Dear Lord, guys! It's been a while. I got sucked back into fanfiction again - it was through Severus Snape (coughcoughahem) and then suddenly, I'm looking at my old story Plain Jane and some lovely people had reviewed since I last looked and said nice things! And suddenly, being hugely flattered, I thought, hey, I'm supposed to be working on my novel but why not revisit the story - clearly people liked it.

Plain Jane in Thirteen Chapters was supposed to be a little exercise for myself. I was 20 when I started - seems so young now! I could never every finish a story. I had good ideas, inspiration, etc etc but what I was lacking was perseverance and motivation. I thought to myself, hey, I'll write a story on fanfiction, quickly and concisely, with a clear finish and then I will prove to myself that I can do it. The story wasn't supposed to be polished, I was just supposed to get it down. I wrote the first chapter in an hour or so one night. The next day I wrote and posted another chapter. Then it was a week later. Then months. Then years. Now I'm looking at it and hold shizzle, it's been FIVE FLIPPING YEARS! I HAVE GONE FROM BEING YOUNGER THAN JANE TO OLDER!? And yet, I'm back. And it was down to reading people's reviews. I had been reading a story myself about Severus Snape (coughcoughahem) and noticed it wasn't finished so I couldn't read it all - that makes me very impatient - so I signed on to leave a review - along the lines of "OY I NEED MORE STORY!" and then saw your reviews and thought, "Well, one can't be hypocritical."

So the pen-ultimate chapter of Plain Jane in Thirteen Chapters - ok, so I've cheated a little bit and stretched it out, but there is only going to be one more chapter after this. I'm excited and terrified by the thought of finishing it. My writing has changed a lot - I'm still doing the whole "let's write 3000+ words in a single evening" malarkey cos hey, you gotta stay true to things sometimes, but as I reread it, I noticed the odd typos and I thought some parts were a little immature. My writing is hopefully more sophisticated now I'm a fancy journalist now. But I still have a sick sense of humour, worry not.

Also, I have no qualms about killing people off. Just so you know!

PS I have very quickly abandoned Severus Snape and now I love Boromir again. So much it hurts a little.

Chapter 12

in which

Boromir tries and fails to open up,

Aragorn gets all paternal

the Hobbits are up to their usual nonsense

and Jane thinks about things.

Boromir entered the talan and walked over to Jane. He sat by her bed and held her hand in his – Jane just blinked at him.

He looked the same old Boromir, but cleaner, softer. It was the light probably, and lack of armour, but he looked so vulnerable, and much younger.

"You look well," he said, softly.

"Clean?" asked Jane, smirking at him. He laughed, remembering Rivendell.

"Yes, clean, too. You worried me."

Jane became concerned – this was not normal Boromir talk – usually he would have told her off, been angry, insulted her because he was upset she had been injured. Was he going to declare his feelings to her? She wasn't sure she could handle that.

"Nice room, eh?" she said.

Boromir looked confused. "Yes…the Elves have always been good at architecture. Jane, I need to talk to you-"

"What I am liking most is the um, table. Table have four arms for the food and created of wood-"

"Are you still on pain medication? It's hard to tell with you," said Boromir. Jane looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

"Pain? Medication?" she asked.

Boromir sighed. "Pain is ow. Owwww!" she nodded. "And medication….is what they gave you. To make you feel better."

Jane nodded. "Hey! You think me is high….urgh never mind. Anyway, also I liking chair-"

Boromir growled loudly. "I need to talk to you! Stop being annoying!"

Jane bit her lip and looked at him. It was all going to come out now.

The talan door burst open and Merry and Pippin ran in and jumped on her bed.

"You're well again, Jane!"

"We were worried about you!"

"We had these Elvish sausages except they weren't sausages-"

"I drank a bottle of wine and Haldir almost cried because it was his great-grandfathers and over 2000 years old!"

"The Elves sang a song about Gandalf!"

"And it was so sad-"

"But pretty-"

"Yeah definitely pretty-"

"But they didn't mention his fireworks!"

"Can you believe that, Jane?!"

Boromir coughed. They turned to look at him, their curly hair bouncing and their eyes wide and incredulous.

"Were we interrupting something?" asked Merry, his eyes laughing, but his face deadpan.

"We wouldn't want to interrupt anything, Boromir!" said Pippin with a smirk.

"Especially something of a romantic nature-"

"Enough!" said Boromir loudly, although it was clear that the Hobbits weren't the least afraid of him as they started laughing and scurried out the door as fast as they came in.

"Wow," said Jane, quite exhausted.

"I know," said Boromir, sighing. "Anyway-"

The door opened again. "For Valar's – oh Lady Galadriel!" Boromir stood up shakily and bowed. "I…sorry, I did not know it was you, I never, my lady, would have shouted – I am sorry, forgive me!" and he edged round the bed and walked out. Jane and Galadriel listened to his hurried footsteps as he ran down to the staircase.

"That man is quite afraid of me," remarked the Lady of the Light.

Jane harrumphed.

"We need to have a little chat," said Galadriel and gracefully sat down in the seat Boromir had recently vacated. Jane narrowed her eyes. The healer had told her if she stayed in bed for a few days, then she would be able to walk and run within a week. That was this morning and already, being confined to her bed was driving her insane and putting her at a serious disadvantage. She couldn't escape all these conversations. "The Lord of Gondor is very troubled," said Galadriel in a smooth voice. Jane remembered that the Ring was tempting him. She had forgotten – she had only been thinking about his feelings for her. Oh god, she thought with a pang of guilt, what if, when he wanted to talk to her, it wasn't to say he loved her, but because he needed help? What if she had turned her away by purely thinking of herself? He was upset about his country, she remembered, sick with worry and guilt that he couldn't do more and that he wasn't there. War was brewing and she was worried about Boromir telling her he had feelings for her? She was being so selfish! This was Boromir, her sweaty, dirty friend, who needed her help. She should never have turned him away.

"He is very troubled," repeated Galadriel, who wasn't sure if the young human was listening to her. "His fate is not sealed yet, but his future looks grim."

Jane stopped staring out the window and turned to the elf. "Eh?"

"Eh?" repeated Galadriel, who clearly did not know the word.

Why was Galadriel repeating her? "Eh?" Jane asked, again.

"Eh," mulled Galadriel. This word must be important. There was a pause while each of them wondered what was going on.

"What is fate and sealed and future and grim?" asked Jane, eventually.

"I can see a little of the future. Boromir may die. I suspect you know this. I am here to tell you that you need to sacrifice him for the ring to be destroyed."

Jane looked into the azure eyes, the pale and flawless face, the wisdom and also the indifference to the petty matters of mortal beings. The elf was beautiful, and could be kind, but there was no warmth in her eyes, or her tone. It was a harsh thing to say to someone, that his or her best friend might die, even if Jane already knew.

"Mean," she muttered.

"Mean?" asked Galadriel, almost annoyed. "I wish to save your race and the many other races that live in Middle Earth and you call me mean?"

Jane frowned at her, choosing her words. "Boromir no have to die. Boromir man, not perfect. Frodo on road by himself." That didn't sound right, she thought. What the hell was her point? She was exhausted, all this translating in her head, trying to keep track of what she should know and what she shouldn't.

"You will have to sacrifice him. You have no choice in the matter. I will help you do this," said Galadriel, who then rose and left.

Jane sighed. At least everyone had gone. She had a lot of thinking to do.

In the next few days, the bedridden human was visited by her entire Fellowship, save the person she most wanted to see, namely Boromir. The Hobbits regaled her with tales of what they had ate, an elf named Haldir and his misadventures, whereas Gimli moaned and Legolas talked about how happy he was to be amongst such intelligent trees. Aragorn was in a nostalgic mood and spoke a little about Arwen and how they had become engaged on a nearby hill. But mostly, the friendly tramp spoke about Boromir.

He was very worried about Boromir. The Ring was affecting him. "So are you," he said.

Jane grumbled. "Is not…you know…." She had run out of words.

"I do not blame you Jane, but it is torturing him, as he knows you do not return his feelings. I have often found amongst soldiers that those who fall in love late, fall in love the hardest. His father was like that. Denethor married when he was 49, and he was besotted with his wife. When she died he was destroyed," said Aragorn, remembering his old friends.

Boromir as a big romantic, pondered Jane. Well, it kind of makes sense.

"I hope you will let him down easily," said Aragorn sternly, "And not tease him. He would not take kindly to teasing. He is already on edge, worrying about his city, his country, his army, his father…He doesn't need you laughing at him."

Jane was insulted. "I not mean!"

Aragorn sighed. "I don't think you understand how serious this is," he said. "If the Ring gains full control over him, there will be a fight. People may get hurt. And it would destroy him. Imagine how he will feel if he betrays us," he asked.

Jane thought about this. She knew that he would be devastated. But she knew it was going to happen anyway, unless she could stop it. But whatever she did, there was no guarantee that she could do anything that his fate wasn't set, whatever Galadriel said.

Should she just listen to the annoyingly chatty glowing Elf and let Boromir decide his own fate? Or should she try and help him? It seemed to her that it was her duty as his friend to talk to him and try and give him back some hope.

"A man with no hope, Jane, is a lost and dangerous man," remarked Aragorn. "I trust you will do what is best," he said, warningly, and stood up and left.

"I hate these talks," said Jane to herself. "It's like being back at school. I feel like I'm on detention."

She tentatively stood up on her leg, testing it out. It had almost completely healed, the scar was pale, but the healer had assured her it would fade.

"No one ever leaves here with a scar," he said proudly. Jane quite liked him, although he had told her that she was the worst patient he had ever had, even worse than the old cat that had been his last non-Elf patient and had bitten him.

She took a step. She felt a little weak, as she had not moved much in three days, longer if you count the day that she had been carried to the woods by Legolas.

"I am fine," she said proudly. "Thank you healer, you did good."

"Of course I did," he said indignantly.

"Yes," she said, choosing to ignore him. "Now I go. Thank you again."

She walked slowly out the talan and opened the door.

And immediately sat down on the floor. "Oohhhhh no. Oh no oh no."

The elf rushed over to her. "What is wrong? Fever? Dizziness?" he felt her forehead and then looked into her eyes, pulling at her lids.

"High!" she said. "High!"

The Elf looked down – the talan was almost a thousand feet from the ground, and the staircase circling the wide tree trunk had no handrail. Vertigo was beginning to get to her and the leaves and the trees started swaying.

"Humans are so silly," he said to himself. "Of course we're high, you silly mortal, we're up a tree!"

Jane clung to the door and stared down at the ground. "Oh my god," she moaned.

The elf pulled her back inside the talan. "Much, much more difficult than the cat!" he cried. "I will go and get someone to accompany you down. Stay here! Stay…as you wish, climb back on the bed. Valar – how do mortals do anything I wonder..." and he walked out the talan and ran down the steps.

Jane lay facedown on the bed and drew the covers over her head. She hated heights.

Half an hour later, the elf returned with Legolas. "I hear you require my assistance again, dearest Jane?" he said with a grin.

"Yay! Legolas!" she cried and ran and gave him a hug. "This tree is too big. Too too big."

He laughed and scooped her up. "Here we go, again!" he said and she closed her eyes.

"Goodbye again, Lord Healer!" she cried and waved. The healer shook his head, glad she was out of his healing talan and sorry to see her go at the same time.

What Jane liked about Legolas is that he often didn't feel the need to talk. The walk down from the talan to rejoin the Fellowship in their tents on the ground was a long one and she didn't want any inane conversations, or any mentions of Gondorians.

Unfortunately, Legolas was in the mood to talk. "It is strange, is it not, that Boromir has not visited you for the last few days?"

Jane inwardly groaned. Did he really want to talk about how Boromir was avoiding her? She had refused to have a conversation with him and he was obviously hurt. She felt hugely guilty. It had taken a lot of willpower not to ask Merry to drag Boromir up to the talan and talk to him. It would be better, she thought, to be a bit more natural about things. And not to make things more awkward.

"He has been wandering around the forest, looking pained. He carries a great burden," continued Legolas.

"Hmmm," said Jane, her eyes squeezed firmly shut and wishing she could do the same with her ears.

"I have never been in love myself, although I am over two millennia old, but it would be sad to think my love would never be returned," said Legolas.

"Uh huh," she said, through gritted teeth.

"He loves you very much, Jane Thomas, and he waited by your bedside while you were asleep. But after Lady Galadriel spoke with him, the day you woke up, he no longer visited. Tis a shame," said Legolas.

Jane opened her eyes, but didn't see anything. Legolas looked down at her face and smiled. What if, she thought, the annoying witchy Elf had a talk with Boromir along the same lines as the one she had with Jane? Effectively, destroying him of all hope? That was so cruel!

She really didn't like the witchy Elf anymore.

Legolas thankfully left her to brood the rest of the way down, where he popped her on her feet and took her to the Fellowship's tents. It was just in time for supper, and usually the smell of Sam's cooking was enough to wipe everything else from Jane's mind, but she had to find Boromir.

"Aragorn?" she called, seeing him smoking a pipe and looking pensive. "Where is Boromir?" she asked. Aragorn never let anything slip by him, he would know. He slowly removed his pipe and looked at her.

"He has been wandering in the woods this past hour," he said and put the pipe back in.

"Over there?" she asked, pointing left. He nodded, solemnly. She walked off, slowly.

"Remember what I said, Jane!" he called after her. She grunted in reply.

The trees were huge, and clambering around the moss and over the soggy leaves was actually hard work and her thigh muscles were beginning to tire. The light was leaving and the sunset shone golden through the leaves. She stopped to admire the view – if she weren't looking for someone then it would have been a relaxing stroll through the woods. She lifted up her skirts to climb over a fallen log and almost slipped and fell. She had been walking for ten minutes now and hadn't caught sight of Boromir. It was deathly silent amongst the trees – which was odd, she thought. No birds chirping, or bees buzzing, no leaves blowing – there was no wind. It was very eerie.

Suddenly she felt depressed. Here she was, in a creepy wood, limping along, tired and overwhelmed, recovering from being shot by a goblin, looking for a mildly hysterical man who was in love with her. It was too much. Tears welled up in her eyes and she took a deep breath to pull it all in.

"Jane?" asked a voice behind her.

"Oh my god," she cried and turned around. "Boromir!" she put her hand on her chest and tried to contain her fright. "Boromir!" she said more angrily, pissed off he had crept up on her and she hit him on the chest. "I no hear you!" she accused. She wished she hadn't hit him – his chest was awfully hard.

"You're deaf then," he retorted, but there was no anger in it. He looked vaguely amused she had hit him. "You're out of the talan then," he said.

"Yes," she said, awkwardly. "How are you?"

He looked surprised. "Me? I'm fine, of course."

Jane could have hit herself. Of course he wasn't just going to open up to her easily – he was a man in a feudal world, not used to talking about his feelings. She should have had a plan.

"Good," she said, floundering for things to say. "I…hmmm. You want to speak? In the talan you say we need talk?" She had gone for the direct approach.

A dark shadow crossed his face. "I only wanted to enquire after your health," he said.

Galadriel had clearly got to him. Jane wondered if she should have asked more questions of Aragorn – if Boromir had opened up to him, he might open up to her. But maybe after Galadriel's little talk Boromir had just bottled up?

"Hmm. Boromir? You my friend, my best best friend," she said, earnestly. "You tell me if something wrong," she insisted. Boromir's face remained impassive, but Jane thought she saw something in his eye. "Or I hit you," she finished. He smiled.

"I know. Let's get you back to the tent, little one," he said, taking her arm. "You must be tired."

Jane and Boromir walked arm in arm, each completely miserable and wanting to talk but each had something holding them back. Jane was looking straight ahead, trying not to cry, feeling panicked and more depressed than she could imagine. When they reached the camp, Boromir let go of her arm and walked off, leaving her standing, hurt, but herself.

She was lying on her back, unable to sleep, trying to will herself to get up, but she was too scared. Aragorn had given her a filthy look when he had seen the unhappy looks on Boromir and Jane's faces, and the Hobbits had been uncharacteristically quiet, leaving Gimli, who was still mourning, his cousin Balin to talk endlessly about dwarf superiority, while Jane picked at her food.

She knew there was something she desperately wanted to do, that no one seemed to suspect of her, but there were several things holding her back. Part of her brain still told her she was surrounded by fictional characters, that none of this was real. Another part told her not to mess with the story – she could easily end up getting killed or changing things so that Frodo never gets to Mordor in tact. And her real life was waiting for her, back home.

That thought, her real life, waiting for her, pushed her into action. Her parents were dead. Her older sister lived in Alaska and hadn't spoken to her since Jane had left boarding school. She had no job and a few good friends, but nothing like her friends in the Fellowship.

She climbed out her tent, checked that everyone was asleep and climbed into Boromir's tent.

He wasn't asleep, but sitting in his bed, sharpening a knife. "What is wrong, Jane?" he said, concernedly. She sat next to him and he put down his knife, turning to her apprehensively.

"Stop be sad," she demanded. He stared at her. "You is sad and have no hope but there is hope. So stop," she asked. He sighed and looked at his hands and Jane started to worry he might cry.

"Jane, it's not as simple as that. I can't see a good ending for this," he said, softly. "I've fought in many battles and never once lost hope…but this one…it's not easy, it's not black and white…I can only see my city burning and my people dead…" he said, his voice wobbling.

"Boromir!" she hissed. "No. No, no no. Gondor will be fine, Minas Tirith will be fine, the Ring is bad, very bad…but Frodo will make it bye bye," she said.

Boromir looked at her, his jade eyes sad and his hair in his face. "I can't believe that any more, no matter how hard I try…nothing good will ever happen to me again," he said.

Jane looked at the man, who was sitting so close to her, but was so far away. His head was lowered, feeling heavy with his sad thoughts, looking at his bare feet. She touched his shoulder and he jumped, but didn't look at her. She could smell him, rather than the usual smell of dirt and sweat, it was musky, soapy almost, something very masculine about it. She noted the contours of his chest, of his biceps, the dark messy hair…his rough face was turned away, so she reached out and pulled it towards her, the palm of her hand touching his stubble. His eyes met hers, with curiosity and a sliver of hope and she reached towards him, and kissed him.

Well people, I guess you weren't expecting that? Or were you? Let me know what you think!

I think Boromir deserves a little bit of kissing before you know, bad things happen to him.