A/N: I was going to wait another week or so before publishing but I like seeing e-mails from FanFiction in my inbox too much, haha.

Also some logistical stuff-I have up to chapter 12 written, and that's where I reach the end of The Fellowship of the Ring. I haven't written any further because I'm not quite sure how to proceed. Would you, as readers, rather chapter 13 start with The Two Towers, or would you like to see some things that might happen in between the two storylines? (Because this is all going into one story, I don't want to have to bother with sequels and all that.)

So drop a line and give me your thoughts on that, if you'd be so incredibly kind. :)

(And also this chapter is a lot of filler so sorry in advance ok.)

The Fellowship was curiously quiet when Miraleth awoke in the morning. They regarded her with sad, sympathetic glances, and it took her only a moment to realize that Aragorn had related the previous night's events to everyone before she had woken.

Legolas was the one to seek her out, and without saying a word, he wrapped his arms around her and held her as the sun rose and set the Golden Wood of Lórien afire, and as the rest of the Fellowship scurried around packing for the road to Mordor. Miraleth let all thoughts of Haldir and his suspicions fly from her mind as she leaned into her dearest friend, inhaling the heady scent of the forests of Mirkwood that still clung to Legolas like a blanket, even while he wore the silver garb of Lórien.

"I am not meant to go this way," she murmured into his chest, her dark hair fluttering over her eyes with the late autumn breeze. She had awoken to find her riding clothes folded over a chair, and had changed out of the silver gown. Now she wore the dark riding trousers and tunic once more. They had been washed, but she could not shake the smell of blood from her mind when she donned them.

Legolas brushed her hair out of her face with slender fingers. "None of us are."

He and Aragorn accompanied the oddly quiet Miraleth to the shore of the Anduin River, where three boats, supplies, and elves of Lórien awaited the Fellowship. The Lord and Lady of the Wood were there already, wearing all white and looking as sad and ageless as ever.

Celeborn lined them all up when they arrived, and ten elves stepped forward to wrap each of them in silvery cloaks of dark green, each with a leaf-shaped clasp at the throat. Miraleth pulled it tight around herself, as if she could retreat inside and never come out.

"Never before have we clad strangers in the garb of our own people," Celeborn informed the Fellowship in his solemn, melodious voice. Miraleth wondered if she would ever hear it again. "May these cloaks help shield you from unfriendly eyes."

Galadriel stepped forward towards Legolas, then, and reached behind her to take something from an elf that stood there. "My gift for you, Legolas, is a bow of the Galadhrim, worthy of the skill of our woodland kin." The bow was lovely and slim and looked quite light, and Legolas held it with awed reverence when the Lady held it out for him. He stretched the bowstring, testing it, and wordlessly placed his hand over his heart, bowing his head towards Galadriel. She smiled, and moved on to her granddaughter, who stood next to Legolas, as always.

"Miraleth, my child. Blood of my blood." Miraleth could not tell exactly what emotion shone in Galadriel's bright eyes. "This vial holds water from my Mirror." She held out a small, silver vial of water. Miraleth could feel its magic when she took it; it pulsated slightly with the vitality and life that she would always associate with the Golden Wood. "May it help you seek out the answers you so desire." Just as Miraleth was about to thank her grandmother, she met her icy gaze. But be warned, child, Galadriel's voice echoed in her head. Use it sparingly. You know the consequences. Instead of responding in kind, Miraleth only bowed her head in acknowledgment. She did know the consequences, and she thought back on what she had told dear Pippin. The Mirror does not give without taking.

But Galadriel put on a smile and continued her journey down the line, pausing to give Merry and Pippin matching Noldorin daggers, which they drew slowly and excitedly, and Sam a coil of Elvish rope, which he thanked her for even as he took a wistful glance at Merry and Pippin's gifts ("Have you run out of those nice, shiny daggers, m'lady?").

The whole forest seemed to quiet when Galadriel stepped in front of Gimli, who had been fidgeting uncomfortably the whole time they had been standing there. He did not meet Galadriel's eyes, even when she spoke to him. "And what gift would a Dwarf ask of the Elves?"

"Nothing..." Just when Miraleth thought he was going to say something crude or use his favorite Elvish phrase on Galadriel as he had Haldir, he fidgeted some more and glanced up at her. "Except…to look upon the Lady of the Galadhrim one last time, for she is more fair than all the jewels beneath the earth."

Galadriel laughed, flattered by the praise, while Miraleth, Legolas, and Aragorn looked on in amazement. How many times had they heard the son of Gloin curse every last one of the elves? And now he paid one the highest compliment.

As Gimli stammered out words and mumbled to himself, Aragorn grinned and tugged Legolas and Miraleth away. "Come," he murmured. "The hobbits need help loading the boats."

"Aragorn." Galadriel stopped them in their tracks. "A moment for your Lady?" She smiled.

"Of course." Aragorn nodded, but nudged Legolas and Miraleth towards the river to help prepare for their departure.

They left Aragorn to speak with Galadriel and went to help Merry and Pippin, who had mostly ignored the packs of food and clothes on the shore and were sitting on the boat, watching the elves go about. Miraleth sat down next to them—she had refused to count herself as part of the Fellowship and was also refusing to help with any Fellowship business, though Legolas said it was only because she was upset—as Legolas began to load pack after pack into the small, wooden rowboat.

He opened one and withdrew a square of bread, smiling. "Lembas! Elvish way-bread," he remarked, smiling down at his companions. He nibbled on the corner and chewed slowly, thoughtfully. "One small bite is enough to fill the stomach of a grown man."

Merry and Pippin smiled politely and watched Legolas scurry off to get more packs. Merry glanced at Pippin. "How many did you eat?"

After a moment of thought, Pippin smiled lazily at Merry and Miraleth. "Four." He belched.

"Pippin…" Miraleth sighed and shook her head before standing to go after Legolas.

Instead, she found Boromir, who leaned against a tree trunk, watching Galadriel and Aragorn speak. "Miraleth," he bowed his head.

Despite her initial discomfort around the man, he had grown on her a bit during their recent travels. There was darkness in him, but there was also strength and honor, as he repeatedly claimed of men. She smiled slightly. "Hello, Boromir."

He nodded his chin at Aragorn and Galadriel. "Can you hear what they're saying?"

She looked over at where they spoke to each other. Galadriel was reaching out a hand to brush her fingers over the Evenstar that Aragorn wore around his neck. "I have nothing greater to give than the gift you already bear, Aragorn," Galadriel murmured somberly.

"Yes…they are speaking about my sister." Miraleth leaned back to rest against the trunk of the mellorn with Boromir.

"Arwen Undómiel. I met her." Bormor looked at her. "In Rivendell, I mean. What are they saying about her?"

Miraleth's smile faded and her light seemed to dim as she watched their lips. "The Lady Galadriel…fears my sister will fade away into mortality. It is the price she would have to pay for Aragorn." Miraleth watched Aragorn respond. "And…Aragorn is saying he would have her sail for Valinor, to be with her people, but…" Miraleth smiled ruefully and shook her head. "My sister is stubborn."

"Valinor is…?"

"The Undying Lands." Miraleth tore her attention away from the man and the elleth to look at Boromir. "The only home as immortal as we."

"Ah, yes." Realization came over Boromir's face. "This is where elvenkind is retreating? My father says they are all going somewhere. All the villages near Gondor have disappeared."

"Yes," Miraleth nearly whispered, her eyes far away. When she ceased to think and allowed her nature to take over her mind, she could almost feel the ocean wind in her hair and the salty drops of water on her face. The very core of her being yearned for it. "After so many ages in Middle Earth, the sea calls us home."

Boromir nodded thoughtfully before directing her attention back towards Aragorn and Galadriel. "What are they speaking of now?"

Miraleth shook herself out of her reverie and glanced over. Galadriel's gaze had left the Evenstar and her blue eyes rested on Aragorn's honest face now. Miraleth listened for her words, frowning when she heard the ominous tone the Lady's voice had taken. "You have your own choice to make, Aragorn. To rise above the height of all your fathers since the days of Elendil…or to fall into darkness, with all that is left of your kin."

Miraleth knew an omen when she heard one.

"…Miraleth?"

Miraleth blinked and glanced at Boromir's worried face. She drew a breath. "Nothing. They are not speaking about anything." Without another word, she stalked away to help Sam with some of the packs he had not been strong enough to move.

Just halfway to her destination, a heavy hand on her shoulder stopped her in her tracks. Expecting to see Legolas, annoyed for her having spoken to Boromir (the elf did not much admire the man), she turned around with a sharp retort on her tongue, but the words died in her throat when she saw that it was not Legolas at all.

After a long moment of silence, Haldir smirked. When he spoke, his voice was cool and aloof and every bit the voice of a Marchwarden, as always. "I promised your brothers I would keep you safe once you reached Lórien. How am I supposed to do so with you running off to Mordor?"

The combined effect of Haldir's face and the mention of her brothers kept Miraleth's voice from working, so instead she rushed forward into his arms. While Haldir had never been a touchy or sentimental person, he was quite used to Miraleth and the way she had never cared about that, and he wrapped his arms around her and sighed. He'd had her back for just over a day and now she was leaving once more. "We are supposed to be keeping you safe."

"I know," she murmured. "Navaer, Haldir.

He sighed again and they released each other. "Smile, gwennig. We will see each other again soon." He reached for the quiver of arrows over his back. "Here. Rumil and Orophin took quite a liking to you; insisted on a farewell gift. The fletching on these arrows are swan feathers from an outpost to the west. Very rare. They bring their archer good luck and easy shooting."

Miraleth smiled softly and took the quiver, stroking a finger over the long white feathers at the ends of the arrows. "You will give them my thanks? I will miss them."

"Of course." He nodded once.

Miraleth heard Aragorn call her name, and she glanced over her shoulder to see him beckon her over. "Yes, I'm coming!" She called back and turned back towards Haldir.

He clutched her small hands in his. "Sílo Anor bo men lín, Miraleth."

She smiled. May the sun shine upon your road. "I seem to get told that quite often upon my departures."

Haldir grinned. "Because you are the sun's mistress, gwennig, and the sun always goes with you to light your way."

The Anduin River, for all its beauty, was bleak and lonely that day, even as she sat in the rowboat listening to Legolas and Gimli bicker about this and that.

Legolas especially seemed to enjoy teasing Gimli about his attachment to the Lady Galadriel. "I have taken my worst wound at this parting, having looked my last upon that which is fairest," Gimli claimed melodramatically, a hand clenched over his heart. "And henceforth I will call nothing fair unless it be her gift to me."

Legolas and Miraleth exchanged a glance, eyebrows raised. "What was it?"

"I asked her for one hair from her golden head," Gimli said dreamily, his eyes taking on a faraway look. "She gave me three."

Miraleth rolled her eyes. "You are aware, aren't you, that you're infatuated with my grandmother?" she murmured irritably.

Gimli ignored her and sighed deeply. "Alas, I can only hope to look upon her fair face again, but one can only push their good fortune so far…what about you, lass?" He finally turned his attention to Miraleth. "Get any nice going-away gifts from that blonde elf you spent so much time with? The arrogant one."

"Haldir," Legolas said when Miraleth only gave Gimli a strange look.

"Yes, that one. You just know every elf out there, don't you?" Gimli grumbled. "I'd hate to hear how you got so close with this one."

Miraleth shrugged. "We were betrothed once," she offered softly, disinterestedly looking out over the shining water.

Pippin's head spun to look at her from the boat he and Merry shared with Boromir, his mouth agape. "You two were going to be married?"

She glanced at him. "It was purely arranged. The youngest Lady of Rivendell and the Marchwarden of Lórien; it was a practical match."

"And what happened?" Merry demanded. "Why didn't you?"

She looked at him for a moment. "He fell in love."

The hobbits shrugged at each other as if to say what a shame before turning back to face the front of their boat, but Miraleth could nearly hear Legolas' teeth grinding together behind her as he rowed the boat onward. He had never quite forgiven Haldir for backing out on Miraleth like so, even though in Miraleth's opinion, there had been nothing to forgive. But then, she had been young and naïve and romantic, Legolas liked to remind her, and at the time, there had been nothing more romantic to Miraleth than Haldir risking everything he was, everything he had, just for the sake of his love for someone.

Each night, camp was made on the rocky, wooded shore of the Anduin, and the hobbits would make a stew out of whatever game could be caught. Miraleth remained fairly quiet as the days passed, paying much of her attention to the wellbeing of the hobbits and the sickly feeling in the pit of her stomach. At night, she dreamed of great, hulking monsters with dark skin and bloodied teeth. The only member of the Fellowship who tossed and turned at night as much as she was poor Frodo.

On the seventh day on the Anduin, Miraleth could hardly keep the nausea from her head, and she kept an unwavering gaze at the horizon behind them, a worried frown on her lips.

It was just past midday when Legolas glanced at her anxious face. "How far away are they?" He asked grimly.

"Some few leagues," she answered quietly. As the most immediate danger, the Uruk-hai that hunted them invaded Miraleth's mind through her Sight even while she remained awake. She could see them running over mosses and dirt and fallen logs, and she could hear the heavy sounds of their sprinting. "But they are moving very quickly…quicker than we anticipated." They hadn't counted on the Uruk-hai ever catching up to them—not when they'd had to run all the way from Isengard. But, as promised, these new creatures were fast, and did not know fatigue or exhaustion, as their orc-brethren did.

Gimli scoffed from his spot between the two elves. "I say let them come; let them taste our steel!" He crossed his arms and huffed. "Uruk-hai…dressed-up orcs, and nothing more."

Miraleth smiled at the dwarf's confidence, and Legolas whistled to get Aragorn's attention. When he pulled up alongside Legolas, both their faces were grim. "They are gaining on us," Legolas said. "And quickly."

Aragorn swore under his breath and turned his gaze to Miraleth. "How much longer?"

"A day, perhaps." She shook her head once. "Too soon. We will not outrun them."

"Can you See any further than that?" Sam piped up from his spot in front of Aragorn, worry etched on his face.

Miraleth regarded him for a moment, and then shook her head. "Not clearly, no. But I can promise you your life, at least, for some weeks longer, Samwise Gamgee."

Sam's shoulders dropped in relief, before he started again and nudged a silent Frodo with his knee. "What about Mr. Frodo? Can you See anything about him?"

Miraleth was silent longer this time. She had Seen things of Frodo. Dark, hopeless things. The Ring's influence grew heavier on the young hobbit's heart with each passing day and she could see the shadow grow in his eyes. And always, there was Gollum, who tracked them still on the river, no matter how hard Aragorn had tried to shake him off. If Frodo continued down the path he was on, he and Smeagol would share the same fate. And now she saw Sam's hopeful eyes staring up at her, full of love for his friend Frodo. "If you stay with him, Sam, I can promise his life just as much as yours."

Sam nodded after a moment of contemplation and resigned to tying knots in his Elvish rope, and Aragorn pulled his boat away to catch up with Boromir. Legolas sighed, rowing faster. Whether it was to catch up with Aragorn and Boromir or to try and escape the mass of Uruk-hai that ran behind them, neither Miraleth nor Gimli could say.

On the eighth day, as promised, Miraleth looked up from a splintered bit of wood on the edge of the boat to the sound of heavy footfalls over the ground of the wooded area alongside the river. Her eyes darted between the trees, looking for a sight to accompany the sounds of rustling armor and masses of flesh crashing through the brush.

"Legolas," She reached over to tug on his sleeve just as something growled and snorted in the woods—if she hadn't known any better, she would've thought an angry bear had come out of its cave.

And then she saw them—ugly, hulking, filthy-looking things with ratted hair and dirty skin. One of them was taller and wider than all the rest, and he ran at the front of the band of orcs. Legolas called to Aragorn and nodded towards the woods.

Aragorn shouted for Legolas and Boromir to row faster. "Keep going," he called. "We'll make camp tonight on the other side of the river—they won't cross near here, the water's too deep."

Miraleth did what she could to speed the river's currents—after all, the Anduin headed in the forests of Lórien, where the magic of her people was strong. Traces of it still remained in the water, even this far downstream, and she willed the flowing of the river to echo the flowing of the Elvish from her lips the best she could.

A couple hours later, just before sunset, they pulled the boats up onto the rocky shore and set about making camp. Aragorn had chosen a small, pocketed-away part of the shoreline, surrounded by densely packed woods. The shorelines of the Anduin didn't offer much for safety, but this was probably the closest they were going to get. Even so, the hobbits whispered as they pitched makeshift tents, and Aragorn smacked Pippin's hands away when he caught him trying to coax flame onto a pile of branches. (Several hours later, though, when the Fellowship had relaxed enough to know that they wouldn't be attacked in their sleep, Aragorn allowed for a small campfire so Sam could cook a rabbit Legolas had shot.)

But even after the fright of being attacked had melted away somewhat, the tension in the small campsite remained.

Frodo, who had still not eaten all day, despite Sam's ardent protests, had lain down under a "tent"—a cloak propped up by sticks under the corners of the fabric—and simply stared off into space, one hand playing with the outline of the Ring that was under his shirt. Miraleth had taken to raking her hand through Frodo's dark curls and absentmindedly humming an Elvish lullaby, just to hear something familiar in the midst of the strangeness around her. She wasn't sure where Legolas and Gimli had run off to (but Gimli had muttered something about rabbits before they had left), and it was strange to not have Legolas there, for the first time on this absurd quest she had gotten wrapped up in.

"Miraleth," Frodo started.

"Yes, Frodo?"

"They…they're arguing again."

Miraleth paused, even though she already knew what Aragorn and Boromir's hushed tones argued about. She had heard them—and tried to ignore them—from the moment Boromir opened his mouth. Boromir would have them pass through Minas Tirith—the once great city of Men. Aragorn, though, knew better than to take the One Ring anywhere near Gondor.

She raked her fingers through Frodo's curls again. "Shhh," she soothed. "Go to sleep, little hobbit."

"He will try and take it," Frodo ignored her and said instead, his voice shaking the slightest bit. "She said so. The Lady Galadriel."

Miraleth faltered and peered down towards Frodo's face, her eyes searching his. "Who will try and take it?"

Frodo did not answer; he only stared up at her, his eyes begging for understanding. He wasn't going to say another word about it, so instead of pressing the poor hobbit for answers, she raked her fingers through his curls again. "No one is going to take anything from you, Ring-bearer."

There was silence for a moment as Frodo closed his eyes and Miraleth resumed her humming, and then, "Miraleth?"

"Yes?"

"Does that lullaby you're humming have any words to it?"

"…Yes," she replied quietly, after a moment's hesitation. "But they're very sad. You wouldn't want to hear them."

"All Elvish songs are sad," Frodo remarked sorrowfully, and was asleep before Miraleth could say otherwise.

And once his breathing evened out to a deep, slow pace, Miraleth quietly sang the words to herself. If they were sad, they also offered a strange comfort in that they reminded her of home. Elrohir and Elladan had never cared for the lullaby in particular, and Valor knows her father couldn't stand it, but her mother had continually sung it under her breath during her last, crazed, dark days in Rivendell.

That night Miraleth dreamt of something different than the usual horrors.

There was a balrog, a dying flame, and a man cloaked in white.

Gandalf.

Navaer—Farewell

Sílo Anor bo men lín—May the sun shine upon your road