoy his little joke as much as Sakura's circumstances permitted.

/oOo\

As the pack of Dwarves came barreling through her sickroom door, Sakura looked up from the book Arwen had fetched when she'd been unable to sleep for long and asked for something on the history of the Rangers. (The story of the island of Númenor and the new name of Atalantë — the Downfallen — the survivors gave it after it sank had her wondering how much contact there'd been between her world and Middle Earth.) "Enjoy your banquet?" she asked with a sly grin as she bookmarked her place and handed the large book to Arwen. The Elf maiden had been sitting beside her on the bed to help her with the more esoteric words she would encounter in the book's ancient Quenya and now rose to stand against the wall, leaving Sakura the center of attention.

"It was horrible!" Bofur exclaimed. "All water and fodder for ponies, and not a decent song to be had. Ow!" He rubbed the side of his head where his brother Bifur had slapped him as the graying Dwarf with the axe blade imbedded in his forehead berated him in Old Khuzdul. (At least, Sakura assumed the slightly addled Dwarf was berating him — for all she knew Khuzdul was like Russian, where simply reciting a recipe in the right tone of voice was enough to make the ignorant turn pale.) "Anyway, it wasn't a complete loss," the toymaker continued as his brother wound down, "it turns out the swords we found in the Troll hoard are famous enough to have names. Lord Elrond said that Thorin's is Goblin Cleaver and Gandalf's is Foe Hammer! They were lost when some place named Gondolin fell."

"Really? That was over six thousand years ago!" Sakura glanced over where her own small sword was lying on a side table, wrapped up by her belt along with her holstered revolver.

Balin followed her gaze and said, "No, la ... ddie, names are for the great swords, not daggers and knives."

Sakura met his gaze for a moment, wondering at his brief hesitation with 'laddie'. Does he know? Probably. But it seemed he was going to keep her secret, however he'd figured it out, and she finally shook her head with a smile. "You're wrong, Balin, that is a sword, not a dagger, made for an Elven child — and not a very old one; the hilt is sized for a small hand. And what child could resist naming his first sword? But I doubt anyone alive knows what that name is, so I'll just have to honor that child by coming up with my own."

Balin frowned thoughtfully, then nodded. "I believe you've the right of it. Still, six thousand years? It must be an interesting story, how those swords got from ... Gondolin? ... to a Troll hole."

"Especially since Gondolin — along with most of the rest of Beleriand — sank into the ocean less than a century after the city fell," Sakura added, "when the Valar came to the surviving Elves' rescue and took down Morgoth." Her eyes strayed to her sword again. "I hope that child had a chance to grow up, that was not a good time to be a little one."

From the chair against the wall he had taken, Thorin murmured, "No, such times never are."

The room fell silent for a moment, as everyone's thoughts turned to a Dwarven city that had fallen, and the refugees that had fled the catastrophe, until finally Gandalf broke the quiet from where he was standing beside one of the room's wide windows.

"It seems you have your own interesting story to tell, according to Lord Elrond. He claimed you had a good reason for being so misinformed as to almost starve yourself to death."

"And he didn't tell you," Sakura surmised with a grin. "He really is as courteous as they say. I've been wondering for weeks when you'd actually ask."

"Yes, well, now that I've spoken with him ..." Gandalf started to say, then trailed off.

Sakura's grin widened — '...and I trust his word' probably doesn't seem like the most politic thing to say at the moment.

Then she sobered as her stomach started to churn — she'd been enjoying playing with Gandalf's suspicions so much that she'd forgotten that she'd eventually have to talk about it. I should have asked Elrond to tell him, I'm sure the Rangers passed on everything. Oh well, no help for it now... "Right, straight from the horse's mouth." As the Dwarves exchanged confused looks at the odd phrase, she glanced around with a forced, tight smile and began.

"The short of it is that until ten years ago I was neither a Hobbit, nor living in Middle Earth. Instead, I was a Man and a member of a small company of ... well, our term is Special Forces, we're a highly trained version of a scout, like the Rangers. We were in the middle of an already years-long desperate war, and my company would get sent deep into enemy territory for independent strikes at important targets.

"So, on my company's last mission we were given a new toy to test, a device that, if it worked, would yank its bearer from wherever she was to a set spot without travelling over the ground in between — just, one moment you're wherever you ... 'pull the lever', and the next moment you're scores of leagues away. The device had a couple problems, though. First, if any of the company 'pulled the lever' all of us would go, not just the one, so nobody could jump out until the mission was done. And second, it had only been tested under perfect conditions, and out in the field was far from perfect. By the time we'd managed to finish the mission, I was the only one still standing and even I'd taken a few hits."

She felt the bed shift as Arwen settled back down beside her, an arm slipping about her shoulders to gently pull her against her new friend, and realized she'd been staring at the wall across the room as she spoke, over Thorin's head, and without being aware of what she was doing had pulled up her legs to hug against her bound chest. I have to look like a little flame-haired urchin! (She'd noticed that for some reason Thorin seemed fascinated with her hair.) So much for getting them to stop treating me like a child — and after I ripped Thorin a new one over it, too... She let go of her knees and squeezed Arwen's hand as an unspoken thanks, then gently removed it from her shoulder as she straightened her legs under the blanket and took a deep breath.

"So, mission done I 'pulled the lever', and ... I don't know, maybe we were too far away, maybe we were too spread out, maybe something got jarred loose from all the bouncing around ... anyway, the device didn't work. Instead of taking us back home I found myself floating in an airless, lightless void, cold probably beyond anything possible on Middle Earth, not even the far reaches of the North. I blacked out within a few beats and woke up a days later in bed in one of Bilbo's guest rooms, about half as tall as I used to be with fur on my feet." She forced a shrug, as nonchalantly as she could manage, then realized she was twisting her wedding ring on her finger and let go. "That's pretty much it. Once I learned enough Westron to understand the story, Bilbo told me how I appeared right in the middle of Hobbiton then shrank down into a Hobbit in front of everyone, but nobody knows Who brought me here or why. So, any questions?"

"Were you winning, 'laddie'?"

Sakura hid her wince at Dwalin's concerned tone ... and the slight emphasis he'd put on 'laddie'. Someone else that knows. Are they talking to each other, or each keeping quiet thinking that they're the only ones to figure it out? Simply shrugging again, she said, "We were losing ground, but we knew that would happen when we were hit from three sides, each of the invaders at least as big an army as our own. But they were paying in blood for every furlong they pushed us back, and every city they captured was one more they had to garrison, each furlong taken one they had to move supplies through — with my company and others like us lurking around the edges waiting for any opportunity to strike, rebellions of common folk rising in their rear. Our leaders were saying the invaders were already overextended, that even if our last armies collapsed they didn't have enough left to hold what they'd taken; but what else were they going to say, that we'd probably lost and we should give up and go home? I don't know ... I'll never know."

The Dwarves exchanged uneasy glances; Oin started to say something a couple times and broke off each time. Then Thorin straightened in his seat and quietly asked, "Sakura, just how old are you?"

This time Sakura couldn't hide her wince. Damn! I was afraid he was going to ask that. "Twenty-seven," she reluctantly admitted.

"Twenty-seven!?" Ori — the youngest Dwarf in the Company — all but shrieked. "You're younger than me!"

Dwalin's concern was more historical. "You had only seventeen years when you were sent to war?" The knuckles of the hands resting on the axe he was leaning on where he stood beside his brother were turning white, and his question elicited shouts of outrage from other Dwarves.

"Easy, easy!" Balin called out, quieting the room. "Sakura was a Man," he pointed out, "they don't live as long as Dwarves, surely they mature faster."

"Yes, they do," Gandalf agreed. "But Sakura, you were seventeen when you arrived here. How many years before that were you at war?"

"Almost three, I was fifteen when I went on my first mission. But that wasn't normal," she hastily added, "usually the Army didn't take any recruits younger than eighteen. I was an exception thanks to my family's Art." Of course, the civilian guerilla bands took anyone capable of carrying a rifle however young they were; and used young children as spies, messengers and lookouts; but she didn't mention that.

"A family Art," Gandalf repeated. His voice was thoughtful but his gaze was oddly sympathetic ... and Sakura realized she was drawing her knees up towards her chest again and quickly stretched them out. I need a drink. In fact, she wouldn't mind getting smashed like the last time she'd talked so much about her past, that night at the inn in Bree when she'd ended up drinking herself unconscious and woken up the next morning curled up in Ivorwen's lap.

After a moment's thought, Gandalf asked, "Do you mean whatever allowed you to stroll up to a pair of Wizards engaged in a private conversation? I'd never felt anything like that before."

"Yes, that's part of it," Sakura hastily agreed, thankful for the change of subject. Though she had to suppress a wince at Gandalf's slight emphasis on 'private' — she'd have to find a private moment of their own to assure him that she wouldn't be mentioning anything to the Dwarves about the Nine walking about again. Wait, did he say — ? "You felt that? Wow, that's a first, so much for being extra-sneaky around Wizards. I wonder if it's just a Wizard thing, or if Elves would pick up on it, too?"

"I assure you, it was quite effective," Gandalf replied dryly, "I only felt it like a ... a fog, clearing away from my mind when you drew attention to yourself. Just what did you do?"

"That was the Veil. It doesn't actually make me invisible — after all, all the Dwarves watched me walk right up to you." She smiled impishly at the Wizard. "Our minds filter everything we see, focusing on what seems important and ignoring the rest. The Veil just convinces those around me that I'm not important." She shrugged. "It isn't as useful as it sounds — it doesn't work on people that are already watching me, isn't as likely to work on an alert guard as on someone just strolling by, even less so on someone actively hunting me. And it works better on people than animals, like guard dogs."

"Still, to cloud a Wizard's mind is very impressive," Thorin said, again relaxed in his chair, "I am beginning to see why Gandalf's vision led us to your home. But you said that was part of your Art?"

"Yes, I did." Sakura gazed at the Company's leader for a long moment, considering whether she should admit her true sex now that he was thinking of her as an asset. No, not yet, I can't chance it, she reluctantly decided. Let's get away from Rivendell and really out into the Wilds first, where there's nowhere for him to just drop me off. Finally, she shrugged yet again. (She seemed to be doing that a lot, that evening.) "Yeah. Mostly the Art is just what you'd need to be a top-notch scout —" And spy and assassin, but she wasn't going to mention that part. Besides, that aspect of the Art wasn't taught to the children, and with the War she'd never learned it. "— though there are a few more esoteric aspects. The main one is Featherwalk. That one allows me to lighten my weight, to the point that if that —" She pointed up at the ceiling. "— was made of paper, I could walk across it without falling through. That's good for climbing and being really sneaky — floorboards don't creak and twigs don't snap when you're that light.

"Those are the only two we use enough to have fancy names for. Beyond that there's a couple more: shutting out pain; and increasing strength, speed and how fast I can react. But those are really dangerous in combat, used only in the most desperate circumstances."

Standing beside his seated uncle, an excited Kili spoke up. "Why? I'd think those would be a big help in a fight!"

"Seem like it, doesn't it?" Sakura replied, smiling faintly as she felt herself relax a bit more — the handsome young Dwarf's usual happy enthusiasm was infectious. "But no. Pain is your friend, your body's way of telling you something's wrong, and if you shut it out you can really mess yourself up — try running a few miles on a broken ankle, and see how long it takes you to recover. As for increasing strength and the rest, you body isn't built to handle it; push it too far, and you can end up with ripped muscles, torn ligaments, even broken bones ... not something you want to have to deal with a hundred leagues from help with half an army searching the countryside for you."

"Well, yeah," Kili agreed, "but what about —"

Sakura suddenly found herself lifting a hand to cover an ear-to-ear yawn, and Arwen was just as suddenly off the bed and on her feet. "Enough! Out, it's time for my patient to sleep," the Elf maiden ordered. "There will be plenty of time for you to finish your questioning."

Oh, yeah... Sakura blushed. "I'm sorry, guys, I tried to insist that now that I know about how much I need to eat we could pack extra lembas and I could catch up on the road —"

Thorin instantly cut her off. "No! No, we can wait a few days. I need to meet with Lord Elrond about the map, anyway."

"Map?" Sakura asked. "What map?"

The Dwarves looked startled for a moment, before Balin nodded. "Of course, we had already put it away along with the key before you arrived. You see —"

"Out!" Balin's mouth snapped shut at Arwen's shout, just as Sakura yawned again, and her self-appointed nurse waved toward the door with an attempt at a stern frown that simply looked cute. "As Master Thorin said, you have a few days, explain it in the morning after s-he has had a night's rest."

The Dwarves chuckled but cheerily acquiesced and the room quickly emptied.

Once the last of them left, Sakura pulled off her borrowed night gown long enough to unwind her breast wraps as Arwen went from window to window to draw across the curtains — not that it was really needed, the sun was setting. That done, Arwen returned to the bed to tuck the blanket about her patient.

"I am twenty-seven," Sakura grumbled, though without any real heat.

"I know," Arwen agreed, though sounding amused, "but I also know that Hobbits don't reach their majority until they are thirty-three."

"What!" Sakura bolted upright. "You can't —" She broke off at a gentle finger against her lips.

"No, I won't tell them. But you are young yet, whether you acknowledge it or not. If you must, consider it practice for when I have my own children in the millennia ahead."

"Oh, all right," Sakura grumbled, lying back down. She felt like a fool, but ...

Arwen tucked the blankets about her again, then leaned down to lightly kiss her on the forehead. "Sleep well, my friend, may your dreams be peaceful this night."

Sakura yawned as a gentle warmth seemed to flow through her from where Arwen's lips had pressed, she suspected that had been a little more than just a friendly kiss — maybe she'd even escape the usual post-combat nightmares. "G'night," she mumbled as she closed her eyes. She was asleep before Arwen reached the door.


Yeah, I know, an info-dump talkfest, with three major subjects. At least it's out of the way, I hope I at least managed to keep it somewhat interesting. It would have been a little shorter if I hadn't tossed in the bit about the history of the swords, but that history is one of the biggest examples of retconning in the Silmarillion. What Sakura didn't mention (because she doesn't know) is that Glamdring was forged for Turgon, the king of Gondolin, lost when Turgon died in the final defense of his city. And when the Company brings the sword to Rivendell, Elrond calmly identifies the sword and hands it back to Gandalf like it isn't a literally priceless relic!

So, on to the meeting of (most of) the White Council, and that'll pretty much wrap up Rivendell, and then it's on to the Misty Mountains!

And credit where it's due, Sakura almost starving herself to death is lifted from Araceil's story, though I believe my take on Hobbit 'magic' is a bit different from hers.

Two side notes: First, I've been enjoying entling's Hobbit story Here There Be Dragons [now complete], in which a dragon/elven half-blood that grows up with Bilbo joins the Company. Entling does a fine job of adding Luin to Tolkien's setting. You'll have to search by the story title rather than the writer, though, for some reason "entling" doesn't come up.

Second, I stumbled across an interesting review of The Hobbit (the book, not the movies — the columnist doesn't care much for them), by a columnist that few will find deliberately. Google "Alan Hurst the Hobbit" and it should be at the top of the list.