It's not too late to back out.
As she stood at the entrance to Rivendell with the rest of the Fellowship, at the side of the group to Merry's right, Sybil ignored the voice murmuring in the back of her mind. For it was too late to back out now, and fear was all it was. It was doing its best to mask itself in logic, but she would not fall for that. The warriors among their outfit did not seem to share in that same panic – or if they did, they were well used to masking it by now – but if she looked hard enough, she thought she saw but a glimpse of it amongst the hobbits here and there. But it always disappeared again after one glance in the direction of their Ring-bearer. That was why they were doing this, was it not? Not only to save Middle-earth, but for their kin. So he would not have to face it alone.
Frodo kept his gaze fixed firmly ahead, save for one moment where he lowered his head to give his person a once-over as if to check that he had everything he might need. When he did so, Sybil caught the barest glimpse of a silver chain about his neck – the chain that bore the Ring.
It could send you home.
That gave her pause. For the first thought had been her own. It had come from her. In her own voice. The second, though? That had not come from her. It had masked itself in her voice, but she'd lived long enough now with only her own thoughts for company to know them for what they were.
And in any case, her own thoughts made sense. Usually. In some way or another. That one made none at all. She had no home, the closest thing that had ever resembled one – to her memory – was nothing but ash and smoke now. And before that? Well, what where could that ger her that her own two feet could not? That Aragorn himself could not find any trace of?
No, it was speaking nonsense. But…that meant it was speaking. In some foul manner. Sybil clenched her jaw and returned her gaze forward.
If it could whisper such nonsense to her, what foulness did it murmur to its bearer? A pang ran through her heart for Frodo.
She folded her hands before her, mentally taking stock of her own person. In addition to the wine-coloured shirt and the breeches she'd been training in, she'd been given a fine cocoa-coloured cuirass to go atop it. It would not stop a blade, but it may at least impede a projectile from a distance. And it would keep her warm.
Along with the rest of the Fellowship, she'd also been outfitted with a fine longcoat of thick wool, the same colour as her cuirass, which was lined with sable fur, and finally a similarly lined cloak the colour of caramel, with golden clasps that sat below her throat. When she'd taken stock of herself in the mirror, in her fine clothing and shiny new boots, her rapier at her hip and her curls bound securely back in a long braid down to her mid-back, she almost hadn't recognised her reflection at all. It looked like she belonged on this quest, standing here amongst them all.
Hopefully this would be one case where appearances were not deceiving.
Seeming to decide that the contingent of elves gathered to see them off was more than enough, Lord Elrond swept to the forefront of the crowd. None of the Fellowship had been slouching to begin with, but as he approached they straightened further still. A ways behind him, Lady Arwen stood with a group of her kin, her face carefully blank save for the unshed tears in her eyes. Sybil had to look away at the sight, not only because to witness it felt like some violation of privacy, but because Frodo was not the only one she felt sympathy for.
It's not too late to turn back. Speak now, and you won't have to go.
Sybil ignored the voice, the one that was certainly her own again, in favour of Lord Elrond's as he addressed them.
"The Ring-bearer is setting out on the Quest of Mount Doom. On you who travel with him, no oath nor bond is laid to go further than you will," he spoke, his words weighted with power and wisdom both.
The words, although they could have acted as some sort of permission for her to change her mind, did the opposite. They strengthened her resolve. This was not a punishment. She was not being sentenced to the dungeons. Although the choice was no real choice at all, not to her mind, it had been her choice. She had chosen this. And she stood by her reasons. Despite the fear that gripped at her heart, she felt a strange manner of calm wash over her then. Resolve, even.
"Farewell. Hold to your purpose. May the blessings of Elves and Men and all Free Folk go with you."
He spoke warmly, and with hope. That strengthened her further. The voice – the survival instinct – urging her to stay was silenced. For if someone such as he saw cause to hope, why should she disagree?
"The Fellowship awaits the Ring-bearer," Gandalf spoke.
For a moment, Frodo lingered – not in hesitation, but for a final look at Rivendell. Sybil couldn't help but do the same, for a fairer home she had surely never known, even if it was never destined to be a permanent one. When he did turn, all of the Fellowship stepped aside in such unison that they couldn't have done it more smoothly had it been rehearsed, clearing a path so that Frodo could turn and lead their group into the unknown.
Gandalf followed closely behind him, then Gimli, Boromir, Pippin, and Merry. Sybil followed then with Legolas behind her, sparing a glance to Aragorn as he lingered, his gaze still turned towards those gathered. One in particular, she suspected.
And then they were off.
As they ventured forth on that first day, Boromir kept his plan in mind. Although referring to it as a plan, even if just mentally, made it sound deceitful and malevolent, and it was neither. It stood in his mind as an addition to the quest they were already embarked upon, and at least this one had less of the sound of folly to his mind. And it was rather more pleasant to turn his thoughts towards.
The one that concerned Sybil – proving that her view of things, of herself, was not the true way of it. Fixing things between them so that they could be…amicable. He had little idea which sounded most unlikely, but he could not achieve one aim without the other, and every time there was that stilted awkwardness between them, it bit all the deeper for how it stood in stark contrast to what had preceded it. And the knowledge that the fault lay largely with him.
If he had only handled things more delicately…
But that had never been his way. Faramir's, yes, but not his. So, it only made sense, that the best course of action would be to imagine how his brother might advise him in this matter. For he would have done so wisely…after a great deal of good-natured laughter, no doubt.
Patience. He would have advised that. Consistency, too. Repeated, consistent kindness, rather than one grand, heavy-handed gesture in the hopes of fixing everything in the span of a single moment. Based on her reaction when he tested the waters at the farewell feast, his chances were favourable. Although, as everything with Sybil did, it left him with more to think about.
No. I knew my letters when I came to her.
That was…curious. To say the least. Although such was the way with her – to the extent where, if a day came where some new fact about her did not give him pause, he would find that strangest of all.
They made camp after their first day of journeying southwards, and she even made a passing joke to him – albeit drily – when they found themselves side-by-side waiting for their turn to receive what Sam had made for their supper, that the first day of his training had prepared her well for this. He'd barely had time to chuckle before they were parted once again, and after she'd eaten she settled some ways off to his right, lying on her bedroll with her book angled towards the fire so she had light enough to read it.
Evidently, though, the firelight was not satisfactory. They could not afford the risk of a great blaze, even so close to Rivendell, and she often paused to squint at a word, shifting the page this way and that or bringing the page closer to her face so that she might squint at it. Boromir stifled a smile, not wanting any gathered her to think he was laughing at her – it was simply endearing. He knew not why.
Returning his attention to his shield, he cleaned it despite the fact that there was no real need, polishing the round silver boss in the middle to a shine. And then he paused.
Throwing the cloth back atop his pack, he experimentally angled the shield downwards, in the direction of the fire, and smiled when the boss proved reflective enough to cast a light down into the grass before him. It wasn't particularly bright, but it was something. He glanced over at Sybil again and found she had not yet given up on her book. Good.
It took a bit of manoeuvring as he positioned the shield – the light first finding the top of her head, catching her dark curls and lighting them in a dark red glow much in the same way the firelight did. Setting his arm atop the shield, he tilted it upwards just a little, and it hit the page. Her arms went dead still where she held the book aloft, as though hardly believing her luck. When the light neither shifted nor vanished, her arms relaxed a little – and then she lowered the book and turned her head, seeking out the source of the light.
Which, admittedly, he had not anticipated. Leaning up on one arm, she looked to shield, and then her blue eyes flickered up to him. Bemusement softened her features, dark eyebrows rising slightly as she visibly questioned whether or not it was mere coincidence. Boromir smiled a little, recovering smoothly from his foolish surprise at being found out, nodding to her. It answered the unspoken question. Sybil smiled back, and it lit up her face just as much as the fire did her hair.
Holding his gaze for a few moments – ones that felt longer than they likely really were, she flushed and then nodded her thanks, returning to how she'd been reclined before, her fingertips toying with the corners of the book's cover. It felt like a victory. More than that, it relieved the tight, gnawing tension that had pulled at his chest whenever his mind drifted towards what lay around Frodo Baggins' neck. Not completely, that could never be achieved. Not until the Enemy was vanquished. But somewhat…and more than most other things might have done. The smile on his own face lessened a little, but remained there all the same. When she raised the book again, he ensured the reflected light caught the page just so, and then cast his attention around the camp.
When he did so, he found that Legolas had witnessed the entire interaction, attention openly on the two of them, an amused smirk on his lips.
Boromir cleared his throat and looked away.
A/N: I swear I won't be bombarding you with updates this fast all month, I just wanted them officially on the road before I adopt a more reasonable pace. As always, thank you guys so much for all of the love you're showing these two! I'm thrilled that you enjoy reading this just as much as I love writing it.