Hey guys! Thank you all so much for the reviews, favorites, and alerts—that really does motivate me to keep working on this story!

So maybe it's just because it feels like the world is ending, but it's kind of nice to write quiet, feel-good chapters where the characters just bond and hang out and not a lot of plot happens, which is basically what I did here. Thanks for being patient with my god-awful pacing, and I promise the plot is kicking into high gear in the next chapter!

In the meantime, enjoy the chapter, wear your face masks, defund the police, and stay safe out there.

Chapter 14: A Dash of Foresight

"So, then." Gandalf studied me from under his craggy eyebrows. "Beatrice Smith. You have been through a great deal since we last met."

"You could say that," I said hesitantly, picking at a loose thread on my sleeve. Gandalf had spent nearly three hours speaking privately with Elrond, and had only just emerged from the library. Looking exhausted, he had beckoned me to one of the nearby gardens, where I sat opposite him on a cold stone bench, scuffing my shoes into the dirt in the dying evening light.

"And you have had the rather…dubious honor of having met three wizards in about as many days," he added.

"But it was an honor to meet you and Radagast," I said quickly.

"Indeed?" Gandalf raised an eyebrow. "Then I am flattered to hear it." With a rustle, he pulled a long pipe from his sleeve and busied himself with filling it. After a long moment, he sighed and turned to me. "I daresay I owe you an apology."

"What?" I exclaimed. "What for? I should be apologizing to you. I mean, I left you in Isengard! I flew away and left you a prisoner there. I should have done something—tried to help you somehow…" I trailed off miserably.

Gandalf brandished his pipe at me, waving my words away with a cloud of smoke. "Now, now, I hardly expected you to whisk me away from Orthanc. Indeed, I must admit your dramatic flight from the tower caught me entirely off guard. You appeared to me a naïve, frightened child, and for that I dismissed your warnings and your counsel. Though the evidence was under my own nose, I did not want to believe it of Saruman." The wizard sighed again, resting his elbows on his knees. "Can you forgive an old man his mistake?"

"There's nothing to forgive," I said uncomfortably. "Really, I understand. And it's not like there was much you could have done to stop Saruman by then—he'd been obsessing over this stuff from my world for years, right?"

"Hmph." Gandalf furrowed his brows and released a ring of smoke into the evening air.

I tore my eyes away from the smoke ring, which had begun spinning in circles over our heads. "How did you get away from Saruman?"

He shrugged evasively. "It is quite a tale. One I am certain you will hear before long."

"Well, were you at least able to get my book away from him?" I asked. "Did he read any more of it? Do you have it with you now?"

"I was unable to wrest it from him. Perhaps if I had believed your word of warning from the beginning…" Gandalf took a long drag on his pipe and stared out into the darkness.

"You mean he still has it?" I gasped.

"I did not say that," he continued. "I could not take it from his grasp, so—much as I wished to preserve the book—I burned it. It fell to ashes in his hands."

"Oh!" I let out a shaky breath, but couldn't quite feel relieved. So Saruman can't keep telling the future…but neither can we. "Nathan's going to kill me," I muttered. At a questioning look from Gandalf, I added, "That book belonged to my friend. He lent it to me. It was one of his favorite stories." It felt like years ago—centuries, lifetimes. "I really wish I'd read it now," I said around a sudden lump in my throat. "Or at least paid more attention to the movie."

"Well, what's done is done," the wizard sighed. "And perhaps it is for the best that we do not have it. Given Saruman's actions, as well as your presence in Middle Earth, it is no longer an accurate account, in any case."

"But I'm sure it still would have helped. And I remember so little of what happens."

"Your limited foresight does not worry me overmuch," Gandalf said. "I am far more concerned with what Saruman managed to learn before I destroyed the book."

"He skimmed the first chapter or two, at least," I said. "He knew the story had something to do with hobbits. And he kept flipping through it while I was talking to you—I don't know how much else he saw."

"Yes, that certainly does not bode well for us. I have spent every day since my escape trying to make sure our brave Mr. Baggins reaches Rivendell in one piece, though his fate may be out of my hands now. I assume you know of Frodo's part in this tale?" he added.

I nodded anxiously. "So does this mean he's still okay? Will he get to Rivendell soon?"

"Hmph! I can hardly answer those questions, Miss Smith," Gandalf snorted, and I flushed. "Like the rest of us, you will simply have to wait and see."

As it turned out, I didn't have to wait that long.

"You will never guess what I heard from Mistress Halthel!" Amarien told me three days later as she piled clean bedsheets into the basket in my arms. I couldn't see her over the mountain of laundry, but she was bouncing on the balls of her feet giddily, as she always did when she had gossip to share.

"She's giving me a promotion?"

"Goodness, no!" Amarien cried, laughing so heartily that I scowled. "She told me that four hobbits have arrived in Rivendell. Can you believe it? Lady Arwen brought one of them to the valley on horseback last night, and was followed this morning by Estel and three other hobbits—oh, Bee!" Amarien cried as I dropped the laundry basket onto our shoes.

"Sorry," I stammered, hurrying to pick everything up. "The hobbits are really here?"

Amarien looked startled at my panic. "Do you know them?"

"I…not personally, no," I said hesitantly. "But I've heard of them. And I was really worried they'd run into trouble on their way here."

"Oh, but I had not finished—they did run into trouble of some sort, it seems. One of them is grievously wounded, according to one of the aides in the infirmary. Lord Elrond himself is tending to his injuries even now."

"What?" I dropped the basket again. Was that Frodo? It must be, hadn't he been injured in the movie?

"Oh, please do focus," Amarien sighed, forcing the basket into my hands again and piling in the linens in a huff. "I was going to add that Mistress Halthel has asked us to prepare rooms for them. After we clean the guest quarters, make their beds and draw baths for them, I'm certain you can visit your injured hobbit."

My shoulders sagged. "Fine. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to panic, I just…"

"I believe I understand," she whispered eagerly as we carried the bedsheets to the empty guest quarters. She looked around surreptitiously, but the hallway was empty. "You have the gift of foresight!"

It took everything I had not to drop the laundry basket again. "What?"

"Oh, you need not hide it from me, it is obvious! Often you seem to know things you should not," Amarien went on. "How else would you know of these hobbits, or that they were journeying to Imladris? And for weeks you have talked of Gandalf with such familiarity, though according to your tale you barely spoke with him in Isengard at all."

I hesitated. Elrond had asked me not to talk about the books or movies, and so far I'd kept my word—but apparently I wasn't half as sneaky as I thought. "I wouldn't call it foresight," I said uncomfortably. "I can't see the future, I just…know a few things, here and there, that might happen…"

"Is that not foresight?"

"No," I said stubbornly as we entered a guest room. I plopped my basket down on one of the unmade beds and began sorting through the bedsheets.

"Hello!"

I jumped and spun around, smacking the speaker in the face with a blanket.

"Steady, miss!" It was a hobbit, with curly brown hair and amusement clear on his round face.

"Oh—sorry!" I exclaimed, trying not to stare. "You startled me."

"Ah, excellent! Clean, soft blankets!" A second hobbit leapt up and rummaged through my basket delightedly. "Is there anything better after spending weeks in the wilderness?"

"A hot bath, maybe," the other said hopefully, glancing at me and Amarien.

The elf smiled. "Never fear, master hobbits, I'll fetch hot water for your baths. Bee, do finish making the beds, will you?"

I obeyed as the two hobbits explored their room. "I take it y'all like it here so far?"

One of them, who'd been teetering halfway out the open window to see the view, scrambled back inside. "Of course! It's really something to see the elves after all this time. I'm Meriadoc Brandybuck, by the way. You can call me Merry."

"Peregrin Took," piped up the other hobbit. "That's Pippin to you."

"Pleased to meet y'all," I said eagerly. "I'm Beatrice—Bee is fine."

"What's y'all?" Pippin said. "Is that an elf thing?"

"Course not, Pip, she's not an elf. Must be a Big People thing."

I opened my mouth to explain, but Pippin chimed in again. "What're you doing in Rivendell anyway? Didn't think there'd be anybody but elves here."

"Oh, well—probably the same thing you're doing here," I said hesitantly, not looking forward to the questions that inevitably would follow the story of my arrival.

"You mean you were escaping from Black Riders too?" Pippin gasped.

Merry snorted. "Of course not, Pip, they were after us, not her."

"No, I just meant—I was in trouble, and took refuge here," I explained. I set the newly fluffed pillows on the beds and stepped back. "Anyway, there you go—" I began, but was cut off as the hobbits leapt onto their beds with exaggerated yawns.

"Hey, Bee, how many breakfasts have they got here?" Pippin said, bouncing on the mattress. "I'm starving."

"However many you like," I laughed. "I can bring y'all some plates from the kitchen if you want."

"We can get our own meals soon," Merry replied. "But maybe you could bring some tea to Sam? We told him we'd get our rooms sorted out, but he's still with Frodo—refused to leave the infirmary, bless him, even after Lord Elrond snapped at us all to give him some space."

"Oh, of course! Should I bring anything for Frodo too, or is he, um…"

"He's not awake," Merry said, scuffing his bare heels on the floor. "He was in a bad way when we got here."

"But that elf lord will fix him up, won't he?" Pippin added anxiously. "He looked so important—I'm sure he's got all kinds of magic that'll put Frodo right in no time."

"I'm sure you're right," I said lamely, wishing I could offer them more comfort.

With a wave goodbye, I hastened to the kitchens for a pot of tea. Knowing hobbits, I also stacked a plate full of as much food as I could carry, and to my immense delight, I managed to make it to the infirmary without spilling anything. Ha! Halthel really should give me a promotion.

The infirmary doors were shut, but a hobbit was curled up on a bench nearby, wearing travel-stained clothes and rubbing at his eyes. "Miss?" he said thickly, and yawned. "Oh, if you've brought that tray for Mr. Bilbo, I'm afraid he's asleep." He sat up and gestured to a chair near a window, where the older hobbit was snoring softly.

"Actually, Merry and Pippin thought you could use some tea," I said, offering him the tray. "You're Sam, right?"

He nodded. "Thank you, miss, that's mighty kind of you."

"You can call just me Bee. I'm a maid here, no need for the 'miss.' Why're you and Bilbo resting out here in the hallway?"

"That lord Elrond made us wait outside," he said anxiously. "Said he couldn't heal Mr. Frodo with all of us hanging about, but I can't just leave him all alone…" He trailed off, looking miserable, and turned to the tray of food. "Oh, why, these cakes are lovely, Miss Bee. They're just like the ones back home."

"Right? Bilbo told me he used to eat these in the Shire, and he gave the recipe to the cooks here when he arrived." Sam's face softened at the mention of home, his hands twisting in his lap. "Could you tell me more about the Shire?" I added.

He smiled shyly and obliged. Just like that, the next hour was filled with tales of hobbits—gardening misadventures, gossip from local pubs, disputes between neighbors. I was entranced by the aching normalcy of it all, and it seemed cathartic to Sam; the weary, drawn look in his eyes faded slightly, though he kept glancing back to the infirmary door and wringing his hands.

"Beggin' your pardon for saying so, Miss, but you're not at all what I expected from the Big Folk," Sam said after a while. "I didn't think you'd be interested in Shire talk, and all."

"Oh, no, I've wanted to go to the Shire since I was a little kid," I said earnestly, and Sam positively beamed. "I grew up hearing about Bilbo's adventures and thought the Shire sounded lovely. But haven't you met any other humans before?"

He shrugged. "Only a couple, in Bree. And Strider, of course. But he's…" Sam scratched his head. "Well, there's Strider and there's other Men, if you follow me."

"I presume that was a compliment," interrupted a voice, and we spun around to see a man approaching us, grinning good-naturedly.

"Oh!" Sam's ears turned beet red. "I didn't mean—of course it was a compliment, Strider. Didn't mean nothin' by it, I promise!"

The man laughed and sat down on Sam's other side. "Calm yourself, Sam, I know you meant no ill. I am only glad to see you looking in higher spirits." He turned to me, and I looked down at my shoes, suddenly flustered. I hadn't seen a human since June, and the sight of rounded ears and a beard caught me off guard. "You must be the mortal woman Lord Elrond has told me about," Strider said. "Beatrice, is it?"

"Oh! Yeah, that's me." I shook his hand, awkwardly as ever. "And you're Strider," I said stupidly. "Uh, don't you have another name, though? Oregon, or something—"

"Some know me as Aragorn," he replied, raising an eyebrow. "Though most in Rivendell call me Estel."

"Oh!" I exclaimed, suddenly understanding. "My friend Amarien mentioned an Estel before—I didn't know that was you."

"Ah, how is Amarien?" he laughed. "Still as much a gossip as ever, I presume?"

"No, of course not," I said loyally. Strider's eyebrow rose higher, and I coughed. "How do you know her, anyway?"

"Had she not told you? I was raised in Rivendell."

"Were you really?" Sam asked, looking at Strider in awe. "To think, you've spent so much time around elves!"

"I should be happy to tell you all about it, Sam," Strider said, turning a stern eye on the hobbit, "but I believe a hot bath and some rest are in order for you first. You must take care of yourself; sleeping on a stone bench will not make Frodo heal any faster."

Sam shuffled his feet. "I know, Strider, but I can't leave him." His voice was small. "What if he needs me?"

Something in my heart twisted painfully. "What if I took you to see the room that's prepared for you?" I asked. "You can change clothes and get settled in, and then come right back if you want."

"I…alright then," he said anxiously. "Just for a bit."

"Besides, you'll love your room," I added heartily, in a weak attempt to cheer him up. "The guest rooms have lovely balconies, and you'll get clean clothes and a hot bath, and everything."

Waving goodbye to Strider, I guided Sam to the guest rooms. He wavered a bit on his feet, and I realized belatedly how exhausted he must have been all morning.

"Sam!" Pippin and Merry ambushed us as we entered the guests' quarters. "Glad to see you're alright," Merry said. "Now let's get you cleaned up, you stink."

"Thank you kindly for the tea and cakes, Miss Bee," Sam called with a wave as his friends ushered him away.

The bedroom door slammed shut and I sighed wearily.

"Beatrice Smith!" Amarien's sharp voice cut through the short-lived silence. "Where have you been?"

"What?" I jumped. Amarien never called me by my full name anymore, not unless she was really furious—

"Loafing about and leaving me to keep working all by myself, eh?" She tapped her foot on the ground, an alarmingly Halthel-like expression on her face.

I gulped. "I'm so sorry, I lost track of time. I was talking to Sam about the Shire, and…"

"Goodness knows you haven't done that enough with Bilbo," she said, though her face softened a bit.

"I'm sorry—he just looked so miserable, I wanted to cheer him up—"

"Oh, very well," she relented, rolling her eyes. "Only take care not to abandon me again, for we have a great deal more to do. I fear we shall even have to postpone our studies in the library for a time."

"Really? Why?"

"Well," she said, bouncing on the balls of her feet, "I was eavesdropping on Lanion and some other guards near the kitchens—"

"Strider was right," I snorted. "You really are a gossip."

"Ah, so you have met Estel?" Amarien rolled her eyes. "The stories I could tell you about him, now—particularly regarding a certain Lady, who I'm certain will be quite thrilled that he has returned to Imladris…"

"Oooh, who?" I asked, laughing. I suspected he'd had a love interest in the movie, but couldn't remember the details.

"It is not my place to say," she said airily, eyeing the frustration on my face with deep satisfaction. "If your foresight has not seen fit to inform you—"

"Oh, come on—"

"In any case," she plowed on, waving my protests away with a graceful hand, "I heard the guards saying that they'd spotted groups of travelers approaching the valley. They shall arrive within days, and there will be many rooms to prepare—two dozen at least, I should say. I suppose your foresight did not inform you of that, eh?"

Could that be all the members of the Fellowship? I tried to hide an eager grin. "I…no, of course not."

"Oh, Bee," Amarien ruffled my hair fondly. "You are a terrible liar."

True to Amarien's word, guests began to trail into the valley the very next day. Somehow she was always the first to hear who each visitor was and where they had come from—the names of Mirkwood and the Lonely Mountain made me squeak with excitement, but I was too busy sweeping floors and washing and ironing clothes to pester the guests about stories from The Hobbit or ask for news about Radagast.

Instead, I settled for pestering Amarien. "Who are they?" I hissed to her, poking my head around a marble pillar at a group of newcomers.

"A few of the Mirkwood elves, of course! I overheard them talking earlier—the one with brown hair there is Rhosgir, one of the royal guards, and—"

"A royal guard? What's he doing here?"

Amarien rolled her eyes. "Guarding royalty, of course." At my confused look, she added, "That one to his right. Prince Legolas, the son of the Elvenking."

"I didn't know he was a prince!" I exclaimed, so loudly that Amarien clapped a hand over my mouth and dragged me back behind the pillar. Had that been in the movie?

"You know him, then?"

"No—I've just, uh, heard of him—"

"Ah, your foresight at work, I suppose," she said knowingly. I elbowed her in the ribs, and she dissolved into silent giggles. "He is frightfully handsome, is he not?"

"No kidding." I pressed my fist to my mouth to fight back a laugh—the movies really didn't do the elves justice at all. "Eat your heart out, Orlando Bloom."

"What nonsense you speak sometimes," Amarien huffed, dragging me away before the royal guards spotted us.

Exhausted from our work, we collapsed into seats in the dining hall for a late dinner. "So, what do you know about them?" I asked Amarien, jabbing my fork in the direction of a group of dwarves, who were finishing their meal at the far end of the room.

"Ugh. Do not ask me about dwarves now—I shall lose my appetite."

I turned to her in surprise. "What? What's wrong with them?"

"How can you say such things?" Amarien cried. "Ah, but then you are mortal, and have never met a dwarf."

"Have you?"

She hesitated. "I do not need to meet them to know of the centuries of wrongs they have committed against our people. They are greedy and uncouth."

"Well, what do you know about them in particular? They're from the Lonely Mountain, right?"

"Oh, very well—yes, they are. That old one there, with the gray beard, is Gloin, who—"

"Went with Bilbo to the Lonely Mountain!" I cried.

"Indeed. I suppose he must not be as terrible as the rest of them, if our dear Bilbo thinks fondly of him," she said, staring coldly at the dwarves. "And to his left there is his son, Gimli. Then the one sitting across from them, with the short beard, you see? According to Lhosdess, that is the Lady Ivaldi—did you know female dwarves have beards? Quite unpleasant, I thought, but then I suppose it is hardly their fault. And I must admit their armor is exquisitely made—for dwarves, that is. I'm certain our craftsmen could have made much more beautiful pieces—Are you listening to me, Bee?"

"Huh?" I jumped out of my reverie. Gimli is here! Another member of the Fellowship!

"Do not tell me it is your foresight again," she said impatiently.

My mouth twitched. "Okay, I won't."

"Bee!"

With a laugh, I turned back to my meal, leaving Amarien to glare at the dwarves.

The next days passed in a flurry of washing linens, sweeping floors, ironing clothes, re-stuffing pillows, and spying on guests. On yet another trip to the laundry rooms, a curly head barreled into me, scattering clothes on the ground.

"So sorry, Bee!" Pippin cried, leaping back on his feet. "Wish I could stay to help—have to go—he's awake!"

"What?" I exclaimed, but the hobbit had already disappeared down the hall. Merry was only seconds behind, pausing only to give me a beaming grin before running after Pippin with a whoop of joy.

Mystified, I bent to gather up the laundry. I just ironed these dresses, damn it! Maybe no one would notice if they were wrinkled.

After a moment faint footsteps approached. "Ah, I see the hobbits have come this way, leaving quite the trail of destruction in their wake."

"Lord Elrond!" I jumped to my feet. "Sorry for the mess."

"It is no matter. Have the hobbits passed on the good news, then?"

I shook my head. "They were in too much of a hurry to explain."

"Well then, allow me to be the bearer of good tidings: our dear Frodo Baggins has been healed. He just awoke this morning."

"Really?" My shoulders slumped in relief. Following the movie so far, thank goodness. "Sam must be thrilled."

"Indeed he is," he said with a laugh. "And now that Frodo is well, I shall hold a meeting tomorrow—"

"The Council?" I blurted eagerly.

"I would like for you to attend this meeting, that our guests might understand Saruman's actions of late. However," he added, and I withered under his icy stare, "you must take caution to reveal none of your foresight granted by the book from your homeland. Am I clear?"

I scuffed my shoes on the floor. "Crystal, sir. I mean—my lord."

Elrond chuckled. "Very good."

Gathering up the spilled clothes, I hurried away to the laundry rooms, beaming. I was going to attend the Council!

Three loads of laundry later and my spirits were sagging somewhat. I dabbed at my forehead with my apron—which was irreparably splattered with ink from my attempts to write with a quill in the library—when I spotted someone wandering the halls, staring wide-eyed at the view from the arched windows. Another newcomer, and judging by the mud splattering his boots and cloak, he must have only just arrived.

"Hey, you're human!" I exclaimed, catching sight of his rounded ears.

The man turned to me in surprise. "As are you," he said slowly, looking rather taken aback. I realized belatedly that maidservants probably weren't supposed to yell at guests. "I had little expected to find Menfolk in this valley. Are there are others here?"

"Oh, just one, a guy named Strider."

"Strider?" The man wrinkled his nose. "A strange name. Is he a servant as well?"

"No, no, he's um—" I knew he was someone really important, but I couldn't remember. "He grew up here," I said instead.

"And you did not?"

"No, I'm a guest, I've been in Rivendell since July."

"Then Imladris often employs Menfolk as servants," he said, clearly looking for an explanation.

I shrugged apologetically. "Not that I know of."

The man's face was growing more and more confused. After a moment he sighed and dragged a hand down his face, shoulders slumping in exhaustion. "Never mind. Perhaps you might point me in the direction of the upper guest quarters. A room awaits me, according to your housekeeper, though I seem to have gotten lost."

"Oh, yeah, it's like a maze here," I said. "Come on, I'll show you."

"You need not trouble yourself," he said quickly, and I got the sense he was trying to get rid of me. "I would not wish to interrupt your work; simply point me in the right direction."

"Nah, you'll just get lost again. Besides, I need a break from laundry." Abandoning my basket on a nearby bench, I led him down the hall. "I'm Beatrice, by the way," I said, offering him my hand. He stared at it for a moment, nonplussed, and I dropped my arm awkwardly, feeling heat rise in my face. "Sorry—people don't shake hands where you're from, I guess?"

"Men of equal rank may shake hands with one another," he replied, looking more baffled than ever. "I am Boromir, son of Denethor," he added.

I knew it! I heard Elrond's warning in my head and tried to look innocent—don't let him know you have foresight, don't let him know, don't let him know—"Um…you just got here, right?" I said, desperately searching for a safe topic. "Where are you from?"

"I have ridden from Minas Tirith."

"Oh! I've heard a lot about Minas Tirith," I said excitedly. "Especially the library."

"The library?" he repeated.

"Yes—Lord Elrond said it was the largest one in Middle Earth."

"He is not wrong," Boromir said, now studying me with deep confusion. "Though of all the White City's charms, its library is not the first to come to my mind."

"Well, I guess I don't know much about Minas Tirith besides that. It's in Gondor, right?" I asked, trying to remember the maps Amarien had translated for me in Elrond's study.

"Yes." From the almost insulted look on Boromir's face, it must have been a pretty stupid question.

Picking awkwardly at the lace on my sleeve, I fell silent. "Oh, look! Here's the guest rooms," I exclaimed at last, rounding a corner. Thank God. "Let's see—all the rooms are taken except the one with the open door there; that one should be yours. Enjoy your stay," I added awkwardly, before dashing off.

Awkward as the meeting had been, I grinned, counting on my fingers. Gandalf, the four hobbits, Legolas, Gimli…The whole Fellowship is here!

Humming a triumphant tune, I returned to my abandoned laundry and resumed my work. No matter what warnings Elrond gave me, having foresight was fun.