A/N: I'm baaaaaaaackkkkk.

Kind of, I mean school is still devouring my soul, holiday season (for musicians at least) is starting so I'll be in rehearsals every week, and it's tournament season for speech & debate, but...I'm still here. Ok.

On the ninth day, the last day, Aragorn woke the Fellowship before the sun rose, and they drowsily packed everything away, doused the embers from the campfire, and fell into the boats, half-asleep, barely mumbling incoherent good mornings.

Miraleth was exhausted, but she couldn't have felt more awake as she climbed into the boat after Gimli. Her mind was racing. It had been a long, dream-riddled night, and the Valar had not wanted to leave her be. As it was, she could barely make sense of anything she'd Seen. Because what she had Seen was—well…an impossibility. Because each of them had seen Gandalf fall into the depths of Khazad-dûm. They had witnessed it with their own eyes.

There was no coming back from that, even for the great Mithrandir.

But even so…her Sight had never lied to her before.

She had never actively sought anything out before. She had never had to; had never had any reason to. The nature of her Sight didn't exactly work that way anyways.

But if there was any chance that Gandalf lived, Miraleth was willing to try.

She had seen her father sit in his study countless times, unseeing and unhearing as he concentrated on whatever it was he sought. She picked up the mahogany bow at her feet, ran her hand along the wooden arch, and let her vision unfocus as she gazed ahead at nothing.

Legolas' eyes darted towards Miraleth again. She had been sitting silently, her eyes blank, for the better part of two hours. In this state, she was no better company than the hobbits, who were snoring again as soon as they had set off that morning. Her hand ran lazily, lightly, along the wooden arch of her bow.

Boromir had been casting back looks every so often as well, and now he pulled his boat back to row alongside Legolas. "What's wrong with her?" He asked, frowning, and leaned over to reach towards Miraleth.

Legolas' hand darted forward and grabbed Boromir's wrist before he could snap his fingers before her face. "She is Seeing," he said. "Leave her be."

Boromir glanced at him in surprise. "Is that what she's doing?" He pulled his hand back from Legolas' hold. "Forgive me," he began, sarcasm only just tinging his words. "I thought your Seeing would be a little more…impressive."

Legolas set his jaw and bit back remarks.

"Boromir!" Aragorn snapped from the other side of Legolas. He had slowed his rowing to pull back and see what the commotion was about. Boromir met his gaze and held it. "Enough," Aragorn only said. Boromir looked away. Legolas had heard their arguing once again the night before, and could plainly see in the man's crinkled eyes that Boromir was still quite bitter about it. The ginger-haired man muttered something unintelligible and looked down, angrily working his oar through the water.

Aragorn and Legolas watched him go before Aragorn nodded towards Miraleth. "How long has she been like this?"

"Long enough to have Seen something important, or to think so, at least," Legolas replied. He had never seen Miraleth concentrate so completely on trying to See. It made him anxious to know what was going on in that lovely little head of hers.

"Does the bow she's holding onto have anything to do with it?" Aragorn followed Miraleth's slender fingers as they trailed up and down the length of the bow. Her other hand was clenched so tightly around the wood her knuckles were turning white. Although he had been raised among elves, he was not well-versed in the knowledge of the Sight. Besides Lord Elrond, he had never known anyone so deeply gifted with it, and it had remained at the back of his mind until he met the Lady Miraleth.

Legolas shifted his weight. "Brush your bare fingertips across those of someone with the foresight, and you are telling them everything about you there is to know. Let them have something of you—a lock of hair, a possession, a gift—and if they so desire, you are still telling them half the things there are to know about you."

"A talisman?"

"Of a sort."

Aragorn looked away for a moment. "The bow is Miraleth's. So its significance, then, is in its connection to its maker or giver."

"Or both." Legolas gazed at him, the corners of his lips twitching downwards.

"Who gave her the bow?"

He sighed. "Gandalf."

Miraleth stirred just as they were passing the Argonath. The two great stone statues, sculpted from the likenesses of Kings of Men, stretched towards the sky, their faces solemn and their hands outstretched in a halt gesture as they guarded their kingdom even as it faded away under the shadow of Mordor. Miraleth saw Aragorn point them out to Frodo—as if he possibly could've missed them.

She twisted on her seat in the boat, both to stretch her back and place her bow down behind her, and hid a yawn behind slender fingers. "What time is it?" She asked Gimli, who glanced at her.

"Early afternoon. Find what you were looking for, lass?" Gimli asked, and tapped his temple with his fingers, winking hugely, just in case she missed his meaning.

"Perhaps," she murmured and met Legolas' eyes behind Gimli's. Later, her eyes promised. He nodded once.

Beyond the Argonath, the Anduin widened out into a lake, and then ended abruptly with the Falls of Rauros, over which the water seemed to careen off the edge of the world. They had made good time; it was still light outside. Aragorn signaled towards the rocky shoreline—the last of it they would see, hopefully—and pulled his boat onto the land, helping Boromir and Legolas when they caught up. The hobbits, upset at having missed most of their various daily meals, immediately set about making a small fire and collecting all the pots and pans from where they hung on Sam's back. Merry and Pippin all but ordered Boromir to go fetch dry firewood and a good rabbit or two, and he laughed and nodded, disappearing into the woods.

"So," Miraleth started, glancing back at Aragorn as she, Legolas, and Gimli collected the bedrolls and blankets from the boats. Aragorn stood at the edge of the water, arms crossed, gazing out over to the east side of the lake. "Where does our road lie from here?"

He pointed. "We cross the lake at nightfall. Hide the boats and continue on foot. We approach Mordor from the north." He turned and headed towards their camp.

"I…the north?" After exchanging glances, the three were right on his heels, interjecting with stutters and stammers.

"Aragorn, the way is—"

"Really, it's quite dangerous—"

"—think you could just casually sneak it by us, eh, laddie?!"

Aragorn silenced them with a sharp look over his shoulder. He checked around for Boromir and then leaned in towards them. "Would you rather, then," he muttered, "pass through the desperation of Gondor? The Ring is no safer there than on Sauron's finger." He shook his head and straightened back up. "No, we take the road from the north."

Gimli lowered himself onto a tree stump next to Pippin with a grunt and looked, wide eyed, back at Aragorn. "Oh, yes? It's just a simple matter of finding our way through Emyn Muil, is that it? An impassable labyrinth of razor sharp rocks! And after that, it gets even better!"

Pippin stopped chewing and his gaze snapped to the dwarf. "Even…even better?"

Legolas, however, knew just what lay down the road Aragorn was proposing, and he had no wish to hear it spoken out loud. The Marshes. Instead, he wandered over to the treeline and peered through the foliage, frowning. "Miraleth," he called softly.

She came, turning away from the dwarf who was now complaining about the Dead Marshes, and stood next to Legolas, following his eyes through the trees. "See something?"

"Do you?"

She fought rolling her eyes. "Not quite how that works, Legolas."

He didn't reply for a moment, but then he sighed once and turned to stalk back towards Aragorn. After casting one more worried glance through the trees, Miraleth hurried to follow, easily slipping her arms through the crook of Legolas' elbow once she caught up.

Legolas gazed sharply at Aragorn. "We should leave now."

Aragorn shook his head. "No. Orcs patrol the eastern shore. We must wait for the cover of darkness."

Legolas only turned back to look towards the forest, exasperation etched into his face. "It is not the eastern shore that worries me." A cold breeze rushed from the woods and lifted their hair. It didn't belong—not with the warmth of the sun on their skin. "Something draws near. I can feel it."

Just as Aragorn parted his lips to respond, Merry spoke from across the camp, absentmindedly, almost to himself. "Where's Frodo?"

The idle chatter in the camp grew quiet as the deafening silence grew louder. Miraleth turned to look to both her sides, then behind her, and then she whirled around, trying to catch a glimpse of her little hobbit.

Aragorn was the one to break the tension by striding forward, his eyes locked on a shield and bedroll leaning against a tree. Boromir's shield and bedroll. "Boromir…" he muttered breathlessly and picked up the shield, handing it to Miraleth when she appeared at his side.

Miraleth ran her hand over the hide cover of the shield, her fingers grazing the metal disc in the middle. The shield almost never left Boromir's side, and for that reason, holding the edges of the shield in her hands was nearly as good as pressing her fingers to Boromir's forehead.

—"Bring the One Ring to Gondor. We would have our kingdom protected, son of mine."

"Yes, Father."

The One Ring reflecting in Boromir's eyes.

It hungered for power. He hungered for power.

And they would have power.

Ash nazg durbatulûk.—

Miraleth shied away from the darkened images and remembered what Frodo had whispered to her the night before—"He will try and take it,"—and her gaze rose to anxious faces.

Legolas spoke for her, grasping Aragorn's shoulder and meeting his eyes. "Hurry."

"Frodo will be fine, Sam," Pippin nodded with a smile. "Aragorn's only been gone a few moments, and he'll be back in a few more. Don't worry so much! Here, have some sausage." He shoved another sausage link onto Sam's plate. "Do you want any, Miraleth?"

"No, thank you, Pippin," she murmured absentmindedly and turned away towards the treeline. The setting sun of the late afternoon reflected off the lake water and lit the trees afire with a warm haze. It lit up the leaves, and old stone ruins in the shrubs, and Legolas' long, blonde hair where he stood facing the woods. His arms were crossed in front of him and his left foot was braced on the top of a rock. His eyes remained traveling through the trees when Miraleth went to stand next to him and he was silent for a moment before speaking. "Something's coming," he said quietly.

Miraleth glanced up at him before casting her gaze back out into the forest. Shadows moved between the branches and whispers wisped through the leaves like wind. "I know. The trees are anxious."

Legolas smiled wryly. "I forgot how ardently the trees adore you. Whispering all their secrets for you to hear."

The trees always had loved Miraleth, even after they had grown still and silent and retreated into themselves, drawing back into their forests. A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "Not quite as ardently as their inhabitants adore Arwen." Just as the trees loved Miraleth, anything that ran, flew, or swam in Middle-earth all but belonged to Arwen.

Legolas ignored the half-harmless remark after brushing a hand against her lower back to sooth the subtle tension in Miraleth's words. "Did you See this? With Boromir? I thought you said he was growing on you."

Miraleth's lips turned down. "Boromir is a part of this Fellowship, and above all he wants to see Sauron defeated. He is strong and courageous. Loyal to the end. But," she added when Legolas opened his mouth to interject. "He is loyal first to his father and he would do what he thinks is the best thing for the kingdom of Men, even if that includes bringing the Ring to Gondor."

"But you had to have known."

She rubbed down goosebumps on her arm. "I did not think it would be quite so…soon."

"You did not See?"

Miraleth chuckled bitterly and shook her head once. "You know that's not how it works."

"Speaking of," Legolas said, his eyebrow piquing. "Earlier today you seemed quite occupied."

And instantly, Miraleth's entire demeanor changed. Dejected and withdrawn became excited and hopeful, and a sparkle that Legolas had not seen for some time began to light in her bright eyes. She took a deep breath as a slow smile spread over her face. "Oh, Legolas. It's…"

"What is it?" Legolas asked, trying to keep his voice from lightening. Watching Miraleth light up like that was like watching the sun rise and he found himself wanting to smile regardless of any worry that had just filled his heart. His eyes met hers—those lovely rain-colored eyes—and he did smile, unconsciously leaning towards her like a moth drawn to flame.

"I'm not entirely sure, of course."

"You sat there for hours."

"Yes. But everything was very…dim. Unclear."

"Something powerful."

She nodded, the hope coursing through her veins rendering her nearly breathless. "Yes, yes, powerful enough to be able to do that."

"How many things can do that?" Legolas was supposed to feel cautious, he knew, but Miraleth's obvious excitement was contagious and he could feel the inklings of curiosity take hold in his mind.

Miraleth shook her head. "Only a few."

"Such as?"

The Istari.

Her lips had eased into a full, hopeful grin now, and she stepped forward. "Legolas, I have Seen—"

She stopped cold. Her smile faded and her excitement seemed to leave her in a whoosh along with her breath. She was no longer looking at Legolas, but straight ahead, her face pale.

Legolas' gaze snapped down to her hands—upon stepping forward towards him, she had braced her palms against the nearest tree, and now she pressed her cheek against the bark as she listened to the forest whisper. "What is it?"

After half a moment, she turned and fled back to their campsite, calling over her shoulder, "Aragorn!"

Gimli did a double take as she ran past him to snatch up her bow, and Sam jumped to his feet. "If Aragorn's in trouble then Mr. Frodo's in trouble!" he cried, and reached for his shortsword. After exchanging a shocked glance, Merry and Pippin leapt up and followed his lead.

"Baw! Baw! You are staying here, peredhil!" Miraleth rushed out, half in Elvish, as she reached for the quiver Haldir had given her.

"Legolas!" Gimli was rumbling, brandishing his axe from his tree stump. "Help me up, Legolas, the laddie needs us!"

Legolas reached down and pulled Gimli up without a second glance, and the two of them ran off into the woods.

"Miraleth, let us help!" Merry set his jaw, starting after Legolas and Gimli. "We've been in battle before!"

She shook her head and planted her hand on Merry's chest, keeping him from going any further. "I don't think so, little hobbit. In Moria there was no other choice but for you to fight for your life, but those were hardly even orcs, they were bugs, half-goblin, and these are Saruman's Uruk-hai. They would pick you up and snap you in two, Meriadoc Brandybuck." She glanced at Pippin and Sam, who stood just behind Merry, the same determined spark in their round eyes. "You. Will. Stay. Here."

"But Mr. Frodo—!"

"Will never forgive you if you get killed for him." They were silent at that. "Hmm?" Pippin mumbled something. Miraleth leaned towards the hobbits and lay her hands on Merry's shoulders. "Stay," she whispered, whirled around, and disappeared into the trees after Legolas and Gimli.

Baw-No

Peredhil-Hobbit

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