DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of Tolkien's characters or the world he created. The only character of mine (Jorryn) has decided to take a holiday in Tolkien's Middle-earth. No copyright infringement on any of J. R. R. Tolkien's works is intended. Jorryn sings an excerpt from "Go Where Glory Waits Thee" by Sir Thomas Moore in this chapter... which doesn't belong to me, either.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Once again, I must apologize for taking so long... but this chapter is even longer than the last:) I hope that makes up for the wait. Now we get to see how Jorryn gets better acquainted with the rest of the Fellowship, along with a few more of the Elves. Thanks to all who read and review--it's impossible to express how much I appreciate it. I hope you enjoy this chapter as well.

28

The eastern horizon was wreathed in early-morning flame. Clouds, their undersides golden in the vibrant, blossoming dawn, hung hazily about the towering peaks of the Misty Mountains, and the river Loudwater tumbled and tripped down into Imladris. The wintry air was cold and dry; Rivendell was silent. I felt I was the only one awake in Elrond's House to greet the new day.

Standing on the balcony adjacent to my quarters, I shivered and hugged my prickling arms to my stomach. As a breeze whispered through the bare silver tree boughs above, stirring the sweet-smelling leaves littering the floor at my feet, I turned to go back into my room. My bed was made and my belongings put away, but I still hadn't ventured out into Rivendell. I was alone in a quiet world, though not uncomfortably so, and I was enjoying my brief escape.

"So," I said, heaving a sigh to my calm surroundings, "what now?"

Many timeless weeks had come and gone since the Council of Elrond, but little had been spoken of it. No one seemed willing to think of the task that had been placed before us, me least of all — the departure of the Fellowship was imminent, but some Hobbitish quality that I had acquired from my friends prevented me from worrying about it or what was to come after. The hours seemed neither short nor long as they blended into a wonderful, never-ending slur of crisp mornings and quiet evenings, songs in the Hall of Fire and luncheons with my hobbits. We explored all of Rivendell together and met many of our gracious hosts, Elf-maids and dancers and lords and great councilors, beautiful ancient beings that I never grew tired of seeing.

And in this way, winter came upon us, harsh and foreboding. I was appalled at how many days had gotten away from me, and when I told Bilbo so, he only remarked, "Time doesn't pass here: it just is," and I didn't think he could have been any more correct.

Merry was always in the libraries, usually with a reluctant Pippin in tow, and whenever I was invited I went simply to watch the two friends peruse old maps and argue about exactly where on the ancient paper the Westfarthing of the Shire ended. I loved to see the Brandybuck's pointed ears go pink at Pip's pure, childish audacity. Frodo and Sam were often with us, and though Samwise would look with disdain on the bickering pair, Frodo chuckled fondly at his younger friends, sitting quietly beside me and offering me many wry grins.

I hadn't seen much of the newly appointed Fellowship except for the hobbits and Gandalf, for most of my time had been spent with Bilbo, who had asked me to assist with his writing. I was helping him clean up the notes about our journey that he had made previously with Frodo; from my journal I could help him figure the length of our travels and give him details that his nephew had not. I loved being with him, for his quarters at Rivendell were no more tidy than Bag End had once been — papers were strewn everywhere, along with books and drawings and Bilbo's favorite jackets.

My old Baggins had asked me absently one day, after finishing his notes about Weathertop, "How many chapters will their next story need, I wonder?"

I'd not answered, of course, but his question had compelled me to return to the memories of Tolkien's renowned books that I had shoved to the back of my consciousness long ago. Recalling my friends' adventures had kept me up for a good part of many recent nights. I had remembered the valor of Rohan and her old king, the destruction of Isengard by the Ents, the glory of Gondor returned… but foremost in my mind was when Mordor would fall. It was one of the few exact dates I remembered, a date I had meant to celebrate in my own time as a tribute to the books… March 25, the day before my brother's birthday. I had even written it in one of my calendars. Remembering a fictitious holiday had made me somewhat of an eccentric in my own time, but now I held that day in my mind always.

Again, I sighed, leaning upon the frame of the archway leading out to my balcony. "How can I wait here that long?" I asked the peaceful morning, a hint of restlessness in my tone. There was no response save for the cheerful bubbling of Bruinen.

A knock on my door brought me suddenly out of my thoughts, and it was followed a second later by boyish, lilting words. "Are you awake, Jo?"

I grinned and called, "Yes, Frodo, you can come in."

The hobbit stuck his dark head around the door, his face bright. His lips curled into a smile. "Good morning," he greeted, slipping inside.

"Good morning, Frodo," I replied, feeling my heart tremble with joy at the very sight of him. His simple tunic was clean and fresh, and he wore it then with the sleeves rolled up his arms. The hobbit ambled around my bed to me, and I nodded toward the sun just coming over the edge of the world. "It's early, Master Baggins — what are you doing up?"

"We're going up into the Mountains for some exploring," he said. Rays of young sunshine caught in his brilliant blue eyes and brown curls. "There's a pine-wood in the northern parts of the valley that I'd like to visit. Would you care to come along?"

"Certainly," I said happily, "just let me get my boots."

The last of autumn was clinging stubbornly to Imladris even as winter overtook it. Leaves were falling constantly from their lofty branches, abandoning the graceful limbs that rattled gloomily in the chill wind coming down the mountainsides. Snow was visible on a few far-off peaks. The sky was clear and open above us, littered with only a few harmless clouds, and daylight was soon pouring radiantly down on the world. I took a cloak with me to Rivendell's main courtyard where Samwise, Pippin, and Merry were waiting for Frodo and me to join them.

"Here they are at last!" cried the Took, his favorite scarf pulled up over his pointed ears against the bitter air. "We were about to leave without you, dear cousin."

"You know better, Peregrin," Frodo smirked.

The weight of our last journey was obviously no longer on any of my friends' minds, and they weren't bothering to fret about what was ahead, either. They laughed and danced, their voices filling the woods with merry song as we passed over the rumbling Loudwater and began the trek up into the Mountains. We had not traveled for an hour when they decided to rest in a small hollow and start one of their Hobbitish games, which I was content to observe from atop a pile of crumbled stone.

I watched them run around me and through the dusty sunlight that managed to reach us through the thick pine trees. I wasn't sure what the object of the game was, but I was fairly sure that Merry and Pippin cheated, and they earned themselves a few good tackles from Frodo and Sam. They tumbled over each other in the grass, yelling and whooping through the capes pulled over their heads.

They're just children, I thought, unable to suppress my giggles.

"What are you laughing at, Jo?" Merry demanded after getting smothered by Frodo, sitting up with twigs and grass in his hair.

Embarrassed, I put a hand over my mouth. "I'm sorry… I just haven't seen you all have so much fun in a long time."

The hobbits struggled up the rocks to sit beside me, and Sam said, "I think we were with Master Bombadil the last time we had a chance for games, Miss Jo."

"After the Barrow-downs," remembered Merry, plopping down. His gaze flitted about his surroundings for a moment, and then he said abruptly, "I wonder where Strider's gotten off to."

"You never know with him, Mr. Merry," shrugged Sam. The Gamgee reached over and took a weed from where it grew through a crack in our boulder and stuck it between his lips. "No offense to him, of course, but he's one of the strangest fellows I expect to ever meet. Very proud and solemn he is, if you take my meaning."

"I think he's probably off somewhere with Gandalf," I said, grinning warmly at Sam.

"Most likely doing Big People things," added Merry.

Pippin, still out of breath, plucked broken leaves from his shirt. "Good old Gandalf," he said. "No one in the Shire ever realized what an important wizard he was."

"And they never will," said Frodo wistfully. The Baggins peered out into the woods, his expression sad. "There's a lot they'll never know, Pip."

I hugged my knees to my chest, missing the rolling green hills of the Shire and Bag End's lavish halls as much as my hobbits did. Our conversation faded to silence, Frodo's words drowned out in the sound of the Loudwater's falls, a faint sigh behind the rustling of trees. The Baggins cupped his hands in his lap, where a shaft of sunlight fell, and the light pooled in his small palms like liquid gold. I was about to ask him if there'd been any news from the Shire or its borders, but I looked at them and saw their gloomy, sober expressions, and I held my tongue.

"We have seen a lot, I'll admit that much, Mr. Frodo," Sam said at last. The weed in his mouth bobbed. "My Gaffer would have a thing or two to say about what we've been up to these last few weeks."

"I'd wager he'd have more than just a thing or two to say," snorted Pippin. "You'd be closer in saying 'a whole earful.' "

The Gamgee shrugged, and Merry pointed out calmly, "It'll be a long time before we have to worry about facing the Gaffer or anyone else in Hobbiton again."

A strange burning sensation rose in my chest, as it always did when someone discussed something about what was ahead for Middle-earth and her Free Peoples. Every time I heard mention of a group of scouts returning, every time somebody asked about the armies of Sauron gathering in Mordor, my heart jerked painfully.

At Merry's offhand remark, Frodo's fingers went absently to the chain around his neck, and I pressed my trembling lips into a tight, thin line. For many moments there was uncomfortable quiet, until the Baggins stood and said loudly, "We'd better get on if we wish to return by midday meal."

Pippin immediately broke into a speech about how he'd told Merry they needed to bring a breakfast with them, but I only heard Sam, climbing down from the rocks at my side, his sandy curls hiding a flashing gaze: "My poor Gaffer would have a thing or two to say about us going right into Mordor, too, and no mistake…"

That dull ache remained in my bosom for the rest of the day; all other joys drowned in it. Gandalf watched me closely during afternoon tea, and I could force myself to help Bilbo write for only half an hour before supper. When I met Boromir in the gardens that evening, I answered his handsome, sweeping bow with no more than a halfhearted nod. I tried to brush by him and walk up the steps to my quarters, too harried to talk with him, but was clipped by his elbow. Such a blatant discourtesy caused me to turn and frown up at him in perplexity.

"You look troubled, Milady," the man said in a frank tone. A smile, not so unpleasant as I expected it to be, played across his strong features. His dusty brown hair framed a jaw covered by a short, trim goatee, and a fur-lined cloak was over his broad shoulders. The deep blue of dusk threw his dark face into deeper shadow.

My eyebrows twitched even further into my frown. He had never addressed me so directly before, nor ever expressed any interest in my disposition. "Sire?" I wondered warily.

He ducked under a limb of a large shrub, stepping closer to me. "Might I be of any help to you?"

Confused by his surprising behavior, I cast my stare to the delicate Elvish statues around us, and when I did not respond right away, Boromir took a seat on a stone bench nearby so that his head was even with mine. "You are very kind, sire," I said at last, standing as tall as my small form allowed, "but I'm fine, really."

He rested his elbows on booted knees, chain mail rustling, and nodded benignly. A second passed, and he spoke again, "There is news — have you heard that all the scouting parties but one have returned? We should be ready to depart before the month's end."

The ache in my chest flared. Though I saw many things in Rivendell that my hobbits did not, I hadn't been aware that so many scouts were already coming back. I had noticed only a few groups thunder in on horses and make straight for Elrond's main house. What month was this — surely it was not already December?

I faced Boromir, arranging my countenance into mildly interested lines. "How many parties were sent out, Milord?"

"Several departed immediately after the Council was ended," the man said, "and many of the companies included the close kin of the Lords Elrond and Aragorn. Some have ventured as far as Tharbad and Rhosgobel."

"I hadn't heard that," I mused, my voice thin, hoping that my naivety wasn't too obvious. The places he mentioned were lost on me. "I've been with the Bagginses since arriving here. Did the scouts find anything?"

"No, they brought back little news, for no trace of the Ringwraiths or the creature Gollum has been seen these two months." His head quirked slightly, almost as if he glimpsed through my mask what truly distressed me, and he questioned bluntly, "How long is it since you came to be with the Halflings, Milady?"

"I couldn't tell you, sire — a long time," I bumbled.

"I can imagine how difficult your separation will be."

Uncertain of the conversation's direction, I swallowed and nodded, "Yes, sire."

"And what of your own people? Are we in Rivendell the first Men, besides the Lord Aragorn, that you have seen since your arrival in this time?"

"There are many Men in the village of Bree, near the borders of the Shire," I said, "though they are not nearly so noble as the ones I've met at Rivendell. I spoke only with two people, for I much preferred the company of the hobbits when we stayed at the inn there."

He laughed, and it was a rough, throaty rumble that brought warmth to his bold countenance. "Should you travel farther East, Milady, you may find folk of gentler nature."

"I don't know," I flushed, "but I would like to see the great people of Rohan and Gondor."

"Perhaps you shall," he said, a flash of white teeth betraying the grin that still lit on his face.

I knew it was very unlikely that I would ever get farther than the Misty Mountains, and I sighed. "If I am able to see my friends again after this journey, I'll be happy no matter what, sire."

He looked at me intently and said, "Your love for them is great, Lady Jorryn, but you need not worry for the Halflings. I promise that no harm will come to them, even if our quest proves to be in vain. Does that put your mind to rest?"

I stared at him in abrupt wonder, and for a moment the burning pain left my heart. There was sincerity and compassion in his words, and they comforted me, even if I already knew what was to happen to both my hobbits and Boromir. So proud and harsh he had been at the Council that I had thought only such behavior could be expected of him, but I had been terribly wrong. This man from Gondor was imperious, and harder than ice, but he was not completely lacking in chivalry.

"It does, sire… thank you," I said, softening.

Still bent forward over his legs where he sat, he clasped his hands and bowed smilingly to me once more.

I returned his smile before moving away, telling him, "And it is not in vain."


Sleep would not come to me that night or the next. I was restless, and no matter how I tried, my thoughts could not be turned from my worry and my anxiety. The mantra what if, what if, what if kept flitting about in maddening circles within my harried brain. I could no longer shove anything out of my mind like the hobbits to think about it later — so much talk of what was to come had shattered my determination to not let apprehension reign. After hours of tossing in my blankets and going over every significant happening that I could recall from Tolkien's tales, I decided to take a walk.

Still in my nightclothes, I opened the door to my room a fraction and slipped out, walking quickly down the spacious hall and descending the steps into the gardens. I made my way to one of my favorite places — the wide veranda overlooking the valley and Bruinen's falls — knowing the way well enough by then that I had no trouble in the dark. The air was chill and thick with the smells of rain and green grass, carrying the mists of the river up to where I rested. The moon was framed by silvery clouds in a lonely, ink-black sky, and when I looked for the constellation Menelvagor, he was nowhere to be found. I folded my arms on the protective stone balustrade enclosing the balcony and dropped my head upon my crossed wrists.

I found myself, once again, mourning the days I had lost, regretting the things I hadn't said or done, kicking myself for not trying to be with Gandalf or Aragorn or any of the hobbits more. Where had the months gone? Now, driven by desperation, I clung to my friends and probably grew to be an annoyance — but I wished so much to remember them all as they were now, before war and death changed them forever, that it was hard not to. I was constantly pressed by the thought that things would never be the same again once they left me… and I had always despised change.

"So you can't sleep either, Jo?"

I twisted around and discovered Frodo Baggins standing morosely behind me, at the edge of the gardens under the sweeping arms of a stone figurine. Pausing a moment to catch my stare, the hobbit moved slowly to stand at my shoulder, the blue embers of his eyes soft in the moonlight, hands in his pockets, most of his expression hidden in the shadows cast by the tangled fringe over his brow.

I was not surprised to see him awake, for I knew he'd probably left his room long before I had, troubled by thoughts more sinister than mine, so I simply shook my head, muttering idly, "No. There's too much to think about right now."

I felt his fingers brush through my unbound hair in a distracted sort of way, and a shiver teased my spine. "You shouldn't worry yourself, for whatever reason," the Baggins reprimanded gently.

Guiltily, I peered to the shrouded valley below us. "I know I don't have much reason to worry," I replied, "but I really can't help it. Knowing what's going to happen won't stop me from missing all of you."

Frodo laughed a little, sad and faint. "I'm sorry, Jo, I forget myself — I suppose it's hard for you not to fret, when your burden is as great as mine."

"Hardly," I said, bristling at his allusion to the Ring. I glanced up at him, my chin still perched atop my arms. "I'm just a girl who knows too much."

"And I'm no more than a hobbit with a gold trinket," he countered swiftly. The Baggins pressed a palm to his chest, checking for the cold cruel feeling of his precious little knick-knack, and I had to focus hard on the undistinguishable dark shapes of the river tumbling into Rivendell to keep from gawping eagerly.

"Don't be silly," I said, my voice shaking slightly. "You're going off to save Middle-earth — you've become a hero simply by agreeing to go with the Fellowship."

He gave me no reply, but his hand fell from the Ring about his neck, and somehow, my fingers found their way between his, squeezing lightly. He appeared so small and unprotected to me in the darkness, all his fears and doubts exposed, really nothing more than what he claimed to be. But I loved him doubly for it.

"Frodo," I said carefully, wanting immensely to lessen his uncertainty but aware that I couldn't tell too much, "there's no one else in the world who can do this."

The tiniest of smirks tugged at his mouth. "Gandalf and Elrond keep saying so, too, but I think you're the only one who can convince me of it."

"Then I'll say it more often, because it's true."

"Thank you," he muttered. I saw him glower moodily up at the Mountains just visible against the starless atmosphere, pale and craggy outlines, and he sighed, relenting, "But I had hoped — I'd hoped to remain here at peace for a little while, at least."

"I know, Frodo," was all I could say. I suddenly felt very drained, and I sagged against the balustrade. The thick air was burning my eyes and growing cold against my naked arms.

"Jo," the hobbit said quietly, vaguely, "I'm not as strong as everyone expects me to be."

Finding some long-buried courage, I pushed myself up, reached over, and swept his curls away from his smooth, fair brow. "Yes, you are, Frodo Baggins, and you should know that as well as anybody," I retorted firmly.

"My strength comes from others," he said unhappily. "I don't know what I would have done these last few weeks without Sam and the others — and you. I would not have made it this far."

"You would have done fine without me," I said, knowing it was true, "and you'll still have the others with you in the Fellowship. Take heart from Aragorn, and Gandalf, and Sam."

"Jo…" he heaved resignedly, his mouth a thin line. I understood what he wanted to say: It isn't that easy.

But I echoed, in the same tone, "Frodo…" He tilted his head to watch me as I stretched wearily and told him around a yawn, "Please don't worry any more. Let's go to bed. I'm tired, and you need your rest."

A week later, I was having breakfast in one of Lord Elrond's grand private dining rooms with Gandalf, Elrond, the hobbits, and one other Elf I had not met until that very morning; he was a lean, heavy-lidded councilor with a sad gaze, one who said little and listened to our chatter with polite interest. He was so unobtrusive that several times I forgot that he was sitting only a few chairs away from me. Gandalf and Lord Elrond presided over us all with gentle splendor, the wizard laughing and smoking with the hobbits while the Elf sat erect, directed food around the table, and simultaneously watched us shrewdly, as a father supervises his children. Bilbo had taken leave of us many minutes before, declaring that he needed "a bit of quiet time" in his quarters, and none had gone with him. I hoped to spend hours at that table, enjoying the sunlight slanting into the room through tall, open windows and marveling at how the dew shone like glass on the ferns and the turf outside Elrond's quarters.

"We've not had one of our own good friendly stories in a long while," remarked Pippin over his ham and potatoes, after Sam had finished giving a doleful lecture about what a state the Gaffer's gardens must be in without him at home to tend them. The Took nodded in my direction and ordered, "Jo, tell us something more about your Time."

"More?" I smiled at him around the silken napkin pressed to my mouth. "I thought you'd had your fill of all that — I don't know what else I could tell you."

"Tell us something we won't believe," prodded Meriadoc, and he added quickly, "but don't make it anything sad or depressing, mind you."

"All right," I said, replacing my napkin in my lap and catching the piercing stare of Gandalf through a haze of pipe-weed smoke. I dug briefly through my mind for something unbelievable. In this age, much that I had once taken for granted seemed impossible even to me, and I wondered how Men had ever come up with some of the things that I had been so used to, once. Elrond, nonchalant, poured me more milk as I thought, and the hobbits waited expectantly for my answer.

At last, I told them in a frank tone, "I don't know if it's unbelievable, but I used to ride horses in a vacant field next to my house, right in the middle of downtown. We owned two of them, a mare and a stallion."

Pippin snorted disappointedly. "How glad we are to know that those huge brutes will exist so many years from now, while Hobbits have disappeared from the face of the earth!"

I shrugged feebly, not sure what more I could say. "Well, it was sort of uncommon to be able to ride in my time — not everyone owned horses or ponies then. Riding was sort of a novelty."

Merry frowned, his adorable face filling with perplexity. "Well, how are people supposed to get from one place to another without a pony? Do you have to walk everywhere?"

"No, we take cars," I said, and I regretted the words the instant they flew off my tongue. How could I explain something like an automobile to hobbits and Elves without having to go into motors and mechanics and other things that I knew very little about? Everyone seated about me only stared blankly, waiting for me to go on. One of Gandalf's bushy gray eyebrows arched with interest, though he said nothing, and I forced back my giggles.

"Oh, dear," I blushed, waving my hands lamely, "a car is just like — a horseless wagon. It's like a wagon that drives itself."

"Begging your pardon, Miss Jo," Sam grimaced confusedly, and he tapped my arm, "but how does that — work?"

"It's hard to explain," I muttered, biting my lip, casting around for a piece of parchment on which I could perhaps draw an example of what I spoke.

Frodo chuckled at my distress and shook his head. "I don't think it's for any of us to understand, Sam."

Elrond chose not to dwell on something he couldn't possibly comprehend, and instead he asked, "Have you much skill as a rider?"

"I've never fallen off, if that counts for anything," I said, wincing, remembering times when I had come quite close.

He nodded, amusement in his noble features. "I believe that would indeed count for something, Milady."

I grinned toward the Elf and reveled in the laughter of Gandalf and Frodo, irrepressible joy welling up in me. Everything around me appeared to suddenly glow beautifully — the small patch of radiant blue sky I could see in the corner of the window's frame opposite me through the canopy of trees made my spirits soar, and the warm sun shone on the silverware at my fingertips. My friends were happy, and so, of course, was I.

Why can't things stay like this forever? I wondered. I was still beaming merrily when another voice called to us from the doorway of the dining room, at my back.

"A good morning to you, fair guests!"

We all turned to see Arwen Evenstar, standing regally under the archway separating the dining room from one of Elrond's vast halls, her shimmering gown flowing down her slender form and arrayed about her in a graceful cascade of light burgundy fabric. On her brow was a circlet of fashioned silver, and her waist was surrounded with a chain of sparkling jewels.

Two others accompanied her, waiting behind, Elvish lords in robes equally breathtaking and with the same heavy air of importance. I realized immediately that they must be twins, for so alike was the pair in appearance and stature that I had to look from one to the other for a moment to make sure I saw correctly; their faces were both long and sober, unmarked by age or lines of care, set with gray eyes exactly like Arwen's. Their dark-haired heads were bare, but swords were at their hips and bows over their shoulders. The beauty of the three of them, standing so close and watching us together, struck at my heart.

"Good morning," everyone replied, the hobbits and I peering curiously at the maiden's escorts. At the end of the table, Lord Elrond stood slowly with a slight, grim smile.

"Please forgive our interruption, ada," Arwen said, dipping her head. Her tender speech closely resembled Elrond's, for her words were soft but the syllables sharp. Elrond made no reproach, so she raised her arm in an elegant gesture toward the newcomers behind her, asking of the hobbits, "Friends, I don't believe you have met my brothers?"

"No, Milady," said Frodo politely, but recognition dawned on my face. I remembered the two of them from what I'd read in Tolkien's books — they were Elladan and Elrohir, the twin sons of Elrond, Arwen's only siblings. Their arrival surprised me, for I hadn't expected them to show up until the end of the story at the battle in Gondor. I couldn't think why they would be in Rivendell now. Arwen introduced the pair to those still sitting at the table, their names rolling pleasantly from her lips, and the brothers each nodded in greeting. I attempted to respond with a smile even though I was already having difficulty in telling the two apart.

"They have only just returned," Arwen went on to Elrond, speaking directly to the Elf-lord standing beyond us. When her father nodded and slipped away from his chair, gesturing for his sons to follow, Arwen explained to us, "For many long weeks they have been away, riding as scouts. They are the last to return."

The color and the warmth of my surroundings, so lovely a moment before, quickly faded away, and the room became cold and bleak. Arwen's words rang shrilly in my ears — they are the last to return.

I sat dumbly, distantly aware that Elladan and Elrohir were swishing by me on their ways to Elrond, pausing to bow to us. The Elf who had rested silently at Elrond's side all morning made to get up, questioning hesitantly, "My lord?"

The twins turned, their eyes bright, and I think it was Elrohir who waved the Elf back to his seat. "We will speak naught of our errand except to the Lord Elrond," he said sternly. A moment later, the three Elves had gone, disappearing to another part of Elrond's great house.

But still I remained, frozen with shock, ice coursing through me and robbing all sensation from my limbs. Gandalf was talking quietly with the Elf that had been ordered to stay behind, promising that all would be revealed in due time, and the hobbits were making casual remarks about the look and manner of Elrond's sons, but I could say or do nothing. Numb, I dropped my spoon onto my empty plate. Arwen might have told us, rather, that my friends were going to die in a matter of days — it would have meant the same to me. The last scouts had returned, the hobbits were going to be stolen away from me, and nothing would ever be the same again.

Despairing, I looked everywhere but at the wizard or hobbits, thinking I would burst into tears at any second. I glanced toward the doorway, contemplating escape, and then noticed that Arwen was still there, watching me pityingly. I was cut by the sharpness of her gaze, and I paled.

She glided over to the table, unbidden, so discreet that my friends didn't see her come and bend over me slightly so that she could press her hand into my unruly hair. She whispered kindly, "You knew that this day would come, Mistadiel. You cannot waver now… we must be strong for those who leave us behind."

I fought the knot in my throat, blinking hard and managing to find joy in the fact that Arwen Undómiel was offering me comfort. She and I, two who loved the members of the Fellowship, were not so different when it came to this matter, and I realized I was acting like a foolish child when she suffered just as much as I. Abashed, I turned to her and said, "Thank you."

She moved away, understanding and sadness in her eyes, and a moment later she spoke clearly to all present. "I will call on the other members of the Company and bring them to join you, friends. My father will want to speak with you all. Miluihîr," she called to the remaining Elf next to Gandalf, "will you accompany me?"

He rose obediently, and they departed, leaving the rest of us to finish our breakfast in peace. Our carefree, cheerful morning of just a short while before had become a very grave affair, but the hobbits seemed not to notice.

"What do you suppose all that business with Elrond's sons was about?" Pippin piped up curiously.

Gandalf, leaning back in his chair with his rough gray cloak drawn about him, crossed his arms over his chest. "They journeyed farther than any of the scouts we sent out, Peregrin, down the River Silverlode into a strange, rarely traveled country. Who can tell what they might have seen or heard in such foreign lands?"

Legolas was the first answer Elrond's summons, entering alone, dressed in robes of deep emerald, without a sword or bow. His golden hair was braided back from his handsome face, and he met us gracefully. Soon after him came Gimli, so wild and unkempt in comparison to the Elf-prince, his bushy, earth-red head for once not covered by a helm and his axe resting not in his hand but at his belt. The two did not speak with each other if it could be avoided, so Frodo asked the Dwarf about his father and the dealings of his home, and Legolas took up a conversation with Gandalf.

"Winter comes upon us swiftly, now," I heard Legolas say to the wizard amiably, his voice subdued and musical. "I do not expect to see a morning as fair as this until next year, at least."

"Yes, but let us hope that it doesn't come too swiftly with its frost and gloom," Gandalf answered. "Fine weather would not be a hindrance to us on our journey."

"Indeed," agreed the Elf. He started and scowled for a moment when Gimli yelled fervently that the halls of his father were the grandest in all of Middle-earth, much to the delight of the hobbits and myself. Annoyed, Legolas continued, louder, "I am eager to pass out of the Mountains and meet the Winter on the plains, rather than delay here."

"It matters little, I think. But we shall leave soon enough, Legolas." Gandalf moved to his feet and walked around the table to his staff, where it was resting against the wall close to my chair and currently acting as a perch for his familiar wide-brimmed hat. He gripped the carven wood and brought it before him, examining the knotted rod as though he were seeing it for the first time. I watched, and his focus slipped from his staff to me, seated just past it, yet he said nothing.

I hadn't been listening to what the hobbits and Gimli had been talking about, so when the Dwarf whirled and thundered to me, "And what has the Lady to say to this?" I could only frown dumbly.

"I beg your pardon, sire?"

Sam was stuttering nervously at Frodo's side. "I — I only said that the caves in the mountains make me nervous, Miss Jo, when Master Gimli mentioned them — so deep and black they are, and Mr. Bilbo's told me a good lot of what he saw when he got lost under the Mountains — I meant no harm — "

"Your Mr. Bilbo saw goblin-caves and maggot holes, Master Samwise," said the Dwarf heatedly, "not the great caverns of my folk. If ever time permits, I will take you to see the splendor of the Lonely Mountain at my home in Erebor, and then you will think twice before scorning the homes of the Dwarves."

"Yes, sire," the hobbit gulped fearfully.

I beamed, "Not all caves are something to fear, Sam."

Gimli crossed his arms confidently, grunting in agreement, "Listen to the Lady, Master Samwise, for most certainly she knows of what she speaks."

"Yes, sire," Sam repeated, and Gimli, appeased, went on with his tale to Frodo.

The Gamgee shuffled his feet and grumbled up to me, "It's not natural, Miss Jo, all that burrowing and mining. How can one do living without the green hills and the open sky?"

"I don't know, but from what I have seen, hobbits do their own share of burrowing, Mr. Sam," I said teasingly, poking him in his round stomach.

"Now, Miss Jo, you know what I meant," he murmured, injured, and I giggled.

Legolas suddenly bent down to me secretively, overhearing us with his sharp Elf ears. His long blonde hair brushed against my cheek. "The Dwarves don't need defending, Milady, though it is generous of you to do so," he said. "They would not appreciate an act so gracious from a Lady so fair."

And I flushed so crimson that Legolas's clear, tuneful laughter rang like a bell in the dining room.

Aragorn and Boromir appeared minutes afterward, Bilbo following narrowly at their heels. Since Elrond had not yet come back, Pippin asked for more food, and it was brought so that the hobbits could have their customary second breakfast. The men joined in on the meal, but I sat away from them with Gandalf and the elder Baggins, trying to quell the pain in my writhing stomach. I managed to ask Bilbo about what progress he had made on his book and his songs, and he answered me happily. Bilbo never failed to cheer me up.

"They say they'll sing my newest tune in the Hall of Fire this evening," he told me absentmindedly. "I don't know why the Elves do it, really — just to please and occupy a silly old hobbit, I suppose. My songs aren't at all worthy of Rivendell."

"No, Bilbo, I love your songs," I said earnestly, and Gandalf grunted, "You are a silly old hobbit simply because you say such things, my dear Bilbo."

My friends were well into their third helpings by the time Elrond returned with his sons. Gloomy and tired were their expressions, but they stood tall and their shoulders were squared. "The time has come," the Lord of Rivendell announced. "If the Ring is to set out, it must go soon. Do you still agree, Frodo, to be the Ring-bearer?"

The Baggins nodded. "I will go with the Fellowship."

"Then I cannot help you much, not even with wise words," said Elrond, placing a hand on Frodo's shoulder. "You will find both friends and enemies on the road, and I will send out messages as I can to those who might aid you.

"Are all here still willing to venture into this peril with Frodo the Ring-bearer?" Elrond questioned those around him, his voice loud and hard, his stare burning like gray flame. Elladan and Elrohir smiled a little, and, as they did so, managed to take a hundred years away from their stern faces — they were young and handsome, their full lips a faint pink and their wide stormy eyes framed by dark lashes. They filled me with hope.

"Yes," everyone of the Fellowship answered. I caught Pippin's high, sweet voice among the deeper ones of Gandalf and Boromir, and I couldn't stop hot tears from briefly blurring my vision.

"Then it is decided," sighed Lord Elrond, folding his arms over one another, "and in seven days the Fellowship must depart."


I was frantic; over the next week, my friends all seemed determined to be in different places at the same time so it was impossible for me to be with them all at once. Frodo spent much of his time with Bilbo in the old Baggins's room, but sometimes he was in the libraries or talking walks with Gandalf and Aragorn, speaking with them of their future perils, and I didn't dare to intrude. Merry, on the other hand, decided he'd had enough of the ancient maps and manuscripts and instead ran about Rivendell with Pippin, trusting that he'd learned enough, and it was very difficult to find them during the day. It was only in the evenings and at meals when we were all together, sitting in the Hall of Fire.

Sometimes I came upon Merry and Pippin with Boromir as the man instructed them in swordsmanship, and this was something I loved to watch. Boromir was a giant compared to the hobbits, but he trained them well, and the pair learned quickly. The man would fly about them both at once, his weapon flashing in the cold sun, calling out terse directions to my friends. Companionship developed quickly between the three of them.

Not wanting to be left out, I managed to coax Aragorn into teaching me something of the same on the afternoons he had free; the blade given to me by Bombadil had not been used once, and I wished to be able to wave it around at least somewhat convincingly. Even if Strider thought my request peculiar, he agreed to help, and in the short time we had, he taught me what was necessary for self-defense. Frodo came to observe a lesson once and participated in a quick contest with me, one that had Aragorn grinning bemusedly at us from his seat against a tree trunk the entire time. Frodo accidentally struck my fingers with the flat of his borrowed blade halfway through, and I'd been too shocked to do anything except drop my sword and clutch my knuckles in pain. I was clumsy with my weapon, always fearful that I would hurt myself, and Aragorn, very forgiving of my lack of ability, had made me promise to practice. But I never expected to use what little skill I had — these things were merely useful to know.

More and more often each day, I heard the Elves of Rivendell call me "Mistadiel" as I passed them in the halls or gardens or met them in the Hall of Fire. Nátucien greeted me in this fashion every morning when she brought my washed clothes back to my quarters. By the middle of the week, I was thoroughly perplexed. I knew nothing of the Elvish language, and to be christened with a name that I could not understand was somewhat discomfiting, though I loved the thought of being accepted like one of Elrond's own. I asked Bilbo about it after supper one evening, curiosity getting the better of me.

"Elves I have never seen before in my life are calling me by some other name like they've known me forever," I said to the hobbit, making my incredulity obvious. "I don't even know what they're saying to me."

"They know you much better than you think," the old Baggins answered, laughing heartily. "They always give names to that which they love. Aragorn is the Dúnadan to them, a Man of the West, and Gandalf is Mithrandír the Grey Wanderer. You, my dear Lady, are their Straying Daughter, Mistadiel. I thought Frodo had taught you enough Elvish for you to know that."

I blushed, and the odd phrase tugged at a deep memory. "Tom Bombadil called me that once," I murmured slowly, remembering, "but how could anyone here have known — "

"I couldn't tell you, and I doubt anyone is really sure," chuckled the hobbit.

The eve before the departure of Fellowship was filled with feasting and song and dance, many hours of merriment which ended late in the Hall of Fire. The hobbits and I sat together, once the eating was over, and listened to the tale of Beren and Lúthien in its entirety, my head resting lightly on Frodo's shoulder, one of my arms through Pippin's, the firelight dancing on the bare walls. Peeking up at us now and then, Merry, Bilbo, and Sam had flopped down in pillows before us, chins in their hands. Gandalf, Aragorn, Boromir, and Gimli reclined in chairs nearby, smoking their curved pipes, and Arwen sat at the feet of her father at the far end of the chamber, Legolas standing behind. These were the few that I noticed in the great hall — all other figures were drawn into the background and forgotten. Shadows played on the grave faces of my companions, but their eyes glimmered with resolve, and I was glad to share even a small part of their purpose. My unbearable anguish of the past weeks had been slowly reduced to a dull, throbbing ache, yet my heart still grieved. No seven days had ever passed so quickly in my life.

The mournful songs were the only sounds to be heard reverberating in the Hall; no one spoke, because there was nothing left to say. Even Bilbo had fallen silent after a while. Our minds were bent either on the task that the Fellowship would soon undertake or else were completely empty. My head was made up of an uncomfortable mix of the two, my thoughts flitting between resignation and heartbreak and then nothing at all.

So long were we in the Hall that the hours of that last day dwindled into the early morning, and the Elvish music was drawing everyone into dreams. Sam began snoring softly below us, and Pippin's head lolled limply against my arm. I shot a smile up to Frodo and whispered, "Don't you think you all should head to bed yet? Some are already halfway there."

"I'm not tired," said the Baggins, "but I do feel I need a breath of fresh air. Would you like to come with me?"

Carefully, I slipped my hand out of Pippin's and propped him up in the cushions I left vacant, and then made my way with Frodo out of the Hall of Fire. Gandalf gave us a tiny nod when we passed, and we were not followed.

I walked with Frodo out of Elrond's main house, down timeworn steps and over bridges that spanned the icy, stumbling Bruinen. It was cold, but I'd had enough sense to bring a jacket with me to the banquet, and if I asked I knew Frodo would lend me his as well. The tree boughs over our heads made a dim, dreary roof, hiding the starless sky beyond, and grasses hissed in the wind.

"It's going to be a gray day tomorrow," remarked Frodo, peering upward.

"Yes, it is," I agreed absently, and I didn't bother to ask if he referred to the weather or his mood.

"Did you know that we're taking along the pony we bought at Bree as our pack-horse?" the hobbit asked, forcing cheerfulness. "Sam can't be parted from it — he's already named it Bill."

Bill the Pony, I remembered, and I said aloud, "That seems fitting."

"Yes," said Frodo, "and Rivendell has treated him quite well. You would hardly recognize him as Ferny's tired old beast."

I chewed idly on a fingernail, trying to think of something else to talk about. We paused on a low footbridge in a clearing between two galleries, and Frodo leaned against its arcing banister, his boyish profile silhouetted against the dense trees. From the quiet Elvish dwellings nearby, a silvery, ethereal illumination reached us, reflecting off the many waterfalls and casting a misty sheen over our surroundings.

After staring at the hobbit for a moment, I joined him, muttering, "I'll miss Bill, but I really don't care much about him right now, you know."

Sullen and unmoving, Frodo did not answer me. He only glared down at nothing, and I turned away. There wasn't anything I could tell him to lessen his sorrow.

My hands curled around the carven railing over which I bent, and I shivered, feeling utterly empty, drained of energy and feeling. Verses of a song, learned by my heart long ago for a school play, came scattered to the front of my mind, the notes echoing eerily in my skull. Go where glory waits thee, bade a voice…

"But while fame elates thee," I whispered to myself, frowning slightly as the words came back to my memory, "oh! Still remember me." Frodo stirred and looked up, and I went on gently, taking no notice:

"When, at eve, thou rovest

By the star thou lovest,

Oh! Then remember me.

Think, when home returning

Bright we've seen it burning,

Oh! Thus remember me."

It was hardly a song — more like a hushed, halfhearted recitation — but Frodo smiled at me. "Bilbo said you liked to sing," the hobbit commented.

I coughed embarrassedly and cleared my scratchy throat, shifting to face him. "I like to, yes, but that doesn't mean I'm any good."

He shrugged and said, "You're going to be living with the Elves until we get back… have them teach you some of their songs."

"I think I'll pass," I said, rolling my eyes. "You know how terrible I am with Elvish, Frodo — do you want me to make a fool of myself?"

"There's time enough for you to learn from a proper teacher, now," he urged earnestly. "You should ask Elrond."

His eyes shone in the delicate light, and I weakened. "I won't be idle here, Frodo," I told him, "but I will try to ask him, if it'll make you feel better."

"It would," the hobbit said.

He offered me his arm, and he led me off the bridge and down a short flight of steps covered by a graceful archway, past balconies and silent halls. I'd had no idea where we were going until I saw that we were coming upon the familiar stairs that would take us to our quarters. The gardens were at our left, dim in the night, the smooth floor was swept clean of leaves, and the candles in the corridor had long before been put out. I suddenly wondered what it would be like after tomorrow, when I would be the only guest staying in that hall, and the rooms of my friends would be lonely and deserted.

Frodo had brought me before the door of my room. "In the morning I'll be with Bilbo," he informed me, shifting his weight from one bare foot to the other. "Elrond says — we aren't due to set out until tomorrow evening, under cover of darkness, so don't worry about taking a few more hours of sleep. You've been worrying too much, Jo."

"I don't need any more sleep than you do," I replied stubbornly as he moved away.

"Good night," the Baggins grinned, and a second later he had disappeared without a sound into his bedroom, leaving me very much alone.

I stared forlornly after him. "Good night, Frodo."

Pippin and Merry were the ones to wake me the next morning, plates of bread and fruit in their hands and apologetic looks on their faces. "You missed breakfast," Meriadoc told me ruefully, once I was conscious enough to lift my head. "Gandalf wouldn't allow anyone to come and get you."

Quite cross with Gandalf, mulling over what I would say to the wizard when I saw him, I hurriedly ate a little of what the hobbits had brought, feeling too nauseated to fill myself. They stayed with me and talked about anything that happened to cross their minds, so courteous that they refused to make me dine on my own — though in doing so they missed elevenses, the third meal in a hobbit's day. I had slept almost until noon.

"I don't know what he was thinking, letting me stay in," I grumbled around a mouthful of apple, angrily ripping a piece of bread apart. "He knows I wanted to be with you all."

Pippin smiled faintly. "He thinks you've gotten less rest than anyone in Rivendell, the way you've been running around and worrying yourself these last few days. 'No one is to go near the Lady's room,' he ordered us — you're lucky we managed to sneak in."

"You mean Gandalf doesn't know you came to get me?"

"Well, not exactly," admitted Merry, fidgeting.

I snorted and reached over to tweak their round noses, saying lovingly, "You two are the bravest of hobbits, my dear Meriadoc and Peregrin."

I dressed quickly in one of my gowns from Hobbiton and went in search of Frodo after finishing my meal. Bilbo's quarters were nearer to the main house and on a farther side of Rivendell, so I ran the whole way — over the tended paths into the neat little courtyards, taking shortcuts through lawns and tree-groves, coming in a few minutes to the small stairway that directed me up onto the covered terrace that belonged solely to Bilbo. There was a stout stone bench at the terrace's edge, where one could look out over much of the Homely House and its gardens, and behind it at an angle was the majestic, carven door to the old Baggins's room.

I glanced toward the gray, cloud-laden atmosphere and shivered in the frigid wind. Frodo had predicted the weather accurately enough — perhaps the heavens were mourning the Company's departure just as much as I. Chilled and out of breath, I hurried up to Bilbo's door and knocked.

"Coming, coming," I heard Bilbo call through the wood. A moment later, I caught a flash of crisp, snow-white hair at the doorframe, and before I knew it, the Baggins had snatched my hand and cried, pulling me happily into his room, "So Gandalf let you wake and join us at last!"

Pages of open books fluttered on the floor and on tabletops, and I stepped into the messy space just inside Bilbo's quarters. Frodo was standing beside Bilbo's bed, his linen shirt halfway unbuttoned, his curls disheveled. There was a small sword strapped to his waist, and I saw the shine of clean silver mail on his chest.

"Merry and Pip came to get me, without Gandalf's leave," I confided to the elder Baggins, at my elbow, "and I'm very glad they did. I might have slept right through tomorrow morning, too, if someone hadn't woken me up."

"It wasn't just Gandalf," said Frodo distractedly, his back turned, "because I wanted you to get some rest, too."

I sniffed indifferently at the youthful hobbit, and Bilbo patted my arm with a weathered hand. Frodo finished fastening up his shirt again as his elder informed me, "Well, my dear, you haven't missed much. The sword that Frodo was given at the Barrow-downs was broken, if you remember, after that little incident at the Fords, so I have him my old sword, Sting. Show it to her, Frodo!"

Obediently, Frodo drew the blade from its tattered leather sheath, and the sharp, polished edges glittered in the cruel dim sunlight. It was a gracefully wrought weapon, decorated with Elvish script, and it rang smoothly when Frodo brandished it in a slow circle before him.

"It's beautiful," I breathed, marveling at the fabled sword.

"Yes — made by the Elves," said Bilbo proudly, and he pointed at the curling figures engraved on the fierce edge.

"But there's this, as well," Frodo said, tugging at his mail shirt, which was partially covered by his tunic and vest.

"The Dwarf-mail given to me by Thorin Oakenshield," nodded Bilbo, and I beamed, remembering his adventures.

"It's mithril, isn't it?" I wondered.

"Yes, of course it is." The hobbit stepped back from his nephew and gave him a careful-once over. "Just a plain hobbit you look, Frodo," he said approvingly. "Now there's nothing left for me but to finish my book and get started on yours, once you get back."

Frodo stroked the smooth supple links at his collarbone, becoming very serious. "I can't thank you as I should, Bilbo, for all you've done."

"Listen to how he carries on, Jo!" Bilbo nudged me with a few fingers, speaking in a loud whisper. He waved Frodo's words away. "My dear Frodo, you mustn't try to thank me for anything."

He bent down, effectively closing the subject and having the last say, and he picked up with a groan several bound manuscripts, humming a preoccupied tune. Frodo shook his head and smiled at me; he'd always said that Bilbo could rarely deal with anything remotely serious. The old Baggins began to sing softly to himself, bustling about the room while Frodo and I watched.

"But all the while I sit and think

of times there were before,

I listen for returning feet

and voices at the door."

I could not stop a shudder from overtaking my shoulders, and I wished it was not so cold outside.

Frodo, Bilbo, and I met Gandalf on the way to midday meal in the main house, and I sent such a swift and ferocious look up to the wizard that he laughed warmly and gave me a slight bow, his eyes sparkling from beneath the brim of his pointed hat.

Opening the splendidly engraved doors of the banquet hall for us, Elrond's son Elladan was walking just ahead of Gandalf. "The wrath of the Lady Jorryn is fierce," he quipped amusedly, peering over his shoulder at me.

"Indeed," said Gandalf, chuckling. "That may very well be the last time I try to tell a Lady to rest herself."

I ate little but remained in the hall with my friends for many hours, and the afternoon slipped away through my fingers to vanish in the laughter of the hobbits and the booming voices of Gandalf and Aragorn and Boromir. There were many Elves about us, quiet and stoic, speaking inaudibly among themselves in their own language and smiling gently on the mortals among them, and they gave us whatever we wanted. Elrond, Arwen, and Elrohir joined us late in the day, and we were all moved into the Hall of Fire.

Arwen rested with Frodo and me in the flickering shadows, the wavering light dancing on her flawless face and in the locks of her midnight-black hair. She almost seemed more distant than usual, and desolation flashed in the tumultuous gray of her gaze. Aragorn was standing over us, at Arwen's shoulder, clad in Elven-mail and dark shimmering robes, and his noble profile so stark against the marble walls was a comfort to me in the darkness.

"I have a gift for you, Jorryn," Arwen told me between songs. "We must hurry — most of the Company's farewells will be said here, but we shall see them off in the courtyard."

Curious, I rose and we withdrew without a sound, walking to a part of Elrond's House I had never seen, where silken tapestries hung on the walls, depicting maidens in a silver wood and ancient warriors on great horses, and gossamer cloth adorned the ornate windows. This lovely place could only have been Arwen's room. A divan, surrounded by high-backed chairs, was arranged with many pillows near the open arches of the windows, and across it was laid a gown. Arwen lifted it carefully from the cushions and presented it to me.

It was of light yellow lace, fitted by a horizontal wrap of fabric from the chest to the hip, with a low bodice that ended in a beaded gold belt, its center pointing downward. The sleeves trailed the floor, bound just above the elbow by tight bands, and they slitted open at the forearm. There was a single silver clasp at the neck.

I gasped and reached out to touch the flowing skirt. "You can't mean to give this to me!"

"It is yours," Arwen smiled, placing the dress into my outstretched arms. "But there is little for the Fellowship to do before departing, sell, so dress quickly!"

I accepted her gift gratefully and hastily changed into it, letting my hair loose though it frizzed like mad in the unpleasant humidity. Outside, dismal evening shadows fell upon Rivendell, and mist hung about the craggy mountaintops. The dark overcast sky pressed down on us with low and murky clouds, stifling my spirits and my heart; they were a veil over the entirety of Middle-earth, and they poisoned what little sunlight was left to the day, allowing only a sourly tinted ghost to reach us. But lights in the Homely House were lit, holding the twilight at bay for the present, giving a little cheer to the drab atmosphere.

Arwen returned in a purple dress embroidered with curling silver vines, her middle encircled by a wide violet sash, an intricately twisted circlet on her brow. I stood for a moment feeling very awkward — for she was beautiful, and I was nothing more than a girl playing dress-up. She put a fair, slender hand to my head and a velvet cape about my shoulders, saying, "It is time."

As we made our way to the courtyard of Rivendell through the bitter dusk, over the roofed walkways from Arwen's quarters, a horn sounded from somewhere near, echoing in a great blast through the valley, charging my spine with electricity. I almost felt that I should take off running toward the noise.

Arwen explained, her low voice breaking slightly, "The horn of Gondor signals the Company's readiness."

I was guided to a shortcut through Lord Elrond's darkened libraries, going by the dusty bookcases noiselessly. We passed into the wide dining room at the front of the house, and I was surprised to see movement in the gloom. Arwen slowed when she realized that her father was still here, talking in low tones with Gandalf. Their heads were bowed close together over a mahogany table. Gandalf was again dressed in his tattered gray robes, his gnarled fingers gripping his tall staff, and the sword, Glamdring, was at his side.

Hearing us approach, the two straightened and faced us, shadow obscuring much of their faces, and a knot rose in my throat. We came beside them. Elrond nodded solemnly to his daughter, murmuring, "Si boe ú-dhannathach, sell nîn. They are waiting for us outside."

Arwen bowed and moved away from me, disappearing through a nearby door, but I did not follow. I looked up at Gandalf, unable to think of anything but the days he had spent in the Shire laughing with us and smoking with the hobbits on Bag End's front stoop, his wavy hair blowing about under his hat in the breeze, his fantastic fireworks lighting the night sky over the Party fields. I ached to have those days back again more than anything.

Weakly, I sniffed, fighting my despair, and Gandalf smiled, going to his knees before me. It was the first time I could ever remember him bothering to do so for me — mostly he had been content to look down from his lofty height, but now he put his hands on my arms and was directly at my level.

"Darkness may fall over all of Middle-earth, and the Enemy may take all that is dear to you… but you must never lose heart, Jorryn," he said, the rich, gruff rumble of his words an almost tangible warmth amidst all my sorrow. "He does not yet hold sway over all that is good in this world."

"Gandalf," I forced out miserably, "I can't — can't thank you enough for everything that you've done — I should have told you sooner, but — "

His smile spread to his sharp gaze, crinkling the already creased skin around his eyes and kindling a tender and knowing look that made me want to cling to his old form forever. "Now, Jo," the wizard said softly, "surely you, of all people, would know that we will meet each other again. You may thank me all you want then."

In spite of myself, I grinned and nodded, "Yes."

Gandalf mirrored my nod and drew me into his arms, and I felt the coarseness of his beard against my bare neck and the weight of his cloak as it fell across my back. Although thankful for his embrace, I trembled, wondering how on earth I would be able to stand saying goodbye to the others, too.

When we pulled apart, Elrond, towering over us, folded his hands at his waist and announced, "The Fellowship awaits."

Clusters of Elves stood in the shady courtyard, gray in the evening mist, and the hobbits were lingering on the front steps. Gandalf, Elrond, and I came out of the main house with firelight spilling out at our backs and candles gleaming in countless windows, illuminating the assembled figures. Bilbo was shivering in a thick blanket alongside Frodo, who was clothed in his familiar traveling breeches and jacket, and Aragorn was sitting huddled a stair below them in the dirty garments of a Ranger that I recalled well. Arwen was farther away with her brothers, her dark head bowed. I saw Bill the Pony grazing in the long brown grass by the archway leading out of Rivendell, and beyond him, the river roared frigidly.

"A-about time," quivered Bilbo, hunched under his mantle.

Their noses and pointed eartips red and raw from the cold, the hobbits turned to me, their faces catching the cheery firelight. Heavy packs were slung over their shoulders, and they were girt with their swords from the barrow. Smiling, Frodo caught at my hand.

At that moment, an unbelievable wave of misery crashed over me, making me sway unsteadily. I fought back the sudden urge to weep. I can't do this, I thought wildly, focusing hard on a ragged cloud moving just above the roofs of Rivendell.

Pippin noticed the twisting of my countenance and stepped closer, tugging playfully on one of my curls. "It's all right, Jo," he said, his voice lilting impishly, and he gave a tiny shrug. "We saw so much when we were with you — how much more could there be in the places past the Mountains?"

I choked on a stifled sob and bent down to hug him, kissing his cold forehead. "Yes, Pippin," was all I offered in reply, even if I knew it wasn't true.

"You'll be all right," the Took murmured, smiling up at me.

"And you, too," I permitted myself to say. "You and Merry stay out of trouble, Peregrin."

Merry prodded me from behind, his other hand hidden in his coat-pocket. "When have we ever done otherwise?" he joked.

I went to him, burying my face into his strawberry-blonde hair. "You're impossible, Merry Brandybuck," I said unconvincingly.

"We'll see each other again, Jo," he said into my ear, sounding strained.

"Of course," I garbled back brokenly. I swiped at my nose with my free palm and cursed myself for acting so silly. I couldn't be making it any easier for my friends with such a display.

"Miss Jo — "

I twisted about, and Sam squirmed embarrassedly next to Frodo, his honest round face obviously flushed even in the frail shadows. He wrenched uneasily at the cumbersome bag he carried, and his brown eyes flashed. "I just wanted to say — that I won't forget you, Miss Jo, no matter how long we're away — and — and that you're a fine Lady — and I don't expect to meet any better."

I smiled affectionately through my tears, and, to Sam's alarm, kissed him squarely on the cheek. "Take care of yourself, Sam," I said, but he had turned so pink that he could not answer me coherently, and he trundled off to catch Bill.

At last I met Frodo's gaze again, and I drew a shaky breath. His face was white, smooth, and fairly unreadable now, his stance set and his mouth a taut line, but in his wide stare there was a tempest of conflicting emotions. He wrapped his fingers about the hilt of Sting. I swallowed against my constricted throat.

"There is reason to hope," the hobbit wondered uncertainly, "isn't there, Jo?"

My heart was torn brutally in two, and I had to look away from the Baggins for a second. I sniveled, trying to think of something dignified to say, but the only reply I could muster was a faint, "There is always hope, Frodo."

Frodo's lips tipped. He reached upward to cup my cheeks and pull me down to him until our brows touched, and I could hardly bear to meet his gaze. "Gerich veleth nín," he told me in Elvish, the words coming easily from him.

"Frodo," I whimpered helplessly, and I shook my head against his, "I don't know what that means."

" 'You have my love,' " he translated gently, and he suddenly stood on his tiptoes, lifting his mouth to mine and kissing me delicately. I didn't bother to worry about those around me watching us; I only knew the sweet touch of Frodo's lips and the tickle of his tangled curls on my closed eyelids, and then the burning sharpness of his stare when we were parted a moment later.

"Goodbye," he whispered, and the next thing I remembered was the sight of Frodo walking down the steps toward the rest of the Fellowship. Every detail of his retreating back stood out sharply in my mind. He was leaning into the wind, his cape sweeping about his bare ankles, and his pack shifted to and fro on his shoulders. When would I be able to kiss him again? My body grew inexplicably numb, and I could not return his goodbye.

Gimli, Legolas, and Boromir came below us and bowed to Lord Elrond, who was suddenly at my side, his great form a much-needed support. The three said their brief goodbyes to me by placing a hand over their hearts and nodding slightly. Boromir, the last to move away, gave me a smile and called, "We may meet again, Lady Jorryn — perhaps in the city of my fathers! Farewell!"

Aragorn, as if waking from a dream, finally lifted himself from the stairs and pivoted around to Elrond grimly. Elrond only nodded, but I stiffened and tried to regain my senses. Strider was as solemn as I had ever seen him, his hair messy about his strong countenance and his clothes still soiled and tattered. I expected him to whirl away to join the Company, but he strode up and fell to a knee in front of me.

"Farewell, Jorryn," he said, covering my clasped hands with his own callused fingertips. "Never will it be said that the Lady of the Shire was not worthy of much admiration and praise."

I blinked, not expecting such elegant words, and stuttered gracelessly, "Thank you, Aragorn — I don't — you've been — "

He glanced over at Elrond and bent a fraction closer to me, his weaponry rustling against leather and linen. "Until we meet again," the man said, and he stood.

Lord Elrond inhaled deeply and sighed after my friend, dropping his hands from where they had been hidden in his billowing sleeves. The Elf gave me a small push between my shoulder blades, and he spoke over me vaguely, almost like a prayer, "Garo bellas, Mistadiel."

Taking the pressure of his palm on my back as an undeclared order to go down the steps ahead of him, I walked down and nearly tripped several times on my dress. Somehow I ended up next to Arwen, Elrohir, Elladan, and several other Elves standing in the short turf just under the trees flanking Rivendell's entryway, while Elrond advanced and met the gathered Fellowship.

"This is my last word," he said. "The Ring-bearer is setting out on the Quest of Mount Doom. The others go with him as free companions, to help him on his way."

I had not thought of the Ring for many days, and the very mention of it clawed at me. I bit my lip, seeing the hobbits bunched together around Bill, all of them so very small in comparison to the Men.

Elrond continued, "You may turn aside into other paths, as fate dictates. The further you go, the less easy will it be to withdraw — but withdraw you may, if you find the task too great. Go now with good hearts! Farewell, and may the blessing of Elves and Men and all Free Folk go with you."

Arwen was silent and motionless at my left. I wiped my damp cheeks with the back of my hands, embarrassed, hoping I didn't appear as ugly and stupid as I felt. How on earth was she dealing with such grief so easily, when I was having trouble keeping on my feet?

"Good l-luck!" shouted Bilbo from behind us. "I expect a full report when you g-get back, Frodo. And don't be too long!"

Under the archway at the edge of Rivendell, Gandalf nodded and cleared his throat. "Lead on, Frodo," he bade.

Sam fiddled with the pony's bridle, and Pippin and Merry shifted. Frodo looked to me once, his eyes a vivid spark of blue in a determined face, and then he turned around to take his place in front of Gandalf. The hobbits followed, and Gimli, Legolas, and Boromir dropped in after. But Aragorn paused, his gaze going to Arwen, and a tiny smile danced fleetingly on the surface of his expression before he bowed and slipped under the archway. To my great astonishment, Arwen dipped her head and wept silently.

I did not move until the Company had been reduced from dark shadows to indiscernible misty phantoms, and finally nothingness. They had faded away into the dusk — they were gone. I was alone.

I went numbly back up the steps into Elrond's House, utterly empty and spent. I was only partially aware of Bilbo saying to me as I passed, "Well, my dear Lady, I suppose it's just you and I, now."

That night, it stormed on Imladris… and the sound of my tears mingled with the steady pattering of raindrops until sleep claimed me and I could cry no more.