A/N: As the folk who follow me on tumblr will have no doubt seen me banging on about, I'm taking part in flufftober next month – so I can't promise the same stupidly quick updates, considering I'm taking on the task of 30 oneshots in 31 days in addition to my usual stuff. Some of the fills I have planned feature Boromir and Sybil – but in an abstract, utopian future AU that has no bearing on how the plot of this will go, mostly. Although I do have one planned that plays with the idea of their meeting in a different way, too.
If that floats your boat, feel free to check it out, but I also completely understand if you want to put off seeing how they might interact in an established relationship until the time actually comes in this fic, because I can see how it might feel spoiler-y, even if there won't be any actual spoilers.
I also have some fills planned that feature James Norrington and my OC from that fandom, a couple of others from POTC, some Aemond Targaryen stuff, some Skyrim stuff, all sorts, so keep an eye out for that if it sounds interesting to you! My tumblr is esta-elavaris, I'll post everything there and then work out how I want to go about posting it on here, too.
The upside of the amount of times she'd been forced to follow Bera into rooms where she knew that she either would not be liked, would not be welcome, or some rosy combination of the two, was that Sybil was very familiar with the feeling rising steadily up throughout her body as she readied herself for dinner. She was also familiar with acting in spite of it.
Never let them see you sweat. Another one of her funny little sayings that she had no idea of the origins of. It was one of the rare ones that Bera had actually liked – not only liked, but adopted for her own use. Often incorrectly, but that had always given Sybil a good little laugh, at least.
She'd already broken her own rule this morning, considering she'd spent most of the Council in a cold sweat – but so had Frodo, so she ruefully thought to herself that perhaps it might be a bonding experience. Look, we're both clammy messes, let's be friends. It wasn't much of a plan, but it was all she had. Whatever internal griping she allowed herself, though, her conversation with Aragorn had lifted her spirits somewhat; not so much because of the contents, but because of the gesture itself. It told her that whatever voices might speak against her being there, his would not be one of them. Whatever his reservations were, she could hardly ask for more than that.
Still, her propensity to overthink everything that could possibly be overthought meant that her dilemmas began before she even left her room. For she knew that, for the folk that did not want her there, her every move between now and whenever they departed would be analysed for proof of their convictions. Prince Legolas, Frodo, Merry and Pippin all seemed happy enough to have her along with them. Aragorn had resigned himself to it, and that was a victory in itself for it was plain to see the respected he commandeered – and why he did so. Whatever his lineage, she'd never known him to be anything but decent, and that would bring about respect much more easily than who his ancestors were. In her book, at least.
Samwise was one she was unsure of – perhaps because he seemed to feel much the same way about her. Gimli had openly grumbled about her joining them, but hadn't directly argued, so she wasn't sure how to take that, either. From what she knew of Dwarves, if they had a real problem, you would soon hear of it. And Boromir…Lord Boromir…well. The less said about him, the better.
All in all, it was no wonder she found herself considering her wardrobe and wondering if she could mess up their impressions of her merely based on what she wore to dinner. Too overdressed, and they could very well write her off as a mindless shallow creature who cared more for gowns than for much else. Too underdressed, and it may be a sign of weakness. That her visions had taken so much out of her that she could scarcely dress for dinner now. And he might think she'd only made an effort the previous night for his sake, and now saw no reason to do so because they were on the outs. More than hurting her case, that would be mortifying.
Oh, but she had no mind for this damned politicking. Nor the patience.
In the end, she remained in the gown that she'd changed into after her bath, for it was warm and she found that an after-effect of her exertions was that she was freezing, her hands and feet in particular like ice. Then, however, she bound her hair back from her face with a length of silver ribbon provided in the vanity drawer, so that she wouldn't have the option of bowing her head and hiding behind it throughout the whole meal. She'd mourn the loss of that particular security blanket, but the stakes were too high to allow herself it. And that would have to do.
She left a tad early for dinner – primarily because she spent the run-up torturing herself with visions of arriving only to find that the sole free space at the table was beside Boromir, which threatened to induce the headache she'd just gotten rid of. Awkwardness she could handle, but that would be nothing short of agonising. Especially when she could compare it to how they'd been only just the previous night.
When she arrived, the table was set for ten with five at each side – although thus far, only Aragorn and Prince Legolas were present. Their conversation ended as they noticed her arrival, and they quickly rose to their feet in greeting.
"Please don't," she said quickly, offering a shy smile. "Your legs will grow very tired before all is done, should you keep that up."
Her joke, weak as it was, appeared to break the ice – for they chuckled, and Prince Legolas gestured to the chair to his right in offering. It saved her from dithering, at least.
"On that subject, though," she said – wanting to ask before the others arrived, "I was wondering how you'd like me to address you…I was out of sorts at the Council, and did not know of your station until after."
Those words she spoke to Prince Legolas and then turned her gaze reluctantly to Aragorn, who sat directly across from her – for the truth of his identity she had heard, but she'd also noted how he seemed to take little joy in it being revealed. Although Boromir had clearly taken the least joy of all in it, which was another reason why she hastened to bring it up now. Beginning this dinner by bringing up everything all gathered found distasteful hardly seemed a way to win friends. Out of practise with all thing social she might have been, an idiot she was not.
"…and your lineage…" she finally settled on adding in the way of explanation to him.
It was enough, though, for his lips thinned in a way that appeared more linked to discomfort than any annoyance at her for voicing it.
"I'm not sure how good I am at curtseying," she added lamely.
It earned a good-natured smile from the ellon, though.
"You have saved me the trouble of tired legs, it seems only fair I return the favour," he said. "Formality has little place in what we must soon walk into, I say we dispense with it."
Sybil nodded, relieved by that, and then turned her focus to Aragorn. He offered a tired smile.
"If you start curtseying to me whenever I enter a room, I shall never forgive you," he said simply.
"Magnanimous as ever, I see, Aragorn," Gandalf announced his presence, trailed by all four of the hobbits.
He took the remaining free space at Legolas' side – the one she'd secretly been hoping Boromir would take, to save her from being in her line of sight throughout the meal. With two free seats to Aragorn's left, and another two to Sybil's right, they naturally veered for those so that they might all sit together. Pippin to Aragorn's side, and then Merry at the end of the table. Frodo sat across from him, and Sam paused when he noted that if he wanted to sit with his kin, he would have to take the free space to Sybil's right.
She offered him what she hoped was a reassuring smile, and he returned it before finally sitting down. When Gimli strode in next, relieved washed over her. For surely he would take the seat beside Aragorn, leaving Boromir to sit opposite Gandalf at the end of the table. Not quite out of sight, but at least some distance away. Enough to make any expectations of their speaking unrealistic.
Belatedly, though, she realised that Gimli taking the seat she hoped he might would put him directly opposite Legolas – and he'd never stand for that. No, instead he slid into the seat she'd hoped would be Boromir's, which left the one to Aragorn's right, diagonally across to Sybil's left, as the only available chair.
The man in question arrived a moment later, and paused when he found them all already sitting. Sybil cast her eyes down towards the table before her.
"…Forgive me. I had not realised I was late."
It was difficult to say what he'd find most distasteful – being seated with such a clear line of sight her way, or being seated directly beside the King that Gondor apparently did not have and did not need.
"You are not," Aragorn answered, his tone civil enough. "Most of us have only just arrived ourselves."
In her peripheral vision, she saw little other than his leather surcoat as he sank into the chair beside Aragorn. Whether he looked at her or not, she did not know.
Already, she found herself faced with a difficult line to walk. They would have to speak eventually, that was non-negotiable, but that time was certainly not tonight. Her efforts had not yet soothed the sting of his words, and she suspected his temper had not yet been quelled, either. All they would get if they spoke tonight was yet another argument.
That being said, it would be all too easy for her decision to backfire on her – should he only choose to weaponize it against her. People had a knack for ascribing malice to a withdrawn nature when it so suited them, she knew that from firsthand experience. Much firsthand experience. Should her choice not to speak to him appear too surly, should she fail to carefully monitor her face throughout this meal, should she default to her natural way of being too quiet, he could seize it as supporting evidence for his stance that a woman, a hysterical and overly sensitive woman who took everything exceedingly personally, had no place amongst them.
Although, should he choose to venture down that path, he'd find it a tricky argument to make. Her own choice – her own inability, really – not to address him was far overshadowed by how Legolas and Gimli bristled with obvious disdain for one another whenever the other party spoke, and the few cues she did pick up from Boromir himself without looking directly at him betrayed his distaste at being sat right beside Aragorn. Of the underlying interpersonal drama in the Fellowship, five of the four involved were men – and three of those four men were hiding their ire much more poorly than she did. Aragorn being the exception…but the day in which Aragorn let his anger show would be a dark one indeed.
This dinner was far more intimate than the other meals she'd had here so far. No bards played, and no others were present – save for when a handful of elves glided out onto the terrace to place great big serving dishes filled with a hearty autumn stew onto the table, along with great big pitchers of red wine.
Sybil spent most of the meal picking at her food slowly, taking more pleasure in being able to press her hands against the side of her bowl in order to warm them up a little. She also barely sipped at her wine, knowing full well that the last thing she needed in that moment was to end up drunk – or even mildly tipsy. Other than that, though, she quickly found that the evening was less of an uphill battle than she initially thought.
It began, surprisingly, with Sam – who lamented to his kin that those who dwelled in Rivendell seemed to have devised a way of growing orchids that made it look easy.
"They prefer rainwater, I know that," he said, "but it hasn't rained since we arrived here! They must be using something else, too, else they'd have died…"
"Water from a well – or a stream, I suppose – works, too," she said quietly.
She'd said it having half-expected them not to hear – but they did, and Sam's brow furrowed.
"Begging your pardon, miss, but it doesn't. That'll kill them in a pinch. In my experience, at least."
"Not if you boil it first," she said. "Set it to boil, let it cool, and then water them with it as soon as it has."
He considered her words, something registering in his gaze – like he was slowly deciding that if she could handle a plant or two, she couldn't be half bad.
"You're a gardener, then?" Frodo asked. "The two of you may end this quest with a wealth of new knowledge."
"A healer," she corrected. "But…the two go hand-in-hand. Orchids – they are very useful, under the right circumstances."
And one could also charge a premium for anything containing them, considering what a nightmare they were to cultivate.
"If you have any tips for gardenias, I'll tell you everything I know about cauliflowers and onions," Sam offered, his tone veering towards the conspiratorial.
"I'd take him up on the offer, miss, for I've never heard him make it to anybody else," Pippin said – causing Sam to blush, for his troubles.
It was a topic she was exceedingly comfortable with – and one that Aragorn and Legolas soon joined in on, for it turned out while she hadn't been completely wrong with her guess as to how the elves watered their orchids, they also brewed what could only be described as curative tonics to mix in with that water. It was little wonder Sybil hadn't heard of that, for Bera would denounce it as poor business and a waste of their stock.
Before the food was gone, the wariness was gone from Sam's demeanour towards her, Sybil herself was speaking with less stumbling nervousness, and was no longer so painstakingly aware of every facet of her body language.
There was a sort of unspoken agreement that business would not be discussed tonight – not truly – and Boromir had seemed content enough to chat with Gimli and Gandalf for the most part, although he also spoke with Legolas and Aragorn enough to suggest that if there were any hard feelings over what happened at the Council, they would not interfere with his ability to work with them.
The food was long gone by the time Merry and Pippin seemed to have had all they could stomach of gardening talk, instead segueing into drinking songs in a manner that was cheery…despite not exactly managing to be subtle.
"Hey, ho, to the bottle I go, to heal my heart and drown my woe!" Pippin began merrily.
Sybil's head shot up and she stared at him, for she found she knew it.
"Rain may fall and wind may blow," she murmured softly – but hobbit senses were keen, and four heads of curly hair all turned in her direction.
"You know it, miss?" Sam asked, seeming pleasantly surprised by that fact.
"I…I think I do," she said, just as surprised as the rest of them.
Merry took it as a chance to issue a challenge, continuing the verse.
"But there still be…." he dragged out the final word, pointing at her with an expectant grin to let her know that was her cue.
"…many miles to go!" she finished.
"Sweet is the sound of the pouring rain," Pippin joined in – Sam and Frodo singing along quickly with him.
"And the stream that falls from hill to plain," Sybil said, not needing to be offered a cue this time, and continued on still, "better than rain or rippling brook-"
"There's a mug of beer inside this Took!" Pippin finished triumphantly.
Boromir was staring at her now, she knew that for certain – as were all of the others. The hobbits turned to her, smiling.
"You never told us you'd been to the Shire," Merry said.
"I…I haven't," Sybil said. "Not that I know of, at least."
Something in the way he'd posed his statement had the sound of an enquiry – one that suggested he knew she had not, at that, but didn't want to say so directly.
"Not that you know of?" Gimli said.
In order to look at him, she had to look leftwards of Aragorn for the first time since Boromir arrived – but rather than allowing her eyes to skim over him, she kept them on the table and only lifted them when they were right in the direction of the dwarf.
"Forgive me, lass, but surely that's something ye'd know," he pointed out.
Well. A good number of those gathered already knew, and she saw little cause to lie about it now.
"Most would," she answered with a sheepish smile. "Alas, my memories span only this last decade. Whatever preceded that, I know not."
A few looks were traded about the table, and Aragorn was merciful, interjecting in a manner that was not devoid of respect for the matter, but still matter of fact enough to make it seem casual, as she would prefer it was treated.
"I can attest to that fact. I looked into the matter personally for some time – unfortunately, there was nothing to be found."
Those to whom this was a revelation settled down a little at his words – for he'd just vouched for her, in a roundabout, subtle manner. Boromir, however, bristled in his seat. Sybil kept her eyes firmly trained on Gimli, though, who stared back and had the appearance of one gearing up to speak.
"Nothing?" Gimli pressed, expression caught between disbelief and outright suspicion. "No memories at all?"
"I'm afraid not," she replied.
Her natural sort of nervousness, for once, served her well – for the sheepish nature of her response appeared to quell his suspicion…although she couldn't say she was much of a fan of how it risked veering into pity thereafter.
"What other songs do you know?" Pippin asked. "Maybe there'll be a clue there!"
Aragorn stifled a smile opposite her, and she could not blame him. It seemed a very hobbit quality to think that a bit of singing might uncover mysteries that a decade of careful investigation could not.
"I…some, but they're not like that one."
She knew many, in fact, but all were strange and nonsensical – and none of them sounded anything like those she'd heard here. They came to her in dribs and drabs, often while she worked, and they left her with more questions than they did answers. And she hardly needed those gathered here to think her any stranger.
"Come on, just one! It might help!"
"I couldn't possibly," she breathed a strained laugh. "I've no voice for it, I'm afraid."
"Your voice can't be any worse than Merry's, and that never stops him."
"Pippin…" Frodo warned softly – intervening for her sake more than Merry's, she suspected.
"He might have a point," Gimli added. "Surely with all of us gathered here, one of us might recognise-"
Sybil was swiftly beginning to feel like she was trapped in some terrible dream – the sort in which she was expected to give a speech before a vast crowd. One that she had not memorised.
"I…" she faltered, swiftly beginning to lose the ease she'd found here.
"If Sybil does not wish to-" Aragorn began, but he was interrupted.
Boromir's arm shifted, and his cutlery went clattering to the floor, sending all heads whipping in his direction.
"Forgive me," he said, unfazed, making no move to retrieve it. "Clumsy of me. Tell me, Gimli, how does the craftsmanship in the stonework here differ from Dwarvish designs?"
Beside her, Legolas looked like he was suddenly fighting the urge to slump over and press his face into the table. Sybil did look at Boromir, then. He was too busy nodding along in response to what Gimli said to notice.
"Miss Sybil, I wonder if you wouldn't be so kind as to afford an old man the honour of escorting you back to your quarters," Gandalf said.
From the looks that flickered between she and the wizard, Sybil knew that he was fooling no one – all knew it was merely a chance for them to discuss this foresight of hers. She also knew that he hadn't had much real desire to put them off the scent in the first place. The hobbits had shown a propensity for eavesdropping, that was true, but she doubted any of the others would do so – and there were more than enough of them to stop the others from giving into temptation.
Nodding, she was mostly content she wouldn't have to find her own excuse to leave. The evening had not been half so disastrous as she feared, but it had been a long time since she'd found herself so surrounded by people – and longer still since she'd been expected to actually socialise in such a crowd. She found she tired quickly here, her mind overwhelmed by the lack of silence and solitude that she was used to.
She stood and offered her farewells. As she did, her eyes flickered towards Boromir, unsure of whether she'd be accused of snubbing him if she didn't speak, and she found him looking at her this time. The look they exchanged lasted but a second, although it felt like minutes, and then he turned his attention back to Gimli. Aragorn had witnessed the whole thing, and so she looked quickly by him and offered one last smile in parting to the hobbits before she left the table entirely, moving to Gandalf's side.
The wizard waited until they were well clear of the others, meandering across fairly deserted walkways, before he began to speak.
"I doubt I need tell you that I've thought a great deal about what you told me this morning," Gandalf said without preamble. "Perhaps that's something we have in common."
"Mostly I've been trying not to," she admitted.
Although she wished she hadn't said it aloud immediately thereafter. Would he take it as a sign of weakness? Looking quickly up at him, she found no trace of judgement in his eyes, and instead a sympathetic sort of half-smile tugging at his lips, undisguised by his great beard.
"You cannot be blamed for that, my dear. Even those well-versed in this particular ability often find it a troublesome gift to bear."
"The…the signs point favourably, though. Don't they? The things I saw…especially with- with Aragorn…I don't see how that wouldn't point to victory. He's…he's not exactly the type to leave and take a detour just to see out that sort of thing. It could only happen after, and if we fail, we wouldn't be alive for it to happen after."
She found herself defaulting to speaking in roundabout ways – and only just resisted the urge to whisper all that she said, too. It felt wrong, somehow, to speak of it openly and loudly.
"Of all that you have told me thus far, that portion was perhaps the least troubling," he allowed, matching her vague language. "But you have not yet told me everything."
Sybil was almost tempted to argue – with the first part of his statement, for the second was simply a fact. Surely the colour of Gandalf's robes changing would be the least troubling of all these things? But a moment's thought was enough to disabuse her of that notion. She'd seen Gandalf's face when she told him…and she doubted such a change in a wizard was as simple as finding a wardrobe. Gandalf the Grey. It was in his name, it was who he was. The change would mean much. How did one become Gandalf the White? She asked herself that, and a warning surge of pain snaked its way through her temples.
"Even if I had not seen how you reacted at the Council, I would say the same," he added. "What you saw of Frodo was…well. I take no pleasure in it. But it was a regrettable reality that he – and we, all of us – have enlisted ourselves for. There is little to be done for it, and little we would wish to do for the other two outcomes that you have shared. If this was the extent of what you had to say, why should fate bring you here? Why should you find yourself compelled to come along, if we did indeed have a chance at victory before you joined the Fellowship? What could what you saw change?"
"It could simply offer hope. Were that the case."
It was not, but she spoke for the sake of argument.
"There is already hope. Or, at least, space in which it may grow. Do not forget, we were already resolved to go forth before you even spoke of what you saw," he disagreed. "You were quite overcome when you looked at him."
They drew to a stop naturally, little more than twenty feet from the small set of steps that would lead up to the cluster of quarters in which her own room was housed. Sybil wasn't sure who led that pause, but she was happy for it all the same. At least this way, when they were done, she could walk to her room and leave the conversation behind her, rather than being left to stew in it when Gandalf took his leave.
This wasn't something she could really walk and chat casually about. She wasn't sure it was something she'd be able to talk about at all. Whatever turn her association with Boromir had taken, she was not bereft of decency, nor morality, nor heart. Nor was he, for that matter, regardless of what he'd said this morning. His opinions did not undo all that he'd done for her before he voiced them. Even could she not boast of a decade's worth of healing people under her belt, some she liked and some she did not, neither of those outcomes mattering in the end, she could not sit back and watch him walk to his death just because he'd expressed a negative opinion of her. It wasn't who she was. Sybil refused to let that be who she was.
"I saw terrible injuries," she said quietly. "Mortal injuries."
"You're sure?"
"I'm a healer. I know what wounds are survivable."
"I do not doubt your capabilities, my dear," Gandalf reassured kindly. "But glimpses such as these can me tricky. Often, there is room for misinterpretation."
"Not with this one," she said. "I'm certain."
That, he accepted readily enough.
"And these wounds…they're not of the kind that a mere warning might prevent?"
Yes, she'd approach him on the eve of his leaving and instruct him very firmly to be wary of archers. That would do the job. But Gandalf did not mean ill with his question – in fact, it was a very fair one. Why used a mallet where slight pressure might suffice?
"No," she said.
"I thought as much, but I had to ask," he sighed.
"I won't be a hindrance," she said quietly. "I won't allow myself to be a hindrance."
"Of that, I have little doubt," he assured. "Otherwise, I would not have supported your joining us. The delicacy of this undertaking, however, allows for little complication. With every member we add to the Fellowship, complications naturally increase significantly. I would say the same for any who join us, not only you."
Sybil nodded, wrapping her arms around herself. That made sense.
"Today was only the beginning," she added quietly. "A…a test. To see if I could see anything. There's no telling what else I might see. Or what I might be unable to see until I'm there, in the thick of it. I would not have seen what I did today without something to trigger it – I saw Aragorn's future when I looked at him, Frodo's when I saw him, so on. What might I only be able to see out there when something I can only see out there sets the ball rolling?"
Something that no other might be able to see until it was too late? Even if she couldn't, even if Boromir's fate was the only thing she could change, it would be worth it. What would she be doing otherwise? Pottering about with herbs and potions in some barren wasteland or another, watching the days trickle by and doing nothing of real worth with them? At least this way, she might make a difference. She might do something. Something of real worth, for once.
"I quite agree," Gandalf said. "I did not seek to speak with you in order to reevaluate your place in the Fellowship. You were brought to us just as our eight companions were, and you shall have a role to play just as they will. But what you saw…"
Sybil waited anxiously as he mulled over what he was going to say next.
"Such a death…it would have great consequences throughout Middle-earth. It would impact many, and they would act accordingly," he said. "Were it fated, should it be tied with all else that you saw, and then changed, the repercussions could cost us much."
Alarm went streaking through Sybil's chest, then, because it sounded to her like he was suggesting that she shouldn't change it.
"If it wasn't something that should be changed, then I shouldn't have been shown it," she said.
She'd almost said that she wouldn't have been shown it, but she wasn't so certain and so grand that she'd start talking to wizards of things like fate and destiny and the greater workings of the world. No, shouldn't was the right word to use. Because it was done now, and her mind was made up.
Then, though, she couldn't help but add.
"If it was fate that brought me here, it was fate that showed me that."
Gandalf made an indiscernible sort of noise at the back of his throat – but from what she'd seen of the wizard thus far, she suspected that if they were in disagreement, he would say so. Especially when the stakes were this high.
"I hope I've little true need to reiterate that you should not discuss what you have seen with the others – even if they should ask, even if it concerns the more optimistic visions."
Sybil made to argue, but he interrupted quickly.
"Your judgement, I trust, I can defer to, regarding when exceptions can and should be made. When time is pressing, and the consequences will be immediate and dire, else we would not need you. But running to and from each member and merrily informing them of their fate would not end well," he said.
They were in agreement on that – now that he'd clarified what he meant, at least. Aragorn had already shown a distinct discomfort in regarding to his lineage, and so telling him what she'd seen would only heap trouble upon trouble in his mind. She'd never even been slightly tempted to tell Frodo of what she'd seen regarding him. Would she have worked up the nerve to warn Boromir, had they not fallen out? Perhaps. Especially if she hadn't been taken on as a member of the Fellowship.
"Should I not have spoken of what I saw of you?" she asked doubtfully.
"On the contrary, I am glad you did. However, I am a wizard."
He said that as though it was an explanation in and of itself. And it was, in a way. She imagined he would greet news of his future far more objectively than the others might.
"If any here knew precisely what my future held, I don't think I should want them to tell me," she murmured.
She wasn't sure she was even looking forward to finding out for herself.
"I confess, I find myself more curious of your origins," Gandalf replied.
When she stared at him in response to that, though, she saw he had no intention of elaborating.
A/N: Don't worry, I know Boromir did a good thing here, but we're not thawing out yet.