A/N: Well we're here - Chapter Thirty… wow! What a milestone :) You think things have been interesting? - well we're just getting started my friends. So yeah… a little bit of a cliff-hanger last update :P I promise not to make too much of a habit of it ;)

Thank you reviewers!

Disclaimer: Anything that appears in LOTR is not mine. Any story line or character not in LOTR IS mine…

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Chapter Thirty

Serafina walked next to the man through the darkness. Every inch of her was on edge, anticipating an attack. It seemed as though he was only waiting until they were far enough away from the others to speak without being overheard by the elf, but he did not look as though he could contain whatever it was inside of him for very long.

To Serafina he seemed overly agitated, as though something had been brewing inside of him for days now. Presently he passed a hand over his face and turned his head to regard her as they walked.

"Do you remember, in the mines, when you spat all over the dwarf?" his voice was surprisingly light, but Serafina heard an undertone of darkness in it, "You do not know how many nights I have lain awake wondering what you know."

"What I know?" she repeated.

But he continued as if she had not spoken, "Gandalf never mentioned any curiosity simply because it was curious. It is my belief that he wanted me to tell you all that I know - if I could but ask him what he thinks it means!" he broke off in frustration and took a breath to calm himself, "I do not think we will linger in this place much longer, and I must tell you now or I may never be free of the ghost."

Serafina watched him as he spoke, unable to make sense of what he said. His face fell mostly in shadow as they walked, but she could make enough out of his expression to see a black look.

"Many years ago now, I am afraid to say how many, I met Arnudor - my father's advisor at the time - riding out of the city. I had never seen him so agitated. In his arms he held a bundle, he was sweating even though it was winter and the day was chilly. I offered to accompany him. At first he refused, he said he had unpleasant business, but when I persisted - I was worried that he was unwell, he relented and let me follow. It was not until we reached the river Anduin that I understood. The bundle in his arms was a child wrapped in blankets in a boat of reeds. A baby, barely even cleaned from birth. He said it was the child of a prisoner, and the little thing had not survived even a minute in this world. His face was still red and sweaty and I thought he must have been shaken by the ordeal. We have few women in our prisons fewer that had given birth there. I saw its face. I was repulsed by it, by its frailty, but it would have been a beautiful baby - a girl, he told me." Here he stopped to take a breath, but his pace never slowed. Serafina had trouble keeping up with his long strides and disjointed story but she didn't dare interrupt. She could not shake a cold feeling from winding its way up and down her spine.

"You don't know how much that face haunts me. At the time I had a terrible desire to hold it, but I ignored the urge out of cowardice. These nights I wonder if I had but held it, perhaps it wouldn't haunt me so…"

His voice trailed off and he stopped walking. After some moments of standing silent in the dark Serafina wondered if she should leave him. But before she worked up the nerve Boromir began again, "He told me that the mother had expressed wishes for her child not to be buried under the earth, nor burnt to ashes but set free so that its spirit might see the sea and the sky meet under the stars and be at peace with the world that had given it nothing. I thought it was the least we could do. He waded with the child as deep as he could then let it go. I watched helpless from the riverbank. I remember thinking how lucky it was that the current was strong and the thing would be born swiftly to sea." He paused, watching the scene in his memory. "I remember that the current was strong - the little bundle flew away from us so quickly, and there was no breeze to blow it upon the-" here he stopped and looked at her intently, "I know what visit it was that the wizard spoke of. He intercepted us on our way back to the city. Arnudor rode on ahead, I told Gandalf of our business by the river but I remember no trace of probing in his questions, I still believe them to have been then innocent in intent. My heart tells me that it was after that very visit when he found an empty reed boat in the bulrushes."

Serafina cleared her throat but her voice came out only in a whisper, "I don't understand."

"The child, Serafina!" he exclaimed in frustration, "Do you not remember Gandalf saying he found a small empty boat hidden in the bulrushes? Gandalf did not mention it as an oddity - I know it. And I believe it was the same boat as that that Arnudor set adrift on the river. But where was the child?"

"Surely the child could have been tipped out?" Serafina answered quickly. Her heart held a feeling of foreboding for what though she could not quite place. All she knew was that Boromir needed to be wrong about whatever it was he thought.

"Tipped out how? The thing was supposed to be dead; it could not have tipped the boat. But I guess perhaps the boat was tipped over and the child continued its journey under the water but I think it very unlikely. There are no creatures in the water that would disturb a floating boat carrying a dead baby. There was no breeze and the current was strong, the boat with or without a baby should have been carried to the sea. How, then, did it end up in the bulrushes?"

"How am I supposed to know?" She asked a defensive tone came into her voice.

"I have tried in vein to convince myself this is all unconnected but it will not do. Her voice is in my head, through the grief I know she can see the guilt I feel. How much torture I would have saved myself if I had asked Arnudor to hold the pitiful creature…" his voice trailed off again.

"What guilt?" she asked, stealing herself.

"Since Gandalf put the idea into my head I cannot seem to shake it. And now, after his death, it weighs heavier upon me and the Elf-witch encourages it - I feel it. That visit that Gandalf spoke of, that I have told you of tonight, it must be something like twenty years hence."

Coldness drenched her. She saw where he was heading with this idea and it could not be true. "That child was dead."

"The more I think about it, the more I am sure that there is no way possible for the boat to be found in the bulrushes, empty or not."

"But it was empty!" Serafina yelled at him, suddenly angry, "And none of this even matters because the child was dead!"

"How do you know the child was not dead?" he cried back at her, "Have you not been listening to what I've been saying? I never held it! I never was able to feel its cold, lifeless body. I have always regretted not holding the child. I dreamt of holding it for years until it faded out of memory. But lately I have remembered it. In every dream I take the child from Arnudor and instead of finding it cold and lifeless, the little think wakes and looks at me. It doesn't cry. It just watches me with its big eyes. Green eyes. Long have I tried to convince myself that the dream means nothing. But I cannot ignore it - I think the child was alive. And I think Arnudor knew it. How else can I explain his countenance? So anxious as he was to get rid of it!" He stopped abruptly and held her with a measuring look. His expression was indiscernible. "Are you certain that your Garth found you in the bulrushes?"

Serafina's eyes were wide, she shook her head, "How can I know? I was a baby! If you are implying that I am this child that is impossible!"

"How is it impossible? You have seen, what? Twenty - maybe twenty-two winters? No more surely. The time fits. Serafina, I have lost much sleep over this mystery and I am convinced I am right. You cannot detest the idea more than I, that I know."

"How is that?" she hissed.

"Because me not following my instinct to make sure the child was dead has made me responsible for what you became! If I'd just made that one action, life for you could have been so different."

"You still have not proven that I am that baby!"

"Does the name Arnudor mean nothing to you?" Boromir asked with his brows raised.

"I do not believe I have heard it before," she answered perplexed.

"I don't know if I should find this more appalling than surprising. Certainly you knew the name of the man you killed."

Serafina took an involuntary step backwards, away from him. Boromir ploughed on, his tone accusing. "For some reason the child, that is you, was to be killed. You, yourself, said that Garth told you your parents didn't want you and abandoned you to the river. And he said he found you in the bulrushes, Gandalf found an empty boat hidden amongst them around the time you would have been born. But as I have said, the boat would not have simply been washed up into the bulrushes - this can only mean that someone knew about the child, about you. Garth would have had to have been waiting for you to come floating downstream, so that he could wade in and catch you. Why would anyone do that, Serafina?"

But Serafina could not answer.

"What's more is that approximately ten years later, the same Garth instructs you to kill the same Arnudor - the very man who tried to dispose of you as a baby. On his own wishes or someone else's I do not know. I cannot believe this to be mere coincidence. There are mysteries yet to be solved about this. Something I am determined to do on my return to Minas Tirith. But tell me, what was your relationship with Garth? Do you think he could have been your father? That he saved you because you're his daughter? Perhaps your mother didn't want you, but Garth did?"

Serafina laughed, it was harsh and tight and sounded out of place in their conversation, "Garth grew to despise me. He never loved me - I don't know why he took me on. I can't believe he was my father."

Boromir looked at her thoughtfully, "There is a possibility that a pregnant woman from around twenty years ago is still remembered in the prisons. Perhaps questions could be asked as to why her baby was taken from her. She may yet still be there - I do not know her sentence. I cannot think why anyone would want to get rid of a child in such a manner."

"And you have no doubt that the child was me?" she asked in a small voice.

"Even now I feel the burden left by the death of the Wizard, and pressed on by the witch lifting off my chest. As if they have been waiting for me to tell this to you. It's important, I think - and though it may be shocking, I cannot tell what any of it means."

For countless minutes they stood together in silence. Serafina was trying desperately to find a way to contradict the man, but she found no success. She was not certain why it was so important for him to be wrong but she felt the urgency clearly. While she had known nothing of her parentage she'd never cared who they were - their existence was meaningless to Serafina; she was alive and Garth had raised her, for whatever reason. Now, though, she could not help but imagine a mother, her mother sitting childless in a prison cell. Was she happy to be childless? Was the child taken from her by force? Did she die there?

Countless questions ran through her mind, questions that she had never bothered with before. Was it possible that Garth didn't just find her by chance? Did he know her parents? How had he known where to find her?

"Serafina?" Boromir asked looking at her with both the normal disgust and something new, "Are you alright?"

Serafina scowled at him, and didn't bother to answer. He seemed to understand though and motioned for her to walk with him as the retraced their steps towards the fellowship.

When they finally reached their camp, emerging side by side from the trees, they saw the whole of the company seated together passing around flasks of clear Elvish wine. Aragorn seemed to be the only one who fully appreciated the strangeness of their simultaneous arrival and raised his eyebrows as he motioned to the log he was seated on for her to join him. She shook her head once and stole her way quickly to her bedroll, wanting desperately to avoid attention from the merry party. She was only three steps from her prize when something tugged on her skirt.

"Oh no you don't, Fia!" said Pippin as he looked up at her schemingly. She could hear jeers from Gimli and Merry, encouraging him in his endeavour. "We're not often all together like this, and tomorrow we're to dine with the elves, then as I reckon Aragorn will be leading us on away from here. Come on!" he said, and dragged her by the skirt towards the group. Her first reaction was to protest, but Pippin obvious excessive consumption of wine had left him lacking in terms of judging his actions. Serafina watched horrified as he walked away from her with a fistful of her skirt, with such a high split in it she only had a few seconds to follow him before the entire length of her legs were displayed to the whole fellowship. Yes, she was wearing thick tights, but they left little to the imagination and Serafina had no desire to be ogled at by her slightly intoxicated companions. She followed the Hobbit but did not sit down.

It certainly felt strange for the nine of them to be together at the same time, it had almost been as though they had each avoided it in a silent packed so they might not notice the missing member so sorely. But by this time the dwarf and the hobbits had drunken too much wine to notice the one who was missing. Serafina knew it would not escape the men or the elf. She snuck a glance to the three of them. Boromir, seeming eager to catch up to the hobbits and the dwarf was taking long swigs of wine and had taken the seat next to Aragorn where the latter had indicated to for her to sit. Legolas sat on Aragorn's other side, looking around the party. His expression looked happy but in his eyes she still saw grief. When she looked at Aragorn she looked away instantly. His grey eyes were piercing into her with his intense gaze. Serafina folded her arms and watched Merry. He was talking animatedly, about something clearly amusing by the reaction of his kinsman and the others, but his words washed over her unheard. She stood this way in silence, letting her mind wander back to where it had been unceremoniously wrenched from.

"Well?" Merry asked again.

Serafina started and realised that the hobbit was looking at her expectantly, proffering a book at her. She shook her head to clear the fantasy she had created about a falsely accused, mourning mother in a lonely prison cell and noticed she had kept eye contact with Merry the entire time she'd been daydreaming. He'd even stood up and walked over to her. She could feel the eyes of the company on her, but she took no notice of them. Merry smiled and pushed the book into her hands.

"Come on, Fia!" he said laughingly, "We all agreed, you're the best storyteller - you should read it. We had a hard time finding it in Common Tongue, I'm sure the elves have many books in Common, but the truth is they just have so many books that we barely knew where to look."

Serafina looked down at the book in her hands. It felt oddly heavy, but she knew this had nothing to do with its weight.

Aragorn watched her as she handled the book. He saw a redness creeping into her cheeks, at first he thought only how the look became her, then he noticed the anxious way she shifted her weight in her feet as though preparing for flight. He snapped his eyes back up to her face and at once understood the blush he had seen that night in Moria as Sam's words came back to him 'I'll wager she's read hundreds of nasty stories like that one and they're all stored up in her head, only for telling when she chooses'. Presently the same voice rose in the night.

"Oh come on Serafina, it's just one stinking tale. Look, even I want to hear you tell it - surely that's got to count for something." Most of the fellowship chuckled at this comment and Merry grinned at Serafina in encouragement.

Aragorn watched transfixed as she desperately tried to keep the anxiety so present in her eyes out of her expression, unsure as he was if he should step in, and if his assumption was indeed correct. But Serafina simply tried to hand the book back to Merry and said with all of her usual confidence, "I don't want to read it."

Many of the companions grumbled their disappointment, but Merry asked clearly, "Why not?" looking offendedly at the offered book and refusing to take it.

"I don't like the story," she answered, but her façade was shaking. Aragorn stood from his place and walked over to Serafina and took the book out of her hands. She didn't look up at him in appreciation.

"If the lady doesn't want to read, Master Hobbit, then she shan't," he said gently.

"But how do you know you don't like the story if we never told you which one we wanted you to read?" asked Pippin, ignoring Aragorn's intervention. For the first time Aragorn saw a flash of panic on Serafina's face, followed by an angry blush, but Pippin ploughed on, "Didn't you read the title? It says 'A collection of tales'!"

The tone of his voice suggested to Aragorn that Pippin as yet suspected nothing; his only intention was to guilt her into reading. Boromir however perceived more than this and said in a quiet voice that carried over the whole party, "No. She didn't read it. Because she can't."

"What do you mean she can't?" asked Merry.

"What? Can't read?" scoffed Pippin, chuckling at the joke.

But Boromir's face held a very different smile, it was a kind of disgusted sneer, but slightly changed from the normal jeer he wore when regarding her, "Of course she can't read. She was raised by a low-life, a crooked man who didn't even love her. Who would have -" he began to ask before Aragorn cut him off.

"That's enough." Aragorn said firmly. But Serafina it seemed was ready to fight. Her face was completely red and her eyes were burning with hurt and anger.

"No," she said to Aragorn, "he's right. Who would have taught me?" She said lifting her chin high in the air. Her nose turned up in an ugly sneer and she felt Aragorn grab her arm but she shook him off heedlessly. "Excuse me for not being born into privilege, wealth or royalty like the rest of you!" She felt shame of herself creeping up onto her. She had been unfamiliar to feeling like this before being among this group. "The world I come from has little time for luxuries and accomplishments as you might be accustomed to finding in your women. What use would I have for books with no home to put them in? I have never heard a story I could not remember and retell. And what use would I have to write? I have never needed to settle any business with anyone, which I could not do in person."

Serafina looked around the fellowship with a challenging eye. Pippin met her gaze with a frown, "I thought I saw you reading a map in Rivendell?"

She laughed at this, "A map is not exactly a novel," she said with an unpleasant curl of her lip, "You don't need to know letters to read a map. Anyone who knows the land at all can recognise this one means 'Gondor' and that one 'Rohan'. Maps are nothing but pictures" she spat. With a last sweeping glance at her companions she stalked away from them trying desperately to scrape along with her as much pride as she could muster from such humiliation.

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Practice with the men the following morning was a torturous affair. Boromir was still looking at her with a mixture of disgust, pity and guilt. And to her upmost chagrin he was even attempting to be mildly pleasant. It was as though his admitting his suspicion of her birth had made it completely real to him and he had therefore taken on all the guilt that he felt due to him for her life, including, apparently illiteracy. Aragorn, on the other hand, barely spoke. He was not by nature verbose, but Serafina had grown to expect instruction from him at the least. She had not anticipated this kind of treatment from him, especially not as he had tried to assist her in her distress last night, even if she had rebuked it. She had thought he would treat her as he ever had, but these men, it seemed, never behaved the way she predicted.

The daylight passed largely as it had throughout their time among the elves. Serafina had mostly given up hope of planning an escape. She figured she would have better luck when the fellowship was departed and there was no one around to expect her anywhere. What vexed her greatly was how the Lady had not yet granted Aragorn's request for her sanctuary. As far as she could tell he had received no answer from her, as if she was waiting until the last minute to make a decision.

Slowly the light faded, and the beautiful oranges and greens of the forest became a more uniform brown-grey in the darkness. She knew she should return to the company soon so that they could journey to dine with the Lord and Lady together. She had been walking the citadel in the silence of twilight, and took one more turn before she would retrace her steps to find the fellowship. Around the corner she found beautiful winding stairs leading down a lush valley and ran down it quickly.

Before her stood a thing of beauty and mystery such as she had never beheld. The secluded stairs had lead her into a miniature valley. Serafina saw a flowing stream of the purest water dance down the rocks in a bubbling cascade; it swelled in a natural basin before running down to the floor and winding its way out of site through the trees. In the middle of the small clearing stood a font, crafted in the fashion of the elves. She walked up to it cautiously, but it was empty. Letting her woes leave her she smiled as curiosity took hold and she glanced around her surroundings. Her eyes lit up as she found a pitcher sitting by the pooling water of the stream. Instinctively she filled the jug and filled the font to the brim, wary not to spill a drop - the very water seemed precious. Serafina waited, watching the water hoping something would happen.

Her own reflection stared back at her. She stared at it for some moments, expecting something, though she knew not what. Just as she was about to give up she noticed subtle changes in her appearance; her eyes were no longer bright green, but deep like the forest. Her hair was softer and fell about her face in plentiful healthy bouncing waves. Serafina frowned at the image and to her surprise the strange version of herself smiled back, though somehow the smile still held an alluring pout. The vision melted away and she saw Boromir as he had walked with her only the night before. The scene changed and they were dancing together, he seemed marginally more content than she had seen him in weeks. His face shifted and became Aragorn's. He reached out his hand to caress her cheek. Suddenly it changed again and a flash of a naked shoulder pressed against her own in a fit of passion filled the water - the heat from the vision filled her body and firelight played on the bare neck and shoulders of the man. A face swam into view and all too familiar grey eyes darkened with desire pierced hers though the water. She could not look away. The scene melted into cold daylight. A bitter, proud face attached to broad and strong but ageing shoulders was yelling soundlessly at her; his expression all rage and fear. Although she could not hear him the words coming from his mouth were clearer to her than the call of birds at dawn. Foreboding settled on her heart and she wanted to tear her eyes away but before she could the scene shifted again and she was in a rugged landscape, around her she saw the carcasses of wargs and horses and the bodies of orcs and men. Legolas looked at her with sadness and pity. He spoke words that, again, she could not hear but that her heart felt with painful clarity. His face was beautiful in its wretchedness, it was clear he was hurting. The focus moved to his hand and it opened to reveal a ring of two serpents with eyes like emeralds clutched within it.

Serafina flung herself back from the thing and landed in a heap against a cold stone. She steadied herself - it was just a vision, surely it was not the future. She thought back to the image of Boromir walking with her, that certainly was past, and she could have sworn Aragorn had caressed her face exactly so once before. So how could the rest of it be the future, unless it showed both past and future? Or maybe, she thought with feeble hope, it showed futures that were lost. An involuntary pang of regret washed over her as she realised this would mean the loss of that other future, where the firelight danced on - "No!" she cried aloud. She would not entertain ideas of the impossible. But the look on Legolas' face danced before her eyes and she fought despair desperately.

Suddenly the night did not seem so friendly, nor the setting so beautiful. With a new weight on her heart she ran from the place, but she could not run so fast as to leave the horrible visions behind.