A/N: Segued from flufftober straight into NaNoWriMo. Parkour. I did write three established relationship fills for these two during flufftober – you can find them on AO3 (eriathiel) under my Boromir/Sybil series, or on my tumblr (esta-elavaris) – I'm keeping my flufftober masterlist pinned to the top of my blog throughout November, so they should be easy to find!
Much to Sybil's surprise, the actual final feast in Rivendell – the formal one to bid farewell to the Fellowship on the eve of their departure – proved to be a less morose affair than the private one that preceded it. Although it made sense. On this night, they were before the eyes of all, and therefore had to present a brave and united front in the face of what lay ahead, not only for their own nerve, but for the peace of mind of all who must watch them venture forth and be left to hope that they would succeed. Even those among them who were not seasoned warriors recognised that fact. And Sybil felt like she had so very much to prove on that score. On every score.
So, while it could hardly be called merry and boisterous, neither did it have the makings of a funeral feast. After all, they had hope. They had to have hope – for without it, this quest truly would be doomed. If all behaved as though the Fellowship walked into certain doom and failure, it would be so.
The Fellowship seemed to share an acute awareness that this would be their last fine meal for some time – although their reactions to that reality differed. Sybil and Legolas, who sat to her left, ate slowly – compared to the others, at least – savouring every bite, in no rush for the meal to end. Aragorn did so too, some ways up the table, but he seemed to relish it little, motivated by a lack of appetite more than anything else. He was more solemn than most, even compared to Frodo.
Gimli, Boromir, and the hobbits (the latter of which she was closest to), however, ate quickly and ate a lot. They were still going even when Legolas had finished turning one course into a hundred or more bites, and when he took his leave to bask in the beauty of Rivendell one last time, it left a space between she and Boromir.
Sybil tensed, pretending to be fascinated by the cake on her plate, content to pretend she had not noticed his proximity. But he surprised her. He was good at that. Sliding his place along, Boromir swiftly took Legolas' vacated seat.
"Did they consult you – on the date of our departure?"
Sybil blinked in surprise. Primarily because he was speaking to her, and doing so casually. After their conversation the previous night, she didn't need any foresight to see lots of awkward silences and avoidance in their future. But it turned out she'd been wrong. And he wasn't even asking snidely, as if calling her value to them into question. There was nothing on his face but plain curiosity.
But he seemed to misunderstand her confusion, elaborating.
"In your capacity as our seer, I mean."
Our seer. There was something about that that she liked. Although she knew not why, and had no wish to puzzle it out.
"I…no," she said. "But it was a matter of practicality more than anything. I cannot close my eyes and know by instinct whether enemies are nearby, and in what numbers."
"Although that would be a useful thing."
It took her a moment to realise he was teasing her – and she hardly dared smile, lest it shatter whatever strange tentative peace had suddenly befallen them, and by his will, no less.
"…were I capable of that, I'd rule Middle-earth by now," she joked.
It was a weak joke, but a joke all the same. And he smiled in return. It was awkward; not the breezy, effortless thing that it had been on their first few nights here, but it was still a far cry from the scowls that had taken its place as of late.
They were saved from speculating on how to go forth when Aragorn approached, pressing a hand to her upper arm to get her attention.
"Lord Elrond bids you go to his library."
Sybil felt herself balk. "I haven't seen anything more than what-"
Even as she spoke, she feared her admission would lose her the place she had in the Fellowship, but Aragorn offered a kind smile, shaking his head.
"It is not related to these dark matters. I…may have shared with him your fondness of books, and I doubt any survived the fire. He wishes to make a gift of one, for you to take going forth. There are a small number he finds himself content to part with…although admittedly, there are fewer still in the common tongue. Still, I believe you will find the selection to be of interest."
"Aragorn, I couldn't possibly accept such a gift!"
After all, it was hardly likely that she'd ever be able to return the book. Lord Elrond could cast one of his many cherished volumed into a river and the result would be much the same, from his end.
He seemed to expect such a response, tilting his head and replying with a gentle firmness. "If you refuse, it would only be an insult, Sybil."
There was a sort of amused satisfaction glimmering in his eyes as he said so, though the rest of his face remained deceptively solemn – because, damn him, he knew that his words were guaranteed to make her rethink her refusal.
"I…very well. Thank you – for your role in it."
"I will accompany you, if you wish for help in making you choice."
Sybil faltered. Surely he'd wish to spend as much time as possible with the Lady Arwen tonight, before they departed, rather than helping her pick her way through tomes? Her eyes flickered in the direction of the elleth, sitting beside her father at the head table. Although there were many solemn faces out here on the dining terrace tonight, hers seemed most solemn at all – grey eyes staring unseeingly ahead into nothing, the food before her untouched. Come to think of it, they had scarcely looked at each other once this evening. As far as Sybil had seen anyway.
When she looked back to Aragorn, she saw he'd caught that too, and although his face did not harden, something in his expression warded off whatever small temptation she may have felt to question it. Rightly so. It was none of her business.
"If you wish it," she nodded.
After he took his leave, he went to wait for her at the terrace's entrance – which was conveniently at the other side of the hall from Lady Arwen. He seemed content to look anywhere but at her.
"Your employer schooled you in literacy when she found you?" Boromir asked, reminding her of his presence.
"No," Sybil replied distractedly. "I knew them when I came to her. If you'll excuse me."
She paused then, not wanting to appear too standoffish after he'd made an effort to be civil – and certainly not after last night – so she turned to him as she stood.
"I'll see you in the morning."
Boromir offered a smile that was more of a grimace, but it was not without humour.
"And many mornings thereafter, I wager."
"Lucky you," she replied drily.
The smile gained a great deal more humour then, and Sybil considered it a great victory.
Lord Elrond remained at the feast as Sybil and Aragorn took their leave to go to the library, but a series of books had been set out on a finely carved table in the middle of the room – eight in total, all finely bound, and all fairly small, so she would have no difficulty fitting whichever she chose in her pack. Sybil would have been flattered by three options, and so with this she hardly knew where to begin. Although discerning their contents might be a start.
"You made good progress in my absence," Aragorn commented as she opened the first.
"Training doesn't leave me sore all over from the neck down anymore," she replied. "Apparently that's a good sign. I'm getting stronger."
The half-hearted rueful look he gave her in response to that told her that it wasn't her training progress he was referring to. She'd suspected as much, but she also suspected he wouldn't press the matter. There was no part of her that wanted to endure head-pats for managing to conduct a civil conversation with the man who she'd once have purposely sought out throughout the entirety of something like tonight. Aragorn meant well, she knew that, but on the eve of…this, she didn't particularly want to discuss that mess. It seemed laughable and petty in comparison – and what did that make her, if she was bothered by any of it?
"Given…" she hesitated, and then decided to press on. "Given the lack of strong words being bandied about between us now, I assume you're pleased enough with my progress to allow me to stay?"
"You have managed to prove yourself to Boromir, and so there are few that could argue the case of your staying here in the wake of that," he said. "Ilaria speaks highly of you, also. You spoke truly – as I suspected at the time. You gave it your every effort. It has shown thusly."
There was no happiness in his voice over the matter, his face tired and solemn, but for that she could not blame him. The discord between Legolas and Gimli was not the only way some in the Fellowship might regret the role of the others within it. Sam, for instance, would hardly relish Frodo being there. Had Aragorn been thrilled to bring her along, she might've taken it as a hint that he did not like her much.
"You are still resolved to go?" he asked.
"It's done now. The choice is no longer mine."
"Yes, it is," he replied firmly.
"I…" she sighed, having learned from her conversation with Boromir. "I feel I must. Not because of the eyes now on me, but because…because it is necessary."
And because every moment she did not keep her mind carefully schooled was a moment that she saw Boromir again – riddled with arrows, with blood trickling from his lips.
Aragorn breathed a humourless chuckle. "That much I cannot argue with, for it is the same feeling that drives us all within the Fellowship, I think. Perhaps I should simply be glad that I have not returned to find you spouting wishes to find glory and acclaim in what is to come."
"I want neither. You know I'm hardly fond of one set of eyes on me, never-mind all those I would draw if I, against all odds, managed to become some sort of hero."
That pried a little mirth from him, at least, and he chuckled quietly. "Well, you trained under Bera. Perhaps this will be easier."
Sybil laughed, bowing her head. It was nice to be around someone who had known Bera. Who knew her. All right, they'd never been bosom buddies, but he knew her more than most here did. He'd seen firsthand where she came from, rather than being introduced to her as some raving madwoman who stumbled in from the wilderness, scorched and spouting prophecies. Yes, the Fellowship were no longer quite the strangers they had been to her two months ago, but this was different. Even compared to Boromir, this was different – for it was not muddled by…by other aspects, and therefore not half so confusing for her. And far less dangerous.
By the end of their conversation, she'd leafed through all but one of the books. All that was left was a green volume, not much bigger than her hand, with a rose-coloured cloth spine. Sybil opened it, and her eyes lit up. An encyclopaedia of plant-life spanning, if not all of Middle-Earth, then certainly most of it. The descriptions were brief, they had to be for the book to be fit for carrying, but there were illustrations – and what she was not given here, she could use her own prior knowledge to fill in the blanks after being supplied with the bare basics here.
"Is that not more of what you already know?" Aragorn asked, when she stepped back and showed more interest in that book than the others.
"My knowledge is limited to what grows – what grew – within walking distance of the cabin," she shook her head. "Or between there and Bree, I suppose. Anything else, we got by trade, and by that stage a good deal of dried herbs or oils are unrecognisable to how they were when they grew. Unless our heading has changed eastwards, my knowledge will be impacted."
"If we see anything of use, I would be able to point it out."
"Yes, but this way I'll be able to spot them for myself," she countered. "It'll give me something to occupy myself with as we walk."
And, as far as matters such as these were concerned, she liked being able to rely on her own knowledge – to learn for herself, rather than hoping some other would hold her hand along the way. This would lift her spirits more than a book of histories or legends might. She knew if she selected one of those, she would spend whatever time she had to read them trying to absorb herself in them, never quite managing it, and only growing more frustrated for that fact. This? This would be far better. A mode of useful distraction.
"I should put the others back," she said.
"I will tend to it. I know where they belong," Aragorn shook his head.
"I should return to the feast and thank Lord Elrond, then."
"Offer your thanks on the morrow – he will bid farewell to the Fellowship when we depart. You must rest. Soon it begins."
Sybil hoped she successfully hid just how ominous she found those words.
A/N: So I know that in book one (and the books in general, here and there) the Fellowship generally try to travel by night as much as possible to maintain stealth, and the movies kind of gloss over that fact – which I get, for better lighting for the cool shots etc – and like? If you squint you can still see them doing that, but it's not fully addressed or emphasised? And therefore it's entirely acceptable in fic to have them travelling by day and sleeping by night. I'm still not sure what route I'm going to take with that. Probably a bit of both, really, where necessary…I just really like the vibes of the Fellowship winding down at the end of the day in the dark by a campfire.
And what am I doing here, if not providing 593843895 words worth of vibes?