Happy Monday everyone! I'm sorry I didn't get this up over the weekend, but I was working and also working on making this chapter perfect. I'm not sure whether I'd call it perfect, but it starts with the trickiest POV character EVER (for me) so I'm proud of what I've got! I hope that you enjoy it, and that I haven't left in any embarrassing typos. Again.

Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Lady of the Light

The party before her were as weary as any she had ever seen. Their shoulders slumped and their heads hung low, and in their eyes was the grief and fatigue and hopelessness that she had seen in her own kin when they crossed the Helcaraxë. It was the look that came from a journey when so many were lost, and the cost was so high, and hope seemed utterly futile.

And there was someone missing.

Dread curling towards her like a dark smoke, Galadriel cast her mind out to the mountains, and reached for Mithrandir, but she could not feel him. Where her mind should have caught his thought, she felt only emptiness, and a void as deep and dark as Moria itself. Fear grew within her, and she reached further, deeper and darker into the mines, further across the lands of this world until her thought was stretched thin, and reached the sea, until she reached the fires of Doom. But he was nowhere.

Loss struck her in the gut, hollowed her, and for a moment, she could not breathe.

"Tell me," said Celeborn, his voice calling her back to her hall. "Where is Gandalf? For he was said to be among your company, and I much desire to speak with him."

The faces of the group opened like books before her, but she did not need to look to know how they would read.

"Gandalf the Grey did not cross the borders of this land," she breathed, and Celeborn looked at her sharply. "I can no longer see him from afar. He has fallen into shadow…"

She felt Celeborn throw out his own thought, felt him reach for what she knew he would not find. Her sorrow grew.

"He was taken by shadow and flame," said Legolas, and Galadriel read the truth in his eyes. "A Balrog of Morgoth."

A Balrog? Celeborn's grief-stricken voice reached her mind, and hers alone. His despair wrapped around her heart, as strong as her own grief. Alas! Alas, for such evil fate.

She nodded her agreement, and then closed her eyes. She drew in a long breath, and then cast out her mind once more. This time, though, she was not searching for Mithrandir.

There were few souls on earth who could speak thus, who could communicate through thought over great distance. Though it mimicked spoken conversation in that one could only hear the other's intended thoughts, it was significantly more difficult. It required both power and a strength of mind that no mortal could possess, and few elves could attain. It was this rare ability that the Palantíri had been emulating when they were created – they formed a vessel, or a tool, by which Men or lesser elves might converse with another by though, if their own strength and will was sure.

For the very wise and powerful, however, no tool was needed to converse with each other. If both parties possessed the power, they could exchange thoughts as though they were they in each other's presence. It was far easier in close proximity, but with great effort one could cast their mind over the vastness of the world, and find such a companion anywhere that they may be.

If, of course, they were still in the world.

Galadriel knew that there was another who had been due to partake in this company. Another with the ability to communicate thus. So when she cast out her mind and searched the world, she looked not for Gandalf, but for Glorfindel.

It took her but a fraction of a heartbeat to find him – he was on the other side of the Misty Mountains, and moving fast. Towards Rivendell.

Hail, she thought, and at once he opened his mind to the connection. The moment he did, she saw through his eyes – the horse he rode, the path ahead – and he saw through hers. And he saw the company before her.

My lady, he said, relief and hope ringing clear in his tone. They are safe!

Yes.

Thank the Valar! Glorfindel thought. But where is Gandalf? I cannot reach his thought.

Her heart ached, and Galadriel recalled the words of Legolas for Glorfindel, who cursed in all the tongues of elves and men. His grief was so strong that it struck her physically, and she knew it must be almost as deep as her own.

But pausing to grieve in times of such peril often invited in further death.

Why are you returning to Rivendell? She pressed.

With no small amount of urgency, Glorfindel told her of the conspiracy – of Frodo's taking the Ring to spare his uncle, and of the desperate ride from Rivendell to try and intercept him. He recounted the battle at the gates of Moria, and of the beast that had emerged from the deep, and the destruction it wrought upon the doors. He recalled the death of Soren, a bodyguard, and of the dwarf's brother subsequently slaying the monster in the water, and he explained that the other casualty had been a dwarf little older than a child, whose legs had been crushed by the fallen stone.

His brother is Bróin, who stands before you know. Bofin lives, and I have great hope that he will endure, but his legs could not be saved, and I wish to get him to Rivendell. He is severely injured and needs to heal. His uncle, Bifur, rides with me, as does Ori Dragonsbane, and Erestor.

For a moment, Glorfindel paused. Then, he spoke again.

By fate or ill fortune, the ring is out of my hands, but for Bofin I can yet be of use. Tell Frodo of the plight of his family – Bilbo and the others aim for the High Pass; their goal is to get back to their homeland. But if you send out a troop to greet them, you could deliver the ring back into their custody, and Bilbo Baggins can complete the task which he was assigned. If not, he will return to Erebor, and the doom will fall to Frodo.

Looking at the young hobbit before her, Galadriel shook her head a fraction. I do not think that is a choice for either of us to make.

She felt Glorfindel's weariness in her own bones. No. It is not. Yet it grieves me that those so young might go – alas for Gandalf! – were I in your position, my Lady, I would at least seek to give them the option of passing the Ring back to its appointed bearer.

Perhaps, agreed Galadriel. We shall see.

I must go. I must check on Bofin. We shall speak soon, my Lady.

My lord.

The connection between them vanished, and Galadriel released the breath she had taken. Less than a minute had passed in the normal counting of time – a common trait of conversation that moved at the speed of thought – and to learn so much in so little time unsteadied her. She could feel her knees trembling, and her heart racing.

Celeborn touched the back of her hand with his own, ever her lifeline to the present, and she sent him her silent gratitude. Then, she drew in another breath, and stared at the one they called Frodo. He could not hold her gaze longer than a moment, and his guilt was written all over his face.

"This is not the fellowship that was decided at the Council of Elrond," she said quietly, and the entire company averted their eyes.

Will they endure, then? thought Celeborn. If they acted on pride or vanity, they might fall.

Indeed, she thought, her eyes on Frodo.

She breathed in once more, and looked into the young hobbit's mind. At such a close distance, it was no more difficult than speaking.

She was not surprised to find the heart of the ringbearer in turmoil. It was written over his face, after all. Even an orc could read that. Already, the Ring was beginning to wind its way around his heart, but its grip was surprisingly weak. Looking closer, she saw that he had not yet worn the ring, and she saw the resilience he nurtured within him, a strength that she had but rarely seen before. She knew many among her own kin who lacked such strength, but thought themselves very strong indeed.

Yet Frodo did not think himself strong, nor did he have any misconceptions about his own abilities or path. His sole motivation in taking the ring was love – for his uncle and his aunt, for Fíli and Kíli, for his kingdom. She saw that he would take it alone if he could, to spare those beside him, and she knew that if he did, he would pass the glory to his companions. His guilt was not for doing wrong by his uncle, but for causing Bilbo pain. Looking into Frodo's heart eased her own. She did not doubt that his motivations would serve him well.

Still, she sent an idea into his mind – a thought that he might return to Erebor, safe and sound, without guilt or shame, and be among those he loved. An offer to leave the burden to someone else.

An offer that his thought refused as soon as it heard it.

Galadriel smiled a little, and looked to his companions one by one. One by one she examined them, and one by one, they turned their eyes from hers. Yet, as she examined them she offered the same escape that she showed Frodo. Reunion with loved ones, safety and security without guilt or shame, a secret escape from the quest they had undertaken. And even as she examined them, every single member of the fellowship refused.

She saw Aragorn's quiet pride, and his resolve to banish the darkness, and his love for her granddaughter. His concern that he had not taken the right path, and his determination to see it through anyway. His fear of falling into the same doom as his forefathers.

Beside Aragorn stood Legolas, and Galadriel was immediately struck by the raw grief of the young elf who had never before strayed so far from home. Too often were the elves tempted by isolationism, the desire to keep their own people safe and separate from the dangers of the world, and Thranduil was among the worst for it. But no longer were the eyes of Legolas made blind to the outside. For the first time he was beginning to truly understand how strong the perils and griefs of the world were outside of the Woodland Realm. Yet she saw no wish to return home and hide until the fight was over. Instead, she saw a fierce resolve to help – to accompany his friends to the end of the earth, if that was what it took to play his part.

In Gimli, she saw the fire of his forebears, a blazing desire to protect his kin, and drive the weapons of the enemy out of reach of innocent souls. And she saw his fear that he had done wrong by his king in accompanying Frodo, and his terror of losing his young hobbits to the darkness. That, she had expected. What she had not expected was his humility. It was as strong as his pride – a balance that she had seen but rarely before. He was confident in himself, and in his abilities, but aware of his place in the world, and humble before those of greater strength. Humble before her – an elf he had been raised to think of as a witch. An elf he thought of only with awe.

Her heart strengthened further, Galadriel turned to Merry, whose thoughts of the quest were similar to Gimli's– so similar that she felt she could see the dwarves' influence over the halfling. He, too, was driven by the need to protect his family – Pippin in particular – and he too harboured regret for the reaction of Bilbo. But he did not feel guilt or uncertainty as Gimli did. He was sure as stone that they had moved correctly. And he was deathly afraid, but resolved to follow Frodo to the bitterest of ends.

In Samwise Gamgee, she saw the same loyalty and drive, and the same fear, but beneath it all she saw a quiet awe – disbelief that it was he who stood there, that he would play any part in so grand an event. She could see him wondering if Bofur had been right in insisting that he was just as special and important as the other dwobbits of Erebor.

Of the fellowship, Pippin's mind was the wildest – a storm of pain and grief and guilt, a guilt so strong that it threatened to drown him. He saw his value as least of them all, and it was eroding his soul like waves on a rock. Sorrow bled into the lady's heart, but she saw much in Pippin to give her hope. Love for his friends and his family, a desire to help in any way that he could. And a seed of courage, buried deep within his heart.

His sister's mind was very different. For Nelly, it was her fear that was buried – locked deep within her chest and kept under careful guard. Grief swam freely through her, but she had done nothing to slow its path. She was letting it run its course as it must, and Galadriel could see that the girl was strengthening her self from it. She could see the meticulous way that Nelly controlled her emotions, and ever returned to logic and self-preservation. The influence of the dwarf Nori was clear – he had taught her to look after herself, and always to lock fear and envy away, but to let grief and anger out as soon as maybe, so that they would not escape later.

But Nelly's fears were more than she would acknowledge, and Galadriel could see them churning deep within. Nelly knew that she was strong and able, and was proud of her abilities as a warrior and an acrobat, but she was not as sure of her worth as she made out. She was not as certain that their quest was achievable as she had the others believe. She was worried that her body would betray her, and surrender to hardships that hobbits were not built to face. And she was terrified of watching her brother and cousins die around her, and frightened of failing. Of bringing shame and grief upon her family. And her fears were growing stronger in their confinement, and it would not surprise Galadriel if they were soon to burst free.

In Boromir, Galadriel saw pride, and resolve to do what was right by his people above all else. She saw his fierce love for his homeland, his desire to spare it its sufferings, and his struggle to hold onto faith in his father. His fight to balance his belief in Denethor with his loathing for the Lord's treatment of his brother, Faramir. There was turmoil in Boromir, a great deal of it, and of them all he was the quickest to avert his eyes. The Lady narrowed her gaze. So far, this man proved the most likely to strays. But she could still see a fierce love for his companions, and above all the hobbits, and a heart that clung to its strength.

And then she turned to Bróin.

And Bróin did not avert his eyes. He stared back at her, fighting the urge to look away. Even as she read his hopes and fears and secrets, he stared back, and refused to be ashamed, or to bow his head.

He was who he was. He knew what he was – where he was strong, where he was weak – he knew it all, and his thoughts screamed as much to her.

She could never embarrass him with his guilt, or his deepest desires, or his secrets, because they were not hers to look at. They were his, and his alone, and he did not care what she thought of them. He thought her beautiful beyond belief, and probably powerful beyond his reckoning, but he insisted that his heart was no threat towards her, and therefore it was not hers to inspect. Its contents were not hers to judge.

He was weary and grief laden and closer to crying by the second, but he was Bróin, and of that he was proud.

And Galadriel smiled fully. Your heart does you great justice, son of Bombur.

His eyes widened and he drew in a sharp breath, but he thought better of speaking, and simply nodded once. She looked away, both with her eyes and her mind.

Then, she spoke aloud at last. "This is not the fellowship that was agreed upon in Rivendell. As we speak, Bilbo Baggins rides for the High Pass. If it is the wish of your company, we can lead him here, and he can continue the quest in your stead."

"How do you know?" blurted Frodo desperately, taking a step forward.

Galadriel smiled wryly. "I know many things, Frodo Baggins. He rides with the Lady Dís, and with the Princes of Erebor."

"Both of them?" Frodo said, causing Sam to tug on his friend's sleeve, lest he anger the lady. "Fíli and Kíli, are they both with him."

She inclined her head. "To the extent of my knowledge, yes. I have received word from Glorfindel of Rivendell. Bróin, son of Bombur –"

The young dwarf's head snapped up, and in an instant his face lost its colour.

"– your brother is alive. He is severely injured, but he lives, and is on the way to receive treatment in Rivendell."

Gasps of relief and delighted rippled through the fellowship, and Bróin's knees gave way. He crashed towards the floor like a puppet whose strings had been cut, but Nelly caught him with a laugh, putting a hand on his cheek.

"I told you, Bróin, I told you! He's alright!"

Galadriel's heart grew heavy as she prepared to say what was next. She had no right to keep the death of their kinsman from them, but it grieved her to have to say it.

But Celeborn spoke for her. "There is something else you need know, and I fear it will grieve you. Soren, son of Ragan, fell in the battle at the gates."

The smiles died on their faces, and the fellowship froze where they stood.

"Soren?" Nelly whispered. "Soren is – Soren is dead?"

Celeborn bowed his head. "I am afraid so."

Tears sprang to the eyes of the hobbits and the dwarves, and Legolas and the men hung their heads. Galadriel bowed her own head.

After a long moment, Celeborn spoke again. "Do you still wish to proceed with your quest? There is no shame in staying behind, if any of you wish it." Galadriel noted that his eyes lingered on Pippin and Boromir.

"I must go on," Frodo murmured after a long moment. His voice shook, and tears fell from his eyes, but his resolve was strong. "I – I knew that it would not be an easy path…"

"None of us wish it," mumbled Pippin, sniffing, and shuffling awkwardly on his feet. Everyone looked to him, and he seemed to cow beneath their gazes. But he raised his eyes to meet Galadriel's, and despite his fear, he held her gaze. "We'll go with Frodo, as long as he needs us."

Galadriel nodded slowly. "Very well. I deem that this is the fellowship as fate has decreed it to be. Each of you will play a part in what is to come – but understand that your quest stands upon the edge of a knife. Stray but a little, and you will fall." Her eyes lingered on Boromir, and her mind to the desires she had seen in his heart. He looked away, his face losing its colour. "To the ruin of all. Yet hope remains, while company is true. Come now and rest, for you are weary. Tonight, you will sleep safely here."

Not in a tree, I hope, muttered Sam in his mind, and Galadriel could not help but laugh. Even Celeborn gave a slight smile, cracking the mask of calm that hid his grief from all, save his wife.

"Not up a tree, Master Gamgee," she agreed, and the hobbit turned the shade of a ripe tomato. "Tonight, you may rest by the roots of our trees, if great heights are not to your liking. Haldir will show you the way."

Blinded by tears and relief and grief, Bróin half stumbled his way down ladders and stairs to a large, open air chamber that looked like it had been grown from living tree roots. There the fellowship sat together, their stunned silence bleeding into mumbled words that kept their sleep at bay. No one wanted to close their eyes just yet.

They did not talk of their grief for Gandalf, or for Soren. It was too raw, too fresh, a pain that had to be endured before it could be spoken of. So instead they talked softly about days that had passed, and of the wonder of the lord and lady of the Galadhrim. But as they talked, Frodo grew quieter and quieter, until at last he spoke.

"There is something I have to say to you all… Only I'm… not quite sure how to say it."

Bróin frowned slightly as he looked at his cousin. Frodo was clutching tightly at the chain around his neck, something he only did when he was very nervous.

"Well, perhaps start at the beginning," supplied Merry helpfully.

Frodo took a deep breath, and stared at the ground beneath his feet. "I did not mean to tell you at all. I thought – well, that it was not worth telling. But when we were in Moria I, I told Gandalf, and he said that you ought to hear, when we were out of the darkness."

It felt as though someone had pulled a plug at the bottom of Bróin's gut at the sound of Gandalf's name. He still could barely believe it, knew he was still reeling –

"That doesn't sound like the beginning," said Merry, his voice hollow.

Frodo closed his eyes. "I had a dream, at the house of Tom Bombadil. A nightmare. I thought it little of it at the time, but in it I saw… places. Places I've never seen before. And when we reached the Gates, I realised that they were real places."

"A vision?" Aragorn raised his eyebrows and leant inwards, and Bróin noticed Legolas' ears twitch. "I did not know that hobbits were capable of such foresight."

Frodo shook his head, and he opened his eyes. "We are not, most of the time. Gandalf – We thought it could be magic of Master Bombadil's, or of his house. But what I saw… you should all know." His eyes lost a little of their focus, as if he was seeing what he spoke of right in front of him. "First, I saw a long bridge, leading deep into a mountain of fire, but then I was in a forest, where Nell – I saw orcs drive an iron hook through your shoulder, drag you backwards…"

The image struck Bróin as clearly as though he had dreamt it himself, and he flinched, looking quickly at Nelly as Pippin gasped beside them. But Nelly looked very calm, and put a hand on his knee, and spoke in a voice as soft as her mother's. "Go on, Frodo."

"I saw Merry and Pippin thrown over orcs' shoulders and carted away like a sack of potatoes," he said, and then his eyes rested on Boromir. "I saw you, shot, arrow to the chest."

Boromir's hand went straight to his heart, and his eyes darkened. "Where? Where was I?"

"In the forest, the same forest. Those three things, they happened in the same forest," Frodo replied, his brow furrowing in concentration. "But then it changed. The next thing I saw… I saw Gandalf, fall… I saw what happened on the bridge, I saw it months ago." His voice broke and he looked away, trying to steady his breathing as the others stared at him in horror. "There was fire, fire and darkness and I could not understand why, but now… And the dream went on."

"Who else?" demanded Bróin, his voice catching painfully. He cleared his throat. "What else did you see?"

Frodo took another deep breath, and pulled at his chain. "Aragorn, wrestling a warg off a cliff I don't know, disappearing, and Gimli crushed by an army of orcs on a battlefield that could be anywhere. I saw Legolas, falling off a battlement I still cannot name."

Aragorn's lips were pursed, tightly, and Gimli's face was the colour of ash, but Legolas was impassive, unreadable, save for the fear flickering in his eyes.

"Sam," Frodo added in a sound that was almost a moan. Bróin could hear the cracks in his cousin's voice, now. "Fell, fell down hundreds of black stairs, Thorin was fighting outside the gates, our gates, Erebor, but he fell, too. And Dís… Dís…"

"What about her?" asked Nelly, in a tone that told Bróin she had guessed the answer already.

Frodo's fingers clenched so tightly that his hands went white. "She was lying on a bed, screaming. Surrounded by strangers, in masks. She was covered in blood."

"That is why you said it would kill her," Gimli said hoarsely, squeezing Sam's leg shoulder so hard that the hobbit flinched.

Frodo nodded, tears finally escaping his eyes. They sank down his cheeks like rain on a windowpane, but his voice clung to its strength. "Bróin, you were running, but your leg… it was… hanging, open, the back of your leg had been ripped away and an orc was coming, and I could not see where."

It was Nelly's turn to wince, and all Bróin could do was offer Frodo a white-lipped smile. He could feel his hands trembling.

"Then I saw the gates of Moria," Frodo said, and Bróin went very still. "And I saw Fíli… With an arrow in his throat."

"Which is why you called to him," murmured Merry, his realisation dawning in his eyes. But then it turned to horror, and he looked quickly away.

And then Bróin understood why. Frodo had called to Fíli, Soren had knocked him out of the way –

Soren.

Bróin quickly looked at the ground, rocking ever so slightly as he tried to control his breathing, and his tears. He was old enough for this, he could do this –

"Did… did I kill him?" Frodo rasped in horror, and Gimli answered at once.

"No. No, lad. If Soren – if it was the arrows that brought him down, that was not your doing. He knew what his duties were, and he always went beyond them, the stupid fool…" Gimli's voice was choked by grief, and for a moment, nobody could speak.

"What else, Frodo?" pressed Aragorn gently.

Frodo closed his eyes. "Pearl, she was bound to a tree and watching Paladin – there were orcs, kicking him into a ditch, he was-" he cut off abruptly, wincing as Pippin whispered hoarsely.

"What? He was what, Frodo?"

"Hush Pip," whispered Nelly, her eyes narrowed intently. "Was there more?"

No, there can't be more, thought Bróin, but Frodo nodded. Bróin saw a small trickle of blood seep down the hobbit's hand as the chain he held cut into his skin.

"I saw Vinca, fighting four orcs, she was losing – and Bofin was bleeding and Bodin was holding his sword, he was trying to cover him, but he didn't know what to do and – then I saw… Bilbo, Bilbo in a mountain of fire and the ring was in his hand, and I – I woke."

"But, but it's not real!" Pippin's frightened voice broke out into the silence, and he looked wildly between Frodo and Aragorn and Legolas. "That, that cannot be real, Frodo!"

"Gandalf, Gandalf said that it was foresight, but that the future is always changeable." Frodo turned his teary gaze to his hands. "And Fíli – the Lady said that Fíli is alive. But Soren, Soren is not, and Gandalf still fell…"

Unable to stop the sob that rose up his throat, Bróin turned his face away from the others. He did not want them to see him cry, even now. Even when he would not judge a single tear or sob from them.

Nelly's arm wove around him and held him close, but her voice was stronger than ever when she spoke. "Right."

The word rang around them like the toll of a great iron bell, reverberating through them with a strength that no one had foreseen. Bróin peered at her, and saw that her eyes were blazing.

"Right then," she said firmly. "Let's see what we have to do. Did you not hear what Gandalf said? The future is changeable, and we will change it. It's my belief that even elven foresight can only show but a possible course?" She looked intently at Aragorn, who nodded slowly.

"That is true," he said. "Lord Elrond often sees two conflicting futures, and ever says it would be unwise to dwell on foresight."

Nelly nodded. "Exactly. Bofin's not exactly going to be in fighting shape anytime soon, and Bodin's in the Shire, he's perfectly safe. Mama and Papa won't be letting him near swords any time soon. We know that we are not bound to this future. We can use this dream, twist it to our advantage. Even if that means Bróin has to wear reverse shin-guards, and I put a breastplate over my shoulders."

A snort of a laugh broke from Bróin half against his will, and he let himself relax into Nelly's embrace.

"As for the others – we can only afford to worry about ourselves. If we worry about them our own feet will falter and the world can't afford that. So, we just have to keep going, and Frodo, you'll have to warn us when things become familiar."

"Moreover," said Boromir quietly, "we must take heart. Gandalf's death was not in vain – I am sure of it. He said to fly, and fly we must. This is our quest now, and together, we will see it done. Such tidings seem bleak indeed, but we can twist them to our advantage. From what little I have heard of Bombadil, it may not have been a malicious magic that triggered even these sights."

Taking a deep breath, Bróin nodded to himself. Yes, they would change it. They would change everything.

They had to.

There we go! Only the revelation scene about the baby and the sneak peak of Bofin and we're in whole new turf guys! I'm terrified, to be frank, but also very excited, so I hope you are to. Thank you so much for reading, and until next time take care :D