A/N: Sorry it's late! I sorta had writers block, and then Aphrodite was messing with my brain :/… but then my English teacher read my essay out to the class because I got an excellence, and I got really motivated and wrote the chapter!

Review replies:

Katana: I'm not sure I understand your first statement 'Ah, figure, their. One person or two cause it doesn't make much sense.' If you could elaborate, that would be great. And no, the Valar don't have only one body to share between them. It's just that Varda was the only one who appeared in the dream.

Sarah: Flute is definitely best, I agree entirely. And it should all become clear who is the fixer, the trouper, the healer, the riser soon! ;)

Brightpath2: Yaaay for Sam! OwO Today's chapter includes Boromir (not quite so awesome) but yay! Hope the cover is going good! :D

Rastas: Oooh, I have plans for Moria… *evil laugh* It will probably appear next chapter, and end the chapter after that… Teehee! I can't wait! :)

In other news: Haven't heard from Tran, Ginny and I have started archery, and Julia's birthday is fast approaching!

CHAPTER!

…..

[8th January, T.A. 3019]

It was the morning of the eighth of January that the foursome came to the borders of Hollin, or Eregion.

The mere 16 days that they had been walking had already begun to make changes to their appearance. Julia and Lola both looked significantly thinner, and Ginny was only a little better—while Tran looked gaunt yet fit.

He was the most fit from the start at any rate. Now all that sword training was paying off. He was able to last longer distances without sustenance; he spent a lot of his time climbing up steep slopes to check on the surround, bounding up like a deer.

Which was all very well and good for him, Julia thought crossly. But did he really have to insist on going 30 miles a day, with only one break in between?

Tensions were rising within the group. Ginny and Lola had already begun to quarrel over silly things, like where they were setting up camp.

And now Julia was getting pissed off at Tran… she wasn't sure how much longer they would be able to stand each other.

Tran was certainly the most calm—but Julia could see him become a little agitated, too. But Tran never yelled; he vented his anger in silence, fuming under his wide-rimmed glasses.

It was a long, painful trek. They walked without conversation, for there was nothing left to speak about.

The good news was that it was becoming less cold as they walked south. Less cold was a bit of an overstatement—'Now not cold enough to catch hypothermia' was far more accurate.

Julia sighed, wondering how close they were to Moria. Tran was fairly good at guessing where they were, but it was only a rough estimate based on the miles they had gone that day and the area they were situated in.

The mountain peaks were barely visible for the layer of mist that covered them. The sky was an electric blue that made Julia's forehead ache.

Crunch, crunch, crunch went her feet on the gravely ground.

She had to admit, it was beautiful, but she had grown up in New Zealand—one of the most beautiful places on planet Earth.

The instant she thought it, she wished she hadn't. Images flooded her mind; her family, her house, Phillip…

What am I doing?

But Julia continued walking. Crunch, crunch, crunch, marching forward across the landscape, never once looking behind.

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

…

Boromir could not sleep.

Every time he closed his eyes, his thoughts would turn…

In his mind he saw Faramir's eyes, warm and wide, so childlike even in his adulthood. Then he saw his father's eyes, grim and cold.

Denethor had never been a bad parent. It wasn't his fault, Boromir told himself. He had never been the same after Finduilas's death. At any rate, it wasn't his fault for the neglect Boromir and Faramir had suffered since that time.

Well…

Boromir didn't think so, anyway.

Although, it was a little strange for Denethor to have grieved for so long. Boromir could see it in his eyes—he had loved her so.

Yet Boromir sometimes wished to condemn Denethor's cold eyes, his unchanging, expressionless voice, his brooding silence.

Stop hiding! We are your sons! Heed us!

But yet still the quiet yearned. Denethor remained grim, his eyes dark and empty, full of sorrow and old wounds that never quite healed.

But Boromir was lying to himself. Denethor would take interest in Boromir's activities—oh yes. Boromir knew he was his daddy's oh-so-precious firstborn, his legacy, his lifeline.

And then there was Faramir.

Faramir was different. He took interest in arts; he never liked being a warrior. He sat and thought for long periods; pondering questions other men never paused to ponder about.

Boromir had always thought Denethor's disinterest in his youngest child was simply that—he did not do what Denethor wished. But now… he realized it was more than that.

Faramir's dark hair, his blue eyes, his long fingers, his pale complexion… Boromir wondered how he had never realized before.

Faramir reminded Denethor of her.

Finduilas.

Boromir thought Denethor would be overjoyed at the thought—but apparently not.

Instead, Faramir was pushed away. He was to eerily alike, too reminding, too haunting. Faramir was like the finger that prised open the scab; forever reopening the wound, so the scar was never completely healed.

Boromir paused in his thoughts. Sam was on watch, but Aragorn was joining him, and Boromir could hear them speak.

"Strider, what's your favourite type of mushroom?"

"…I don't really have one, Sam. I don't eat a lot of mushrooms."

"Ooh, I'm partial to portabellas myself, but sometimes I just like a good button mushroom. My sister, Marigold, does an excellent button mushroom, with garlic and… Strider? Strider, are you listening?"

Boromir turned himself to his thoughts again. It wasn't Denethor's fault, really… not his fault it hurt whenever he looked at Faramir.

But Boromir could not bring himself to completely ignore the issue. Did Faramir really deserve it…

He felt himself torn between loyalties. He did not want to blame his father. He was grieving. But Faramir had done nothing wrong, either…

His thoughts paused again as he heard Sam speak again.

"What's that, Strider? It don't look like a cloud."

Boromir tilted his head up to the night sky.

It was dark, but it didn't take long to distinguish what Sam was talking about. At first glance, it looked like a cloud, yes; but it was moving too fast, and the night was mostly cloudless.

It was a black shape, moving against the wind, seemingly spiralling and twisting towards them rapidly.

It only took a moment for Boromir to realize they were crows.

…..

[2 minutes earlier]

It was dark and silent, but the fire was still spitting flame.

In the dim light created by the embers, Ginny and Tran sat together, bending over several maps.

Tran let out a loud yawn. Ginny would've done the same—but she was not tired—no, with him so close… she felt like she had just drunk a vat of coffee. She was wide-awake, replaying the last little incident in her mind.

They had been so close to kissing… so close… Ginny tried to make herself feel repulsed by the idea… but she was kidding herself.

Cursing, she turned her attention back to the map. Usually she was so good at keeping her emotions in check. What was happening to unstitch them?

The map. Ah yes, the map. It was a pretty map. Yes, very pretty. Apart from the large smudge of lembas across Lorien, which was courtesy of Lola—but that was another story.

For a moment Ginny had a demented image in her mind—elves running around screaming, as Lorien was flooded with lembas. She snorted in amusement.

No. That was a good sign she was far too tired to be still awake. At any rate, she should be focussing on the map…

The map. Ah yes, the map.

"So, we are here," Tran pointed to a large area marked 'Eregion'.

"Ya-ha," Ginny nodded, her head still dreaming up ways for Tran to sweep her off her feet and… wait, what?

Cursing mentally again, she managed to scrape together a coherent response that did not involve llamas or lembas flooded elven realms. "Next up is Caradhras."

Obviously Lola had been doing some major Lord of the Rings lectures, because Tran nodded as if he understood. "Which we will not do, I'm hoping."

Ginny blinked rapidly, trying to process what he had just said. "No… no, we won't."

"Yeah, I think—" Tran stopped abruptly and frowned, pointing at the sky. "What's that? It doesn't look like a cloud…"

Ginny squinted at the sky. In the distance was a dark mass, coming towards them faster and faster. She frowned too. "What…?"

Suddenly it was swooping over them, and it became evident to her—they were crows. Heaps of them. They flew so close Ginny could feel the breeze their wings created. And then—wham, they were in the distance, moving faster and faster and darting around as if they were searching for something.

She turned around and there was Lola, sitting up in her bed, shivering and wide-eyed.

"Crebain," She whispered, "Spies of Saruman."

…..

[9th January, T.A. 3019]

It was dark. Orthanc was cold. Saruman paced across his study, muttering to himself.

Papers were scattered everywhere, in a tidy chaos; three quills and one inkpot; a chair lent against which was a staff, a chair on which three parchments were sitting. On these parchments three proper nouns were underlined with blotchy pen—'Rings of Power', 'Dunland' and 'Alatar'.

Clack, clack. Clack, clack.

Saruman's shoes clicked and clacked as they hit the glossy obsidian floor, his multicoloured robes swishing behind him.

The room was black. Saruman liked black. It was solid; it could not be painted over as white could.

The room shared likenesses akin to a tomb.

"So, Gandalf… you have followers… three woman and a man in the garb of an elf…"

Saruman paused, thinking. "Servants of Mordor? No, I think not…"

He sat on his chair and pushed a few parchments out of the way. "They would not be any use to The Eye—they are weak…"

He paused once again. "Yet… perhaps they may have a part to play. A pawn they should be, yes…"

And with that, Saruman stood up and made his way out of his study.

Clack, clack, went his shoes. Clack, clack… clack… clack, until the sounded faded away into the distance.

The room was silent, and a grave was being opened.

…..

[10th January, T.A. 3019]

Lola was always on first watch. It was the decision the four had made—Lola was always the least tired at the end of the day, and she also liked to get her shift out of the way so she could sleep undisturbed.

Julia's shift was last, for she was always the most tired—while Ginny's was before hers and Tran's after Lola.

Lola held a lump of charcoal from the previous fire in her hands, feeling its warmth calm her from the inside out. Only a few trees dwelt here near the mountains, but more so in Eregion. Dry wood was hard found, however, and Lola appreciated it when it could be used.

In the darkness, Lola's thoughts began to wander. They crept through her memories, slipping and sliding under jagged edges of her guilts and secrets, turning and twisting under they stopped short.

She bit her lip. She wanted to turn around but she couldn't.

It was him. He filled her mind suddenly and it hurt so.

She bit her lip again. Julia could joke about it all she wanted, but to her it would always be real and painful. Him, his dark eyes and his laugh and his curly hair and the inside jokes and the little white lies and seven years of him, and his memory burned so brightly in her mind she could not ignore it.

"What about Aiden," Julia said slyly, "Let's talk about him!"

"Oh, god, no!" Lola face palmed.

"What is there to say about him?" Ginny laughed.

"Sick-minded gamer guy," Julia began.

"Who was very, very funny and cute," Lola finished.

"That's not what I was going to say!"

"I know. D'ya remember that time he asked me out for a joke?"

"It wasn't a joke, Lola!" Julia sighed, "You just said no and he covered up. If you had said yes… maybe you would be married and he would be walking alongside us."

"Julia, we were thirteen."

Lola could not justify why she was still thinking about him, five years on.

Perhaps it was the humiliation, the way he walked home without saying a word, the bitter taste of rejection, like tar on her tongue.

Perhaps it was the way she had been forced to watch him as they grew up, watch him date other girls and kiss other girls, watch other girls make him happy in a way she never could.

He had been so close; so, so close—yet she was not allowed to touch him.

Her first love, he had been beautiful and flawless, bright as a flower. In her eyes he had been perfect, adorable with his clumsy ways and green braces and curly hair. She liked the way he smiled, the way he laughed, the way he shook her hand across the library counter and made her whole world smell like butter.

Now the memory was slightly tainted. He hadn't been perfect. He was ignorant of her feelings, and blunt in the way he did not return them. He'd made her cry more than once.

Lola mentally punched herself.

Stop. Being. Nostalgic.

Suddenly, she heard a rustling.

Sitting up abruptly, she listened harder.

It didn't seem like something large was coming towards her… She didn't want to wake anyone else. If it was an enemy, it was a small one… and she could take it on.

She fumbled for her sword in the darkness and advanced towards the bushes, holding it in front of her, hands trembling.

The bushes abruptly parted, revealing…

"It's only me." Pippin said weakly, staring and the point of the sword, which was in his face.

Lola let out a sigh of relief and lowered her blade, smiling. "Oh."

There was silence. No greetings.

"Do you always take first watch?" Pippin asked.

"Yes."

More silence. "You seem very quiet, Lola."

"Mmmm. I'm thinking."

"About what?"

"A person I used to know."

"Fond memories?"

"Maybe…" Lola faltered. "Well, yes and no. What are you doing here, anyway?"

"Oh," Pippin shifted from one foot to the other, "I was afraid our last meeting was a dream, so I decided to check again just to make sure it wasn't."

"I see. I suppose you're meant to be relieving yourself again?"

"Yes. Legolas is on watch. That's why I'm talking so quietly… because his ears are so sensitive."

Lola stifled a laugh, "Well, I guess you'd better get going before he comes looking for you."

"I suppose. Lola?"

"Yes, Pippin…"

"Who was the person you were thinking about?"

"His name was Aiden, and he was one of the most wonderful people I've ever met. Now, you'd better go," Before I start crying and babble out the whole story.

"Ok. Goodbye Lola."

He paused, waiting for a reply. When Lola did not, he turned and staggered back through the bush.

…

A/N: Yay! Hope ya'll liked it! I thought Sam and Aragorn's conversation about mushrooms was cute. :) Saruman's scene was fun to write but not quite as cute… And lastly, I poured my heart and soul into Lola's scene at the end—because I know that's what will happen.

I have the other chapter started, but… *holds chapter over the fires of Mount Doom* If ya'll don't review THE CHAPTER GETS IT! :O