A/N: Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals (affectionate) xoxoxoxo

The days began to grow as kind to Sybil as she felt she could reasonably expect, given all that was currently on her plate. She'd finally begun to sleep well, likely the result of adjusting, at last, to sleeping outdoors and among so many, and that alone opened the gate for the rest of her adjusting. Her mood lifted, her appetite began to return, and the days of walking were no longer so tiresome – despite how often they were very much uphill treks.

And with that, a sense of comfort slowly began to wash in. She joked with the hobbits, plying them with questions as to life in the Shire (which they greeted with pride), and often delving into discussions of plant-life with Sam, sharing what snippets she found in her book that might prove useful to him. Aragorn and Legolas often joined in such discussions, which then spurred Gimli into gruff assertions that crystals were sorely overlooked by most non-mountain-dwelling folk. Which, as it happened, afforded her the ability to charm him with her own knowledge on crystals, and their alleged properties when it came to how they might influence people.

Although she could not explain how she'd come by such knowledge. But the more they travelled together, the more they came to view such aspects as novelty, rather than anything sinister.

Then there was Boromir. She had not yet spoken to him. Well, not deeply – not the conversation that was swiftly becoming overdue. But they did speak. Daily, and frequently, and he was convivial to a damn near fault in every interaction; not in a manner that felt disingenuous, like he simply sought to pile flattery upon flattery until he'd ingratiated himself with her. No, he was pleasant, and he was kind, and Sybil only found herself growing more confused by it. Not by the kindness itself, but how she felt about it. For it did not make her as uncomfortable as she expected.

All in all, things were looking up.

So why, on this particular day, did she feel so disconcerted? They'd paused for their midday meal – something largely observed at the behest of the hobbits – and while nothing was awry, she felt deep within her chest like something was. A tightness grew there, seeming to constrict her more and more tightly every time she exhaled, which made the act of breathing in again all the more difficult.

In their progress towards the Gap of Rohan, they had reached Hollin – which, while bereft of life other than that which they brought with them, was beautiful. Certainly more so than the barren lands at the foot of the Weather Hills. It was a nice change, too, for now that they'd reached more elevated terrain, she was afforded a beautiful view every which way she looked. The very thing she'd been hoping for, upon setting out. That only made it more of a shame that she was surprisingly numb to it now.

Boromir had taken one look at her face and casually announced that she was free to sit out that afternoon's training session, citing that he would have his hands full with Merry and Pippin. It was sorely tempting to believe him, but his eyes kept drifting towards her as she paced about the camp. And she was even too distracted to care about that.

Even the ambient noise about the temporary camp they'd built amongst the rocks only served to set her teeth on edge.

"Good! Very good!" Boromir encouraged Merry and Pippin as he trained them both at once.

"Move your feet," Aragorn added, speaking around his pipe.

Sybil rolled her shoulders, shaking her head and resuming her pacing.

It…it was like a stomach-churning form of déjà vu. One that filled her with dread that she could hardly begin to discern the cause of. And she already knew without having to ask that none of the others would understand the term if she spoke it aloud. Not that doing so would help. The sad truth was, her agitation was already setting the others on edge.

Aragorn made no attempt to disguise the concerned looks he was sending her way, and although Sam and Frodo did both attempt to make some show of not looking at her, they weren't all that successful. Gandalf, too, appeared tempted to talk to her. But just before he made to rise, Gimli began to speak – his mind too filled with his own concerns to note hers.

"If anybody was to ask my opinion, which I note they're not, I'd say we were taking the long way round," he announced, marching up before Gandalf before addressing the wizard. "Gandalf. We could pass through the Mines of Moria. My cousin Balin would give us a royal welcome!"

Yet more words that brought yet more dread. She sucked in a deep breath and closed her eyes, knowing not whether the dread was a product of something real, or just what she was already feeling.

"No, Gimli," Gandalf disagreed solemnly, his voice low, "I would not take the road through Moria unless I had no other choice."

"Sybil!" Gimli announced. "What say you of it? Surely you can reassure us that Moria would be the wise route to take!"

But Sybil was barely listening to him, watching with wide eyes as Legolas seemed to spot something invisible to her own eye, leaping weightlessly up onto a rocky outcropping and staring into the distance. None other had taken note of him yet, but the dread within her crested.

Hide!

She heard the voice, Aragorn's it sounded like, but none had spoken it. It had not come from around her – nor even from the Ring, which had been quiet ever since it spoke its nonsense to her upon their departure from Rivendell. But it was enough for her. Not waiting, and not affording herself the time to doubt her gut instinct, she repeated it – aloud.

"Hide!" she called out.

At first, her voice was weak and it faltered, but then she repeated it, louder and far more urgently. Not stopping to see who had heeded her (but noting that she could no longer hear the clashing of the sword practise), she began to run about, throwing all of the belongings within her reach beneath shelves of rock, or the cover of what greenery lay around them.

Aragorn, having taken one look at her and seeing just how serious she was, ran past her and towards Legolas who still stared hard at the horizon. Frodo and Sam looked perturbed but were at least doing as she said, while the others were staring in confusion – at her, at Legolas and Aragorn, and at their surroundings as if expecting a pack of orcs to burst from the nearest shrub. Sybil paid their staring little mind, continuing to haphazardly hurl belongings out of sight, then turning her attention to the fire so that she could begin kicking dirt over it.

"Do as she bids!" Gandalf was the one to snap them out of it, his shout stern.

Sam rushed forth and poured a pot of water over the fire, but Boromir ran to her instead as she turned this way and that, practically frenzied as she searched for anything else that might need to be hidden.

"Sybil, what is it? What did you-"

"Crebain from Dunland!" Legolas called back to them.

"Hide!" Aragorn called, her own words – and exactly as she'd heard them in her head.

A streak of pain ran across what felt like Sybil's very skull, like someone was trying to engrave upon it with a knife, dragging it from the top of her right eyebrow and up towards her hairline. Hissing, she clamped her palm atop where the pain was, eyes clenched shut, but it did little good. A hand wrapped around her wrist. It encased it easily, but the grip was so gentle that she could have pulled away with no effort at all. But she did not.

Instead, Sybil followed in the direction Boromir led her, allowing him to pull her beneath a patch of shrubbery. It was a tight fit – he on his back, tucked as far beneath as he could go, and she on her front, squeezed tightly against and half on top of him, her face to his chest. One arm reached around her to pull her cloak under the cover, and then finally wrapped around her back so that the awkward angle couldn't have her rolling out of their hiding place.

Lying like this, with her forehead against the nape of his neck, she could see nothing. The headache hardly motivated her to open her eyes, though, and so she lay there, eyes shut, listening. At first there was nothing to hear. Only the sound of their own breathing, but then the flapping of wings – countless wings, until it sounded like horses were thundering by, rather than birds.

When they descended on the campsite the dreadful cawing began, as grating as pitchforks being dragged across rusted metal. Her left hand tightened against Boromir's shoulder, her right clenching uselessly where it was trapped between their bodies, and his grip on her tightened in turn, his head shifting and turning above her as he bore witness to the frenzy that had come crashing down upon them.

What had to have been mere seconds felt like years. Her eyes shut and her grip on Boromir vice-like, Sybil half-expected to feel one of the birds suddenly biting at her back, or tangling its claws in her hair. Instead, there was only Boromir's hand. And it was…a comfort. His presence was a comfort, and she had no idea of what to make of that.

Ordinarily, with anybody else – even Aragorn, whom she had nothing but good opinions of – she would be lying here, counting down the seconds until she could pull away and regain her personal space once again. But while she wouldn't loathe the end of the proximity here, she…did not quite yearn for that end as she expected to.

Although she did hope he could not feel the way her heard pounded wildly within her chest.

While she wasn't in the habit of keeping a tally recording the amount of times she'd ever felt safe with another, because of the presence of another, she knew she likely wouldn't need all of her fingers to count such instances. Boromir would feature in more than one.

The Crebain were gone as swiftly as they arrived, and her headache followed suit, leaving nothing but stillness and silence in their wake. They remained where they were hidden a beat longer. But when nothing else came, she slowly began to recall how to move. Loosening her grip on Boromir's shoulder took some concentration, but the rest followed naturally – if not awkwardly. The hand at her back slackened its grip, although did not quite leave, as she slowly prized her other arm out from between them and used it to hold her weight as she eased herself back and away from him, taking great care not to headbutt him as she moved.

Once she was far enough back to do so, she met his gaze.

"I'm sorry," she said, mostly without thinking.

"Whatever for?" he blinked.

"I did not mean to squash you."

The look that earned her was exasperated, but mingled with a strange sort of fondness. "If you thought that you might have done so, I must endeavour to appear less fragile. Are you well?"

She nodded shakily in response, although even she did not quite trust her own response. For fondness was not all that lurked within his gaze – and she noted he watched her now with a renewed level of curiosity. How could he not? This was the first tangible proof that the others had been given that there was truth to her powers – that there was a reason for her presence here, beyond taking a liking to the notion of a very, very long walk.

The others were already up when they emerged, Gandalf speaking grimly.

"The passage south is being watched," he said, turning reluctantly to the snow-laden mountains in the distance, "we must take the Pass of Caradhras."

Upon noting Sybil and Boromir's arrival, Gandalf turned his eye to her.

"How did you know? What did you see? Be precise, my dear."

She must've looked a real wreck if he was speaking so gently under such grim circumstances.

"I felt uneasy all morning, but I couldn't understand why," she explained softly, all too aware of how keenly all of the Fellowship now watched her. "And then…I…I heard Aragorn shout for us all to hide, long before he actually said it. That was when I started to call out."

Gimli shifted from one foot to the other, hand gripping his axe.

"I don't mean to disparage your…whatever it is, lass," he said – and appeared sincere, "but if you only told us something that Aragorn soon would have anyway…"

Then what was the point of her presence here? He appeared reluctant to finish the question, but it was clear – and more than that, it was fair. But Sybil had little chance to answer before Boromir did, countering firmly.

"Sybil just won us valuable seconds, which often make all of the difference. We need every advantage presented to us, and this is a strong one indeed."

At his strongly voiced opinion, Sybil was not the only one to turn and blink at him. Although she may have done so for the longest. Not only at his defence of her, and not only at the sincerity in his words – although she'd yet to hear him speak words that did not have a tone of sincerity about them – but because of the stage on which he defended her. Here, loudly, and before all who had seen him denounce her usefulness at the Council.

It…must have taken a lot of conviction, to have him speaking so. She found it left her speechless. Not least because when he noted her surprise, he watched her steadily, as if holding her gaze firmly enough might convince her of just how much he meant his words.

"I agree," Aragorn nodded, finally prompting her to tear her attention away. "And that was without the aids she has brought with her. As I understand it, those allow her to look further still, and shall no doubt yet prove useful."

"Just so," Boromir inclined his head.

All that they needed now would be for Legolas and Gimli to hug, and she'd well and truly need a fainting couch. If Aragorn was surprised by the agreement, he did not show it – but he wouldn't, would he?

"All the more reason to make for Moria," Gimli said.

At that, all turned to Gandalf…who looked at Frodo for a few long moments, and then sighed wearily.

"We make for the Pass of Caradhras," he reiterated firmly. "And if we must consult Sybil's sight again once we have ventured thither, we may do so."

Sybil nodded her agreement, whatever her reservations were on that matter. Not because she begrudged the headache, but because as she turned her gaze with the rest of the Fellowship towards the white, frozen mountains that clawed up towards the sky in the distance, she could not help but recall the snowy scene she'd borne witness to the last time she'd consulted the oils in her pack – and the fact that she did not appear present in them.

A/N: tumblr – esta-elavaris

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