We made it! Finally we get to the actual tenth walker part of the story—I know the whole idea is a bit iffy for Tolkien purists no matter what, but I tried to give it enough in-universe reasoning to back it up, despite the absurd situation Bee is in. I also did NOT mean for this chapter to be such a behemoth, so apologies in advance.

The next several chapters are mostly written, so keep an eye out! And as always, I love getting feedback, questions, speculations about Bee's love life, etc.

I hope y'all are staying positive and testing negative!

Chapter 15: And Then There Were Ten

I arrived at the Council early. Taking a seat on the empty stone benches, I kicked at the flagstones, twisting the trailing lace on my dress sleeves. I wasn't nervous, exactly; but there was something heavy hanging in the air, a tension that I couldn't describe. I knew this was a turning point in the book and the movie, and I only wished that I could remember more of it.

Something rustled in the bushes behind my bench. "Hello?" I said warily.

"Shh, Pip," a voice hissed.

"You shh!"

"Me? You're the one who—"

"Pippin?" I whispered. "Merry? What are y'all doing back there?" I squinted into the bushes. The hobbits were hidden surprisingly well, though I did spot a hairy foot sticking out of the leaves.

"Hi, Bee," Merry said brightly, poking his head out of the branches.

"Sam's here too," Pippin blurted out.

"'llo, Miss." Sam's voice was muffled from deep within the greenery. Pippin seemed to be sitting on him.

"How many of y'all are hiding back there?" I exclaimed.

"Just us three," Merry said. "We can't all be lucky enough to be invited to a secret C—"

"Shh!"

Footsteps approached, and I spun back around to see the rest of the circle slowly filling up. With heavy steps, the group of dwarves sat down on my left. One of them, with a short brown beard, elbowed me in the side by way of greeting. "We women have to stick together, eh? Ivaldi, at your service."

"Oh—yeah, I agree," I said, remembering Amarien's words about dwarf women. Other than a slighter higher voice and cropped beard, it was difficult to tell. "Beatrice, at your service, ma'am."

"Oho, this one's very polite!" Ivaldi laughed, resting her palms on the hilt of an intricately carved axe. "Well met, lass. This is my cousin Gloin, and his son Gimli." She jutted her chin in the direction of the two dwarves beside her, and we greeted each other with a chorus of at your services. I opened my mouth to ask them what the Lonely Mountain was like, but before I could, the Mirkwood elves soon lighted on my other side, shooting cold glares at the dwarves. "Hmph. Pay them no attention, lass," Gimli told me, promptly ignoring his own advice and leaning behind me to scowl at them.

I was so caught up in watching the two groups glare at one another that I almost didn't notice as Elrond stood and greeted us.

As he spoke, his voice grave and quiet, I shivered. It had been easy, sitting in the cozy gardens and warm halls of Rivendell, to forget about the seriousness of the Council, to pretend that a place called Mordor didn't exist at all.

"Bring forth the Ring, Frodo," Elrond said at last. As one, the Council turned to stare at the hobbit, who got to his feet nervously, still thin and pale from his injury, and set the Ring on a stone plinth for us all to see.

I stared. That was the Ring? It looked so…normal. Just a little circle of gold, catching the morning sunlight ever so slightly. It could have been an ordinary wedding band. Admittedly, it was beautiful, the way the sunlight flickered like fire along its surface. I'd never seen such a pure shade of gold, deep and rich and shining. And to think, it had been right here in Rivendell for days now! Would it be warm to the touch?

Ivaldi elbowed me in the ribs, hard enough to make my eyes water. I realized I had been leaning forward, half out of my seat. With difficulty, I tore my eyes away from the Ring and glanced around self-consciously. Boromir had stood and begun speaking, brash and self-assured, and I forced myself to pay attention. Now this I vaguely remembered from the movie. He wanted to use the Ring, didn't he?

I listened eagerly as others broke in—Legolas, Strider, Gandalf, Gloin—I had been so swept up in who the new guests in Rivendell were that I hadn't given much thought to why they were here. Oh, why hadn't I thought to bring a piece of paper to jot down notes?

The names of Elendil, Gil-galad, Isildur, Smeagol, and a thousand others were blurring together in my mind as the guests traced the history of the Ring piece by piece, from when it was forged to when it was picked up by Bilbo in the dark of Goblin Town, just like I'd read about as a little kid.

At last, Gandalf stood and recounted his journey to Isengard, the discovery of Saruman's betrayal, and—

"Eagles?" I interrupted eagerly. I wanted to kick myself for forgetting that part of the movie. "That's how you escaped?" Were they the same eagles from the end of The Hobbit?

I winced as dozens of eyes fell upon me. "Not quite as tidy a solution as yours, I grant you," the wizard said solemnly, tipping his hat in my direction. "But I flatter myself that I made the best of it."

"What do you mean, Gandalf?" interrupted Strider. "Was Beatrice somehow involved in your escape?"

He shrugged. "Yes and no. Beatrice, if you will…"

"Oh—right," I stammered, standing up reluctantly. Looking mostly at Bilbo, whose kind gaze was the most familiar and least intimidating among them, I explained my arrival in Middle Earth and Saruman's intentions with my world. My description of the wizard's storerooms of weapons elicited a chorus of horrified interruptions, and I struggled to explain the concept of bombs, guns, and tanks to the others.

"So the Enemy now has access to these terrible machines?" Ivaldi said, staring at me in disbelief. Her friendly demeanor had turned to wariness, as though I might cast a magic spell and blow them all up at any moment.

"Yes, but Saruman doesn't know how to use most of them," I said.

"Can all this be true, Gandalf?" cried one of the Mirkwood elves. "It seems far-fetched, to say the least." I scowled at him.

"All too true, I am afraid," the wizard replied gravely.

"But are you certain that only Saruman has access to such weaponry?" Boromir cut in, eyeing me suspiciously. "I have reason to believe that this influence of your homeland has extended far beyond Isengard."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"On my journey to Imladris," he explained, "I passed through the empty wilderness north of Dunland. One morning, the sunlight glinted strangely on the grass in the distance, and as I approached, my horse reared back, unwilling to come nearer. I dismounted and explored, despite my misgivings, and saw a wreckage of metal nearly the size of a cottage, with enormous blades like sword points speared into the earth. Surrounding it was a spray of rocks and dirt, as though the thing had rent its way onto the hilltop from deep underground. What could this nightmarish machinery be but one of your people's weapons? And how could its appearance hundreds of miles from Isengard be connected with Saruman?"

"Oh, I can explain that, actually," I interrupted, suddenly understanding. "That was me."

Boromir stared at me blankly. "You?"

"That's how I escaped from Isengard. Saruman had a helicopter—a flying machine—in his storerooms, and I kind of…stole it and crash-landed it in the wilderness. That's what you saw north of Dunland."

The silence that followed that statement went on so long that I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from bursting into nervous laughter. Bilbo, however, chuckled quietly, shaking his head. "A tidy solution indeed, dear Bee."

"You cannot mean to say that metal...thing took you nearly a hundred leagues from Isengard!" Boromir exclaimed.

"More or less," I said, wondering exactly how far a league was.

"I witnessed her escape myself. I can corroborate her story, strange a tale as it may seem," Gandalf added.

"Of course," the man replied faintly, clearly trying to equate the sloppy maidservant he'd met yesterday with the flying witch sitting in the Council meeting. "But can you not see, this changes everything! If Saruman has access to magic such as this, the Enemy could appear on our doorstep in a matter of hours!"

"It's not magic, and he doesn't," I said. "That was his only flying machine."

"You are certain of this?" Gimli broke in next to me. "Can he not create another?"

"No, he definitely can't manufacture them. They need all kinds of things he doesn't have access to, refined metals and fuel and whatnot. It's possible he could get more from my world, I guess, but he didn't seem to have much control over what he brought over."

"Whether or not Saruman gains control of these devices, it lends a renewed urgency to our situation," Elrond said. "While we possess the Ring, we cannot guarantee its safety from Enemy hands for long. The question, then, remains: what are we to do with it?"

I sat back down as the other continued their debate. One of the elves suggested throwing the Ring into the sea; another wanted to give it to someone named Tom Bombadil; Boromir made an impassioned case for using the Ring against Mordor in battle.

I wanted to shout at them all. As entertaining as my foresight had been in the past, now it just made me impatient—I knew how this Council would end, after all, even if I knew almost nothing that happened after.

"The Ring must be destroyed."

I let out a sigh of relief as Elrond's dire words washed over the group, though the discussion didn't end there. Suddenly the entire group was shouting at one another, and I found myself trapped between the dwarves and elves hurling insults at one another. In the resulting clamor, I almost missed Frodo's voice, quiet but self-assured, offering to take the burden upon himself—just as I knew he would.

The others fell silent in shock, which was broken only when several of the others volunteered to join Frodo. The hobbit looked smaller than ever among the other Council members, and Bilbo's face was twisted with a mixture of worry and excitement.

"Hey! We're coming too!" With a shout, the hobbits concealed in the bushes behind me leapt out indignantly, nearly knocking me sideways as they clambered to stand by Frodo's side.

I'd only half-watched this part of the movie, despite Nathan's insistence, absorbed instead with looking up the sheet music for the violin score that had been swelling dramatically as the Fellowship formed on screen. Now the reality of the moment felt like a slap in the face—I knew these people, had spoken to them, even befriended some of them already—and now they were going to run off and risk their lives on a quest that was becoming all too real.

Maybe it was a good thing I was running out of foresight.

"I shall determine the Ringbearer's remaining companions in the coming days," Elrond said at last, quieting down the Council members with a tired wave of his hand.

Dismissed, the rest of the group leapt up, arguing and talking over one another about what had just taken place. I listened to their discussion for a while, still overwhelmed by thoughts of foresight and danger, and finally I stood up to leave.

"Bee!" Suddenly I was accosted by Merry and Pippin. "You didn't tell us you had magic!" Pippin accused, crossing his arms.

"That's because I don't!"

"Oh, no sense in lying about it now," Merry said. "The cat's out of the bag. Now tell us more about those weapons you stole from Saruman, go on!"

"No, the flying machine first!" Pippin interrupted. "How high up did it go? And what did Boromir mean that it had blades?"

Smiling despite myself, I gave in and tried to explain. Despite my limited knowledge of anything technology-related, our conversation drew a small crowd before long, the others chiming in with bewildered questions about my world as cars, skyscrapers, highways, and telephones all took vague shape in their stunned eyes.

It was late afternoon by the time I managed to escape, and I returned to my room exhausted and bitterly homesick. How long had it been since I had driven a car, or seen the sun glinting white off the glass windows of a skyscraper, or heard the roar of an airplane flying overhead?

I had to get home.

Slowly, a plan began to take shape in my mind. Grabbing a quill and some parchment I'd hoarded from Elrond's library, I did what I always did to unclutter my thoughts—I began to take notes.

"Lord Elrond, do you have a minute?" I faltered in the doorway to his study. The sun had only just risen, but already a group of people stood around Elrond's desk, arguing vehemently—Strider, Gandalf, and Boromir among them. Pippin was trying to wedge himself into their circle, looking more furious than I'd ever seen him.

The elf lord glanced up at me and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, as the others continued bickering. "Beatrice, now is not a good time. We have much to discuss regarding the Council."

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about," I said. I'd been up all night writing an elaborate pros and cons list, and had finally outlined my plan. "I'd like to join the Fellowship."

Elrond sighed resignedly, but didn't look surprised. The others, however, broke off their conversation to stare at me. "I rather suspected you would ask this of me," Elrond replied. "But you must know this will be no easy journey."

"Of course not," I said. "But if y'all run into Saruman, you'll need somebody who can recognize his weapons."

"You are no expert in your homeland's weaponry, as you yourself have attested," he reminded me.

"It's better than nothing. I mean, I may not know how to shoot a gun, but I'm the only other person in Middle Earth who knows what guns can do, and what they look like."

"What's a gun?" Pippin broke in.

I gestured emphatically. "See?"

"You cannot be considering this, Elrond," snapped an elf I didn't know. "Already this Company will include three hobbits—"

"Four hobbits!" Pippin snapped. "I'm going, no matter what you say—"

"—and now you wish to include a defenseless girl?" the elf went on. "You cannot permit so many weak links within its ranks, not if we are to protect the Ringbearer."

"Peace, Glorfindel," Elrond said wearily.

"She is hardly defenseless," Gandalf added dryly, "given that she escaped from Saruman when I myself could not."

"Despite my better judgment, I must agree with Mithrandir," Boromir said, folding his arms. "You did not see the wreckage of that flying contraption, master elf. Perhaps, given the circumstances, a sorceress would be a welcome addition to the Fellowship."

"Oh—thank you," I said, taken aback. "But I'm not a sorceress. I can't, you know, do magic or anything." Boromir raised a skeptical eyebrow, but didn't reply.

"Magic or no, Glorfindel is not wrong," Strider cut in. "The land of shadow is hardly a fit place for a young woman."

I scowled, trying to rein in a wave of feminist rage. "From what y'all said at the Council, it's hardly a fit place for anyone, is it? Besides, I don't want to go all the way to Mordor." I'd anticipated something like this, jotting down their likely protests and potential counter-arguments until my hands were irreparably stained with ink. "If y'all are going to Mordor, that'll take you close to Gondor, won't it? Lord Elrond, you told me all about the library in Minas Tirith—that it's the largest one in Middle Earth. I might be able to find information there about how to get home!"

"Perhaps you might," Elrond said, "in which case you would accompany Boromir, who also intends to travel only as far as the White City. But be that as it may, we must keep this Fellowship small, or all secrecy will be lost. Now, perhaps if Beatrice were to join the Company, and Pippin remained behind—"

"No!" Pippin and I cried at the same time.

"Lord Elrond, Pippin has to go!" I exclaimed. "He…he has to," I said again, hoping Elrond understood my meaning—this was in the story, he can't stay behind, and definitely not for my sake!

Elrond shook his head. "As he is the youngest of the hobbits, the thought makes me uneasy. Indeed, I am half of Glorfindel's opinion that neither of you should go, and that the ninth and final member shall be a warrior of Imladris, who can offer better protection for the Ringbearer."

"Why nine?" I asked Pippin in an undertone as the others continued to argue.

He shrugged. "Elrond said there should be nine of us, to match the nine Black Riders."

"Why not nine people to protect the Ringbearer?" I said. "Ten in total, but they still get all that nice, juicy symbolism."

Pippin snorted. "They can tell themselves what they like, as long as they let me come along."

"I believe the matter is out of your hands now," Gandalf interjected, overhearing us. "You have both presented your cases—now, off with you."

"Gandalf is in quite a mood this morning, eh?" Pippin muttered sourly as we allowed ourselves to be shooed out of the room. "Well, no sense hanging about where we're not wanted."

With a wave, he headed toward the dining hall for second breakfast. I moved to follow him, but my stomach was in knots and I didn't think I could eat.

Halfway to the dining hall, a hand grabbed my arm. "Bee!"

I nearly jumped out of my skin. "Don't sneak up on me like that!" I cried, glaring at Amarien.

"I do not sneak," she said primly, wrinkling her nose. "Tis not my fault your mortal ears cannot hear my footsteps. Now then, come with me!"

"Where?" I asked helplessly, already being dragged down the hall.

"Why, to spy on Lord Elrond, of course. Do you not wish to know what he and the others are saying about you and the Fellowship?"

I gaped at her. "How do you know about the Fellowship?" I said. "And how'd you know I wanted to join?"

She laughed as she led me outdoors, where we huddled under one of the high windows outside Elrond's study. "You left your notes strewn about your room this morning. You should not have written in Westron if you did not want me to read them," she added in a sing-song voice, and I scowled at her. "And as for the Fellowship, I listened in on the entire Council meeting, of course."

I should've known. "You weren't hiding in the bushes with the hobbits, were you?"

"Of course not. I was the one who told them to hide there. It got them out of my hiding place behind a pillar in the courtyard—much more comfortable. Now shh!"

We fell silent, and I strained my ears. "The window's not even open," I complained. "I can't hear a thing."

Amarien rolled her eyes. "You cannot? Oh, very well." She screwed up her face and listened. "Let me see, Lord Glorfindel is making his case to join the Fellowship…goodness, but he is handsome, eh? I would not mind going on a quest with him in the slightest. That shining hair, and have you ever seen such cheekbones—"

"Focus, will you?" I hissed.

"Oh, you are no fun at all. There now, Estel is arguing that Pippin should come along instead…and Lord Elrond agrees with him! Oh, Pippin will be pleased. Now he is saying that as long as you do not wish to travel to the land of shadow, he sees no reason you should not come too—but how I should miss you if you leave Imladris…I suppose there is no use in my asking to come with you. Although it might be worth it, if only to see the look on Lhosdess's face when I tell her the news—"

"Amarien—"

"Oh yes, sorry. Hmm, let me see, they are saying that as long as you agree to go no farther than Minas Tirith, and learn to use a sword to defend yourself on the journey, then you shall become the tenth member of the Fellowship!"

"Yes!" I cried, leaping to my feet and punching the air.

After a moment, Gandalf's head poked out of the study window. "I take it you have heard the good news, Beatrice," he said dryly.

"Oh—sorry. We were just…" I looked around, but Amarien had already fled. Coward.

"Hmm. In that case, perhaps you might pass on our decision to Pippin," Gandalf added.

I cleared my throat. "Yeah, of course."

"And, Beatrice," Elrond called from within the study, a note of amusement in his voice. "Given that you will be learning to use a sword, it is high time you cease your work as a maidservant."

"Oh," I said. "But—"

A sigh trailed through the window. "I will not hear another word of you 'earning your keep' here," Elrond said wearily. "You have more than done your part; now, focus on learning to defend yourself."

"Yes, sir—I mean, my lord."

Halthel didn't seem sorry to hear that I was quitting. "You have made dreadfully slow progress in sewing and knitting" served as my abysmal exit interview, and I handed in my ink-stained maid's apron rather happy to be unemployed again. Still, learning to fight was an unnerving thought. Would I really have to defend myself in a battle? A real, medieval battle? The thought was so alien that I couldn't quite picture it.

"I didn't know they were making you learn to use a sword too!" Merry waved at me with his blade as I approached the hobbits, who were exchanging clumsy blows with Strider and Boromir in an open courtyard.

I waved back nervously, twisting my sleeve in my fingers.

"I'm just glad you'll be joining us on this quest, Miss Bee," Sam said brightly. "I'll feel much safer with a sorceress among us—ow!" While he was distracted, Pippin had thwacked him on the head with the blunt of his blade.

"Have you got a sword, then?" Pippin asked, ignoring a glare from Sam.

"Indeed she does," Strider said, looking up from his sparring match with Frodo and gesturing to a thin sword and scabbard in the grass. "There is a blade that should suit you, Beatrice, courtesy of your friend Lanion."

"Oh!" I unsheathed the sword cautiously, a cold mixture of eagerness and apprehension blooming in my stomach. It wasn't nearly as heavy as I'd feared, but it certainly wasn't light. I jabbed at the air experimentally. Admittedly, this was pretty cool. I grinned, my nerves dissipating a bit as I swung the sword around again. My name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to—

"No, no," Strider stepped in and stopped me. "It is a longsword, not a rapier. Wield it with both hands. There—your grip will be more secure and your blows will land more weight." I obeyed, and he nodded. "Now then, Frodo—try the technique I taught you. Beatrice, try to block his attack."

Frodo nodded determinedly, and I gulped.

"I'm no good at this," I grumbled after a few hours. I was thoroughly embarrassed to see how much better the hobbits were than me and flushed as several other members of the Fellowship had come by to watch our progress—an audience was the last thing I needed. After a while, the movements of my blade and the corresponding footsteps had become marginally less awkward, but I couldn't stop flinching whenever a sword swung my way.

"It's only because this is your first lesson," Frodo said kindly. "We've had a few weeks with our swords now."

"Besides," Merry added, "we're shorter than you. Good for a quick swipe to the legs!" He yelled the last word, diving at my feet with his sword.

"Gah!" I leapt back and waved my sword clumsily, tripping on the hem of my dress and falling onto the grass with a whump.

"Sorry," Merry said, looking rather pleased with himself. I glared at him as I got to my feet. Whose bright idea was it to trust the hobbits with swords?

"Perhaps a bow might suit her better, Aragorn," Legolas chimed in. He sat in the grass, his long legs stretched idly in front of him, watching us train as though we were a mildly entertaining circus act.

"A bow? Sign me up," I said grumpily. "Anything's better than that." I jabbed a thumb at Merry, who was still chuckling at me.

"You agreed to Lord Elrond's condition to learn to use a sword," Strider reminded me. "This shall prove more useful on our journey; after all, even Legolas uses long knives in close combat. Or do you hope to bludgeon orcs to death with a bow?"

Heat rose to my face, and I scowled.

Legolas sighed. "Ah, I suppose you must content yourself with your violin bow for the present, Beatrice."

"You shall become a talented swordswoman in time," Strider added, more gently. "Now, change partners again, all of you, and remember your footwork. Beatrice, partner with Legolas this time—he will not attack you unawares as Merry did."

"I make no promises, Aragorn," the elf laughed, getting to his feet and drawing a long silver blade. "Oh, come now, Beatrice, do not look so concerned. I will fight fair."

I tried to settle my nerves as he led me through a series of slow parries. "Sorry," I muttered as my sword went flying into the grass. "Um, your highness."

"None of that, I beg you," Legolas laughed. "I stand on little ceremony—the title of prince means little among elves. And there is no need for apologies, either. Swordsmanship takes a good deal of time to master, and besides, it is all fascinating to me, for it has been many years since I have sparred with one as inexperienced as you."

I might have been offended by that if I hadn't spent so much time around Amarien. "How old are you, then?" I asked as we began again.

He grinned and shook his head. "I have seen far more centuries than any others sparring here today combined. Will that suffice?"

"I guess," I said faintly—even after months in Rivendell, elves' ages still made me uncomfortable. "You kind of reminded me of my friend Amarien, and I thought you might be really young like her," I added, thinking of her eagerness and constant smiles. "Young for an elf, I mean."

"Ah yes," he said, grinning wider than ever. "You refer to the charming maidservant who joined you in spying on me and my retinue when we arrived in Rivendell?" I choked, and he took the opportunity to whack the blade out of my hands again. "Perhaps you might have used some of your sorcery to remain undetected," he added cheerfully, "for as it was, you were quite easy to overhear, I'm afraid."

"I don't have any sorcery," I exclaimed, picking up my sword again as heat rushed to my face.

"But of course you do," Boromir broke in, frowning as he parried an awkward blow from Sam. "You have shown us the proof just yesterday."

"That stuff isn't magic," I said wearily. "It's science."

Legolas huffed, looking unconvinced, and Boromir shook his head. "The flying carriage I saw could not possibly be accounted for by the sciences," he said stubbornly.

"Well, it was," I retorted. "We don't have magic where I'm from, and I'm not a sorceress, or a witch, whatever. I'm not," I added in exasperation as they both shook their heads.

"I believe you," Boromir said as Legolas and I crossed blades again. "Or perhaps I should say, I believe that you are not a sorceress among your own people, where such magic is commonplace. But in Middle Earth, how can such things be acknowledged as anything else?"

I scowled as Legolas knocked the sword from my hand a third time. If I was a sorceress, I decided, I was a pretty useless one.

The next several weeks slipped by in a flurry of parries, jabs, and bruises.

Before I knew it, snow was dusting the valley, and the Fellowship was preparing to depart. I had pressed Gandalf to leave sooner, dreading having to hike through the snow, but he had insisted on waiting for Elrond's patrols to track down the whereabouts of the Black Riders. I had scowled at the news, but was secretly pleased to have more time in Rivendell—the Hall of Fire was more inviting than ever now that winter had come, and the thought of saying goodbye to Amarien and Bilbo and all the others made my heart sink.

Still, time marched on, and before I knew it, my last day in Rivendell had arrived.

In an effort to shake off my nerves for our departure the next morning, I poured all my energy into one last violin performance in the Hall of Fire. For the most part, it worked—I lost myself in the fastest, most complex song I could manage without sheet music, trying not to think about when I'd be able to play the violin again. I'd have to leave it behind, of course, since it belonged to Lanion. Even if he'd gifted it to me outright, I wouldn't have wanted to risk damage to the delicate wood by lugging the instrument through the snow.

"What a show!" Bilbo cried as I sank into an armchair by the fire, the final notes dissipating in the chill night air. "Such an odd tune, but I enjoyed it immensely."

"Thanks," I said, slightly out of breath after completing the chorus of 'The Devil Went Down to Georgia.' "We used to play it at live music nights—if only someone here knew the lyrics and had an electric guitar, y'all could hear it performed properly…"

"In any case, it was a memorable farewell you've given us," Lanion added.

"I'm glad to hear y'all've finally come around to country music," I said, tucking the violin back into its case. "Lanion, I can't thank you enough for lending me your violin." Reluctantly, I handed the instrument back to its owner.

"It shall be waiting for you, should you ever return to Imladris," he replied.

I nodded, swallowing around a sudden lump in my throat. Unable to form a proper goodbye, I hugged Lanion and Bilbo tightly before returning to my room to finish packing.

"Ah, good, you are here!" Amarien said. "I have been gathering some things you may wish to take with you."

"Oh, thank you so much, I—" I hesitated at the mountain of clothing and supplies she was sorting on my bed. "Amarien, I can't take nearly this much stuff!"

"But you shall be gone ever so long," she fretted. "And you shall need the essentials, at least." She showed me a satchel packed with a small lump of soap, a wooden comb, leather ties for my hair, extra handkerchiefs, and a small linen cloth to clean my teeth. "And of course, you shall need these," she added, gesturing to several rags and a clunky cotton belt, made for securing them into my underwear: the sad Middle Earth equivalent of sanitary pads.

I groaned. If only Saruman could have magicked over some tampons. "Yay," I said sullenly, adding them to my bag.

"Will you be bringing all your things from Texas?" Amarien asked, holding up the flashlight curiously.

"Just about," I said, adding it to my bags, alongside the walkie talkies, Swiss army knife, and pistol. I'd hesitantly examined the gun since arriving in Rivendell, though I hoped I wouldn't have to use it. The extra ammo I'd grabbed had proven not to fit after all, but its magazine—once I'd figured out how to detach it—still held six rounds. Eying the weapon distastefully, I buried it under the pads in my bag. Hopefully I wouldn't have to use it.

"You shall be happy to know," Amarien went on, "I obtained some traveling clothes for you with Lhosdess's help. She is Arwen's lady in waiting, you know, and so is quite experienced in crafting women's riding clothes and the like. You see?" She held up a long-sleeved shirt and pants, lined with thick gray wool. "These are much like men's trousers, but are still decent, and shall keep you warm besides. And look! Bilbo made a request to add these."

"Pockets!" I laughed weakly, a lump forming in my throat. "Y'all have been so nice to me. I don't deserve half of it."

"None of that," Amarien chided. "I am certain you would do the same for me. You took on work as a maidservant, after all, though you did not need to."

I shook my head, tears welling in my eyes. "I just wanted to be helpful," I sniffed. "It wasn't…"

"No, but don't you see? You desired to share my work—you treated me as an equal, a friend!" She dabbed at her eyes fretfully. "Oh, Bee, I have had precious few friends as dear as you. How gray this valley shall seem when you are gone—"

I burst into tears. For all that I missed my friends back in Texas, none of them had ever said anything half so kind to me. "I'll miss you too," I said shakily, hugging her. "I'll see you again, you know, before I leave," I added, without thinking.

Will I? I hesitated. I'd told Radagast I'd see him again before I left Middle Earth too. And as eager as I was to be home, I didn't regret it—I did want to see that strange, flighty old wizard again, almost as much as I wanted to stay in touch with Amarien and Bilbo and Lanion and all the other friends I'd made in Rivendell. But how many more promises would I make here—how many more ties would bind me to Middle Earth before all was said and done?

"Well, you had best keep your word, Beatrice Smith." Amarien fixed me with a threatening, teary-eyed glare. "I'll not have you disappearing to other worlds without a proper farewell."

"I promise," I said, and I meant it.