Well I've left off for 16 whole chapters, but I finally added the romantic pairing- I'm so excited! Although I'm sorry to everyone who assumed that Legolas would be Bee's love interest. Fully expecting some people to take this story off their alerts list for that (although I hope you don't!), but what can I say, as much as I love Legolas, I wasn't super interested in taking a stab at an elf/human romance. I'm really fond of how this relationship will unfold—although in the slowest of slow burns, so please be patient with me—and I hope y'all like it. I'll convince y'all to root for Boromir if it's the last thing I do!

And don't forget to review- even just a couple words really inspire me to keep writing! I've had several of these scenes written for ages now (I'd literally been sitting on the scene of Boromir shaking Bee's hand in the last chapter for a year, and the opening scene below was one of the first things I wrote for this entire story, because apparently I'm incapable of writing scenes in consecutive order) and by now it feels weirdly personal to publish them—anyone else ever feel that way? Anyway, I'd be thrilled to know what you think of this chapter!

Chapter 17: Houston, We Have a Problem

My footsteps were heavy and purposeful, echoing loudly as I strode through a hall that seemed more and more familiar with each step. Tall, vaulted ceilings, imposing stone walls, and cold beams of weak sunlight streaming through high, narrow windows...I was back in Orthanc.

But I wasn't a prisoner this time. Things were different now.

"Saruman!" My own voice startled me as I stormed down the hall, the unnatural force of it tearing through the silence and reverberating in the cold, dusty air. "Saruman, come and greet your guest!"

Suddenly I was in a room I knew well. Dusty books lined the walls, their shelves carved into heavy black slabs of granite, and in the center of the room was a small stone pedestal, on which a gleaming black orb rested. I found myself smiling.

"So the little musician returns at last." I whipped around. The White Wizard had emerged from the shadows, looking uncharacteristically wary. Clearly he hadn't expected me to return to Isengard voluntarily. I hadn't expected it either. "To what do I owe the honor, girl? Have you seen reason at last?"

"Be quiet!" I snarled. Again my voice startled me, echoing like a drumbeat against the heavy stone walls.

His black eyes narrowed to slits. "Just who do you think you are dealing—"

"I said be quiet!" The torchlight flickered as I advanced on the wizard.

Saruman studied me cautiously, then his eyes widened in rage—he seemed to have seen something, understood something, at last. "Ah," he said, carefully this time. "So you have taken it for yourself." There was fear in his voice, and I found myself relishing the sound. "You continue to surprise me, girl. I will not ask how you managed to obtain it. But perhaps," he went on, eagerness flashing across his sallow face, "perhaps you have come to make a bargain."

"Why would I bargain with you?" I snapped. I didn't know my voice could hold such menace, and I wondered at the sound.

"Why?" the wizard repeated, as though it should have been obvious. In his eagerness, his voice had gained back some of its confidence, the unctuous, persuasive menace that had twisted my mind once before. "Why else would you have returned? You are not built for vengeance, I think, and so you must have come to me for a favor. We can work together, you and I."

"Don't pretend to know anything about me!" I spat. His words, dripping with corrosive magic, had no effect on me—not anymore. "As it happens, I do want something from you," I added. "But trust me, Saruman, it won't be a bargain or a favor, and we will not be working together."

His jaw tightened. "Do you seek, then, to supplant me?" Scorn had crept back into his voice. "You are a fool to think you can wield it alone. You will need my help, sooner or later; you will see. And I promise to give it, if only you allow me to share in its power."

"Enough!" My hand rose in the air, pointing at the wizard, and a gust of wind followed the gesture, blowing my hair forward and making Saruman stumble back. "Stop talking about help and promises. You know as well as I do that its power can't be shared. And you know why I'm here. You brought me to Middle Earth with the palantír. Now I'm going to use it to go home!"

He hesitated, eyes darting back and forth calculatingly between me and the orb atop the stone pedestal to my left. He looked trapped, torn by his thoughts, but he finally moved to stand between me and the palantír, staff outstretched like a sword.

It was the wrong choice. "Saruman," I snarled, the words sharp in my throat, "you have been supplanted." The wizard's staff flew towards me, as though pulled on a string, and he let out a shout of anger.

I caught the staff easily and felt a cruel smile stretching across my face. "You wanted to share in its power?" I cried. "I'm going to take it with me, and you won't get so much as a glimpse of it again!" At that, the glass windows high above us cracked and shattered, and heavy shards rained down like knives at my feet. I wanted to flinch, but found myself standing resolute, taller than ever; I must be taller even than Saruman now, growing, filling the entire room with a dark, heavy shadow—but no, I wasn't changing—it felt as though something else was growing, straining inside my own chest, forcing Saruman back as shards of glass rained down and shadows poured in like ink from the gaping windows.

Menace curled in my heart as I stepped over the glass shards and swung the staff into the wizard's face, just as he had once hit me. He tried to block the blow, but fell back. I wondered where this sudden power had come from, even as I heard my own shout of triumphant laughter ringing in my ears.

Then I stood before the palantír, turning away from Saruman, assured in his defeat. Flames burst to life from within the orb as I stared into it, as I knew they would, roiling and terrible like a devil's eye. But in a split second before they appeared, the palantír had been still and mirror-like, waiting to come to life. My reflection had appeared on the glassy surface, for the briefest moment, before being consumed by flames, and in that split second, I had seen something strange.

There had been something glimmering on a thin gold chain around my neck.

I hesitated, my right hand tightening around the wizard's staff. With my left, I reached up cautiously, afraid of what I might find. Numbly, I felt at the hollow of my throat, and my trembling fingers brushed against the cold, heavy weight of the One Ring.

I woke up with a cry, scrabbling at my throat to rip away a chain that wasn't there.

"Miss Bee!" Small hands were grabbing at my shoulders, and I twisted out of their grasp, still only half-awake. The flames in the palantír had burned behind my eyelids, and the afterimage lingered, even as I blinked in the freezing sunlight, taking in the faces of the Fellowship around me.

"Are you alright, Miss?"

It had been Sam who had shaken me awake. I had gotten tangled in my sleeping bag as I slept, and I struggled to free myself and sit up, my bedroll sinking several inches into the wet snow blanketing our campsite. My heart was shuddering against my ribs like a frightened rabbit's. "I'm fine, Sam, really," I gasped, still rubbing at my neck where the chain had lain cold against my skin. "I'm sorry if I woke y'all up—"

"Ah, don't mind that, lass," Gimli grunted. I looked over to where he was adjusting his boots. "Most of us were up already, anyway."

"Were you having a nightmare?" Legolas asked. I wondered if elves even got nightmares; he seemed more curious than concerned. I brushed him off hastily.

"It was nothing," I said, growing panicked and clammy as the details came flooding back to my mind. If they guessed, if any of them guessed what I'd imagined, the glee in my voice as I wore it, they would never trust me again. "I'd rather not talk about it," I bit out. I felt sick.

"Oh, don't worry about it," Pippin said around a mouthful of stale bread and dried fruit. The others were doling out leftover food for breakfast as they rolled up their sleeping gear, and I hurried to pack my things too, not wanting to hold everyone up—everyone seemed to be moving with renewed vigor now that we were finally heading back down the mountain toward Moria. "I've had at least one nightmare a week since we left Rivendell," he went on nonchalantly. "Frodo gets them too, even worse."

I glanced over at Frodo as I rolled up my sleeping bag. The hobbit was helping Sam arrange his cooking supplies into Bill's saddlebags, looking restless and disheveled, as though he hadn't slept at all. As he moved, I saw a glint of a gold chain around his collar, and I jumped so badly the sleeping bag slipped out of my hands and unrolled again.

"Bee? What's wrong?" Pippin asked, following my gaze to Frodo and Sam, but seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

"I said it's nothing," I snapped, and was horrified to hear the same callous tone that my voice had carried in my dream. I couldn't really behave that way, could I? It had been so strange, so alien, as though I were watching someone else's movements, unable to stop them. I pressed a hand to the hollow of my throat again, feeling where it had rested against my skin. It had felt so real. Shivering, I pressed my half-folded sleeping bag to my chest and sighed. "Sorry, Pippin. I didn't mean…I didn't know you have nightmares too. I'm sorry," I said, by way of a peace offering.

"It's only natural," Pippin said, shrugging off my apology and passing me a bowl with the remainder of the potatoes, which I accepted gratefully. "Mostly it's of our pursuit in Bree, and the fight on Weathertop."

Of course they'd have nightmares about the Ringwraiths, I thought guiltily. Surely that was far worse than any memories I had of Saruman. "All y'all have nightmares about them?" I asked, forcing down some hard cheese and bread. The dream had left a sick feeling in my stomach, and the food felt slimy and cold in my mouth.

Unexpectedly, Pippin laughed. "Not all of us. Sam sleeps like a log every night. I don't think even a Black Rider would be brave enough to try and interrupt his sleep." I gave a forced smile.

"Do not make light of such matters," Strider chided us sharply as he walked past. "Finish packing your things, you two. We have many miles to cover before nightfall." Pippin rolled his eyes at me, and I smiled weakly in return.

Wordlessly, we finished the last of the food, gathered our belongings, and left the campsite.

The Fellowship walked in relative silence, as usual. None of us much felt like talking, exhausted as we were by our steep descent from Caradhras, made all the more perilous in the dark. Still, an uneasy thought had drifted into my mind and wouldn't leave, and after a while I fell into step beside Boromir. "Hey," I said nervously. "Dreams don't...come true, in Middle Earth, do they?"

"What do you mean?" He looked surprised.

"I just…I remembered what you said at the Council, about a sort of prophetic dream you had," I explained. "Is that common here?"

Boromir frowned, considering my question more seriously than I'd expected. "It had never happened to me before that, though my brother has had such dreams in the past. I cannot say that it is common, however. Why do you ask? Do such dreams come to fruition in your Texas?"

I shook my head.

"I see," he said slowly. "Then do you ask because you hope that a pleasant dream will become reality, or that a bad dream will not?"

I opened my mouth to say it was the latter—but at his mention of Texas my mind had drifted back home, among my friends and my family. My warm bed and run-down little apartment, my job and violin and my lumpy lime green sofa, my mom and my friends in my string quartet...they all felt closer, suddenly, than they had in months. I felt as though if I simply closed my eyes and reached out, I could embrace them.

Trying to force back the tears in my eyes, I took a deep breath, but instead of pine trees and cold mountain air, I was inhaling the smell of cedar and smoky mesquite wood, the acrid odor of Dallas traffic, the spices in my mom's kitchen. My hands shook at my sides. A cold, poisonous tendril of dread and hope was winding its way into my heart, and my eyes were drawn shakily up to where Frodo was walking, a little ahead of us.

Beatrice…

I nearly jumped out of my skin—for a moment, I'd forgotten where I was.

"Beatrice?" Boromir asked again, looking concerned.

"Oh, I...I don't know," I said. "I guess it wasn't such a bad dream, really."

We continued our descent down the mountain. Hours slipped by in a blur; I couldn't have named a single thing we passed, or a single word anyone said to me. I was only vaguely aware that I had been thinking, almost obsessively, of home, of that dream, which was consuming me like a fire. I was invigorated, dead on my feet, feverish, frozen, elated, miserable—what's wrong with me?

"Whoa there, lass!"

"Oh! Sorry!" I exclaimed, having walked headlong into Gimli as the rest of the Fellowship came to a halt for the day, the sun just beginning to stain the eastern sky a glowing pink. I peered ahead at the others; they looked more imposing than usual, their shadows thrown into stark relief against the glittering white of the snowbanks.

"You alright?" Gimli asked, waving off my apology and scowling up at me with concern. "You look half-dead."

"Gee, thanks," I muttered. My eyes were darting around, taking in our surroundings—I felt like I'd just woken up. We were in a little valley between rocky hills, steadily losing elevation. Spiny, threadbare pines dotted the landscape on all sides, though Strider had managed to find a campsite with more shelter than the rest of the hills seemed to provide from the frigid mountain wind.

I looked around for a place to set up my sleeping bag, and I looked over to where the hobbits were gathered. I was most comfortable around the hobbits, especially Sam, so I'd taken to sleeping close by them—but this time I felt a strange sort of reluctance. You can't hang around too close to Frodo, I thought. It's suspicious. What if they find out what you've been thinking all day?

Hurriedly, I strode over to the opposite end of the camp and plunked my sleeping bag down next to Boromir's, as far from the hobbits as the clearing allowed. He paused while removing his cloak and raised his eyebrow slightly, clearly noticing my abrupt change in sleeping habits. I ignored him.

"Are you well?" Boromir interrupted my panicked thoughts. "Forgive me, but you look rather feverish."

I let out a hiss of frustration, pressing my face into my hands. "Why does everyone keep asking me that? I'm fine!" I glared around at the rest of the Fellowship, and then rounded on Boromir, who looked ready to protest my words. "I know I'm a woman, and I'm young and inexperienced and whatever, but that doesn't mean I'm about to drop dead at any given moment," I snapped. "Y'all don't need to keep checking up on me. I'm fine, so just leave me alone!"

Boromir's eyes had grown wide during my tirade, and he straightened up and stared down at me for a moment, looking surprised and deeply insulted. "Gladly," he said, lifting his chin slightly. Without another word, he abandoned his bags and strode away, leaving me feeling confused and foolish, and all the angrier for it.

I seethed at him for another moment. The others were distributing a meager dinner of cold vegetables and the last bits of cured meat from Rivendell. Sam, meanwhile, was grumbling that he'd been looking forward to making something hot for once, to celebrate our descent from the mountains.

"For the last time, Master Gamgee, we cannot risk attracting attention with a fire!" Gandalf was saying irritably, though he was eyeing the rancid-looking venison with as much distaste as the hobbit was. "We must simply tighten our belts and be patient."

"For how long, though?" Merry piped up. "It's nearly as cold here as it was up in the mountains. I'm liable to freeze if we keep going on like this." The hobbit turned toward me, knowing I'd agree with him, cold as I always was. "Isn't that right, Bee?"

I'd been watching their exchange from a distance, feeling oddly detached from the rest of them. "Yeah," I muttered. "A fire'd be nice."

"We did not venture this far for nice conditions," Gandalf continued imperiously. "We will simply have to make do."

He was in one of his Gandalf moods again, clearly, but instead of ignoring him or chuckling at his words, I clenched my fists. I was furious—furious with Gandalf, with Boromir, with Frodo, with all of them, and I couldn't explain why. I glared defiantly up at the wizard and saw that he was studying me. His eyes were narrowed under the shadowy brim of his hat, and for a moment I had the horrible urge to strike him, as I had struck Saruman in my dream.

At that thought, disgust flooded my mouth like bile, and I stood up quickly. "Where are you off to, Beatrice?" Gandalf said casually. There was something in his voice that told me he'd known something of what was going through my mind, and was testing me to see what I'd do next.

"Yes, Miss Bee, do come and have some food," Sam broke in, looking concerned. "Pippin's liable to eat your share if you don't get to it first, you know."

But I couldn't. I was sick of them all, sick of myself, sick to my stomach—"I just...need a minute," I said, shaking my head dazedly, forcing the words out through clenched teeth as I stormed away from our camp.

Long shadows bloomed stark over the mountain slopes surrounding the valley. The sun was rising, but in my feverish state, I didn't care much about getting lost, or running into danger in the morning light. If something does happen to me, I thought, wandering aimlessly, I would deserve it. How could I have thought such horrible things about Frodo, about Gandalf, about any of them? How could I still be thinking them now? I pressed my palms against my eyes, and they came away wet.

But couldn't they see that this was pointless? Why hadn't this been brought up at the Council? They'd come up with every other plan under the sun, and hadn't once considered sending it away to my world, giving it to me, letting me use it to get home!

Because surely I would have that power, wouldn't I, if I had the Ring? I could force Saruman to show me how to get home, if I couldn't figure it out myself, and then I'd go back and Middle Earth would be safe; the Ring would be out of their hands, out of the enemy's hands, forever! I could go home, I could see my family again, and I would put the ring away, lock it in a safe. I wouldn't tell anyone about it, not ever, and I wouldn't use it—of course I wouldn't. I would just be home, happy and safe, and Sauron could be defeated and Middle Earth would be at peace; it was so simple, why couldn't they see that?

I couldn't say how long I wandered around in the cold morning air, my boots crunching on the frosted grass. Eventually weariness overcame me, and I slunk back to camp.

Most of my companions were already asleep—or so I judged from their even breathing, mingled with the comforting sounds of Gimli's snores. Legolas, who was keeping watch that morning, raised his eyebrow at me as I approached my sleeping bag. I offered an apologetic shrug in explanation. He returned the gesture, looking bemused, and pointed at my sleeping bag with a slender hand.

Resting on my covers was a cold slice of bread and a few of the last pieces of jerky, wrapped clumsily in brown paper. I glanced up at Legolas in surprise, but he shook his head, smiling, and nodded toward one of the little green bedrolls at the far end of the camp.

Sam. He'd known that I'd missed dinner. Helpless tears stinging at my eyes, I picked up the bundle of food, his little act of kindness wrenching at my heart. Quietly as I could, I forced down the food and slid into my sleeping bag, wincing as the polyester scrunched loudly against the ground. With a quick glance, I saw that Boromir's eyes were open, staring intently across the camp. Shame bubbled up in my chest as I remembered how I'd snapped at him earlier. "Sorry if I woke you," I whispered lamely.

Boromir started at my words, wide eyes darting to meeting mine. It seemed to take him a moment to gather himself, but he shook his head dismissively. "Think nothing of it," he muttered back, his voice oddly distant.

I nodded and rolled over, curling up into a ball and shutting my eyes tightly. I wouldn't dream about the Ring again. I wouldn't. I just had to think about something else, anything else…

A distraction was somewhat easier to come by than I'd thought. As I shifted uncomfortably in my sleeping bag, I found myself thinking about the strange tone in Boromir's voice as he replied to me. Was he angry about my outburst earlier? I didn't think so; he didn't seem like the type to hold a grudge, much as I might deserve it. No, he had sounded strangled, almost guilty—as guilty as I felt, in fact. I blinked, then sat up in my sleeping bag, following the direction he had been staring when I'd spoken to him. He had been gazing at the small green lump that was Frodo's bedroll.

Uneasily, I darted a glance back at Boromir.

I couldn't remember much of the second half of the movie. I'd promptly fallen asleep after the Fellowship was formed, and the movie was nearly over by the time I'd woken up again, jolted back to consciousness by Nathan throwing a handful of popcorn at me. Eyes half-unfocused, I'd watched as the characters had…what? Gone canoeing on a river, or something? And then they'd fought some kind of battle, and they were all separated from one another, and…and—

Of course. A half-forgotten memory of the movie came rushing back at last. Boromir wants the Ring too. And if we're still on the same course that Tolkien wrote, it's going to cost him his life.

My blood turned to ice, prickling along my veins. But we're not still on that course, I told myself. Saruman's made sure of that. Right? I pressed my knuckles against my lips, trying to rein in the panic blooming in my stomach. My fuzzy memory of the scene of his death played over and over in my head, and I rolled over restlessly.

No, we weren't still on that course. And I would keep us as far from that course as possible. Boromir wouldn't die—none of them would. I would make sure of that.

I would keep the Ring from harming any of them.