AN: Thank you all so much for your kind words and support! Here's another chapter after all this time.

AN 2: Apologies for the double alert, I needed to correct an earlier error.

Chapter 28: Faith, Luck, and Pixie Dust

As luck would have it, neither of us would need to move an inch to get food. It came to us via the hands of three excited hobbits, who immediately began talking through the parts of my breakfast that they had stolen. The journey from Weather seemed far more exciting from their point of view so I asked far too many questions.

"I guess my super secret, ultra effective weapon saved our asses," I joked when, in some amount of awe, Pippin described Strider and Boromir fighting the wraiths, "The two of them are amazing."

At the indirect praise Boromir grinned from his chair. For propriety he had moved to it as soon as the hobbits had knocked and I rather wished he hadn't.

"They really were something else," Merry agreed with a little glance at Boromir.

"But Frodo's doing fine?" I questioned, knowing that at least they wouldn't sugarcoat it.

Immediately they all brightened up, especially Sam. Sometimes I really had to wonder about him and Frodo… "He woke up just a few hours before you did, and he's already walking around! These elves can really work miracles," Sam said enthusiastically.

My own injuries chose that moment to make themselves known and I took in a sharp breath through my nose to calm it. "Damn right," I agreed, jaw tense until the sharp pains died down.

Boromir offered the vial that Lord Elrond had left in case of pain, and I sneered at it but took it. No wonder Lord Elrond had felt safe leaving it here, I thought when I nearly gagged on the taste; nobody would abuse that. "Thanks," I said absently when I handed the glass back.

Meanwhile the hobbits had been watching curiously. "We can leave if you're tired," Sam offered.

"I was wondering actually, could you guys make sure that Gander and Damascus are alright?" I requested, flushing at my own inability to even get out of bed quite yet. Maybe once lunch hits me I'd feel the energy.

"You won't believe it, but Damascus nearly kept up with that elf-horse you were on! She got here half an hour after you did, all a lather and trembling, the elves told me when I was looking after her and Bill," Sam answered, to my amazement, "They seemed very impressed. And Gander showed up not an hour after her! He's in the stable with Damascus and Bill since they won't let him into the healing ward."

I was pretty sure I felt my heart crack open. "Thanks for looking after them, Sam," I told him, eyes a bit wet.

"It's the least I could do, with you getting hurt protecting Mr Frodo and all," he replied modestly.

I had the strange urge to hug them all. Instead I pulled the covers back up against the slight chill in the room. "I was there for all of you, not only him. Call me stupid but I thought they might kill us all for the hell of it," I told them and hoped that my smile didn't look quite so scary after weeks on the road together, "I just wish I could've done better."

Boromir scoffed.

Similarly the hobbits shook their heads."You did everything you could. I wish that I'd been more useful," Pippin said kindly, "But those black riders are scary!"

That was something we could agree on. "They're the stuff of nightmares." Literally, in my case.

"What were you dreaming about?" Pippin suddenly asked.

A hush went over the room. Not so subtly, Merry elbowed his best friend.

"A lot of things," I answered vaguely, "Bad memories, mostly. It's a bit too soon to go into details, if you don't mind."

"Of course. Sorry, I was just curious," Pippin said quickly, cheeks going bright pink, "You'd mumble sometimes, after Weathertop."

That kind of curiosity would get him killed one day, I was pretty sure. Pot, meet kettle, I thought and gave what I hoped was a casual shrug. "Maybe later I'll say. But not right now," I told them, before asking, "Do you think you can arrange a visit for me with the infamous Uncle Bilbo?"

All awkwardness dissipated as they began chattering about the long awaited reunion with the old hobbit and how old he'd gotten, so suddenly. That ring was an interesting thing indeed, to prolong life like that. Evil as hell but interesting.

The mention of the ring seemed to trouble Boromir even after the hobbits left to arrange my requested meeting. "I heard it in my head, and sometimes I think it still whispers," he murmured when I finally asked why he was so distressed.

I leaned over to take his hand in mine. "You learn to ignore it eventually," I assured him.

He turned his hand over so that he was holding mine. "How do you know?" he asked, leaning forward like I was about to impart the secrets of the universe.

"Humans are adaptable like that," I answered, truthful but not honest. I didn't quite feel like getting into the whole 'briefly went crazy post-surgery' thing just yet.

"I hope that you're right," Boromir said quietly.

So did I.

The one thing that all settlements have in common is the fast pace of its rumor mill, Gandalf had thought with some amusement when he first realized that all of Rivendell was ablaze with gossip. In the corridors and chambers, whispers were everywhere.

Then he heard their contents and found himself both concerned and elated. One of the Enemy's best servants was gone forever; the Ring was temporarily safe and they hadn't lost any lives yet. In the balance of things they had gotten off very lightly indeed.

Much more quickly than Gandalf had expected of a mortal woman, the slayer of the nazgul was awake just hours after Frodo and apparently in high spirits if the hobbits were to be believed. Deep down, his faith in the strength of Men felt vindicated. Quickly he made his way through the vast labyrinth of the elven city to the correct room.

He knocked, was bidden inside, and found himself smiling at the surprised delight on Cass's face. It was much better than the near death-mask when she was brought in for healing, he thought. "How are you feeling, dear girl?" he asked, settling into a chair that Boromir hastily provided.

With a shrug, she made a noise of, "Meh," with a wiggled hand. "Been worse," she said dismissively, much more concerned about, "What about you? Strider and Frodo think somebody attacked you."

The concern was touching, just like Frodo's had been. It was refreshing that there was no complaint of him being late, for once this month. "I was, but I fought them off," Gandalf replied, ignoring the doubtful caution always in Boromir's eyes that bored into him, "Not nearly so effectively as you, from what I've been hearing."

Rather than boasting or similar, Cass rolled her eyes. "What are they saying? Cause without Strider and Boromir, the hobbits and I would be deader than dinner," she asked.

"That you smote a wraith with its own blade and survived," Gandalf answered simply.

"That's about it, really," she replied modestly, "I get that they're immortal and this is a big deal, it just… doesn't feel like anything big. It was training kicking in." This time her shrug was uncomfortable.

Training to stab someone with their own dagger? While Gandalf knew that the inhabitants of Tharbad were a strange and rugged people, he hadn't come across such a technique before. "When you're able, would you mind showing how you did it? I must admit myself quite curious," he requested.

She laughed. "Sure, I guess. I'll try slowing it down, but it's a no-brainer by now," Cass replied, "Can I see some of this infamous magic? Or at least fireworks? I never quite believed before that you might actually be a wizard."

Briefly, Gandalf wondered where his brothers the Blue Wizards were if someone so well traveled in the east had never heard of them. Were they even still alive? He broke from his musings after a long moment, saying in a mysterious voice, "I think that I can arrange a demonstration. I take it that the hobbits have been telling stories?"

She grinned. "When are they not?" she asked rhetorically.

They both knew the answer to that and shared a short chuckle. On Cass's part, it was interrupted by a gaping yawn that couldn't quite seem to suck in enough air.

"I will leave you to rest before Lord Elrond beheads me for bothering you," Gandalf excused himself and used his staff to help himself up, "Rest well." He nodded to Boromir, the greeting returned before he turned and left. The implications were too big to be ignored; he needed to find Lord Elrond.

When he found the elf-lord, it was in the study that was so rarely used. From the herbal smell, the cup Lord Elrond held was of his special brew for headaches. "How can everything happen in weeks after centuries of nothing?" He sighed wearily.

Sometimes Gandalf wondered the same. "Time runs away when one isn't bound by it," he agreed and took a seat across the well-appointed, barely touched desk.

A cup was passed across and thankfully, the brew helped with a slowly growing tension in the back of Gandalf's head. For a long while the two sipped their drinks.

The laughter of hobbits caught Gandalf's attention and he couldn't help but smile. That Frodo was one of those outside and laughing, even after his terrible hurt and with his burden, made the wizard's smile grow further. He had always known that hobbits had hidden strength but Bilbo and Frodo never ceased to amaze him.

"To have come so far, and still bearing the Ring, he has shown extraordinary resilience," Lord Elrond observed.

That was true, and yet a piece of Gandalf's heart broke for the young hobbit who had been thrown into such peril and already suffered badly. "That wound will never fully heal," he pointed out, "He will carry it for the rest of his life." The pain would last the remainder of Frodo's (hopefully) long life.

"We can ask no more of Frodo," he half stated, half requested, despite knowing that there was little other option.

Lord Elrond's glare was piercing. "Then who do we depend on? The dwarves?" He scoffed, thoughts clear on that. "The time of the elves is over; my people are leaving these shores."

They both knew the answer, but Gandalf wanted to say it as little as his friend wanted to hear it. "It is in Men, that we must place our hope," he stated anyways.

"Men." Lord Elrond's gaze darkened, his ancient mind wandering the paths of memory, "Men are weak. I was there, Gandalf… I was there three thousand years ago when Isildur took the Ring and would not destroy it."

Though Gandalf had not been there physically, he had watched on in spirit. He knew the pain that Elrond experienced to see his twin's descendant fall to the temptation of the Ring and be unable to act. "I think that there is strength yet in Men. It always blooms anew when hope seems lost," he said, memory passing through small moments of hidden endurance he had seen in humans over the centuries before his thoughts landed on the woman currently in the healing ward.

Lord Elrond sipped his tea with a thoughtful grimace. "That the woman and the man from Gondor resisted the allure of the Ring so far is an accomplishment," he admitted, "However, I find myself wary of the Gondorian. His spirit is too worn, his mind split between command and action."

The few times that Gandalf had been in Gondor the past decades, he had rarely seen Boromir. Where the wizard could be found amongst the tomes, the captain was almost always on campaign. In all those years he had never seen Boromir quite so frayed on the inside as Gandalf sensed from him now. "If he has resisted so far, then I have few doubts that he can continue, after the rest that Rivendell provides," he said, perhaps a bit optimistically.

Or at least that's what was implied by the fond half-smile Lord Elrond gave him. "You always see the best in people," he murmured.

It was a gift and fault that Gandalf was proud of. He merely nodded and drank his tea.

After a moment, Lord Elrond spoke again. "Perhaps his wife may be able to influence him and reduce the danger," he mused.

Once one falls to the Ring they would harm even those they love most, but maybe that love and devotion could be a protection. "You think to invite her to the council?" Gandalf asked, though he halfway meant, "You mean to invite her on the Quest to destroy the Ring?" Because they both knew what the result of the next day's council would be.

A measured nod. "If she is well enough," Lord Elrond clarified.

"I suspect that she will be, even if she isn't," Gandalf said nonsensically.

Lord Elrond knew what he meant and a slight smile curled the corner of his lips. "Healers always make the worst patients," he agreed.

The smile dropped as he added, "She was… uniquely difficult to heal. A lifetime of despair, little trust in others, and no belief in having a future made the Black Breath heavy. Yet I still fear for her: that same despair was her armor."

If one does not see themselves as having a future, or at least nothing good in it, then what was there to fear? And the Ring fed on fear.

Thoughtfully, Gandalf nodded. Initially Cass appeared daring, blunt, a bit reckless. But only with her own safety and life; when someone else was at risk, she exercised every caution and the hobbits were proof. "Time and the council will tell," he eventually said.

There was little more they could do.

Even I was surprised by how quickly I was on my feet once the food hit my system. Within minutes I was getting into my freshly washed clothes and we were out the door, Boromir showing me the little bit of Rivendell that he had come to know over the days I spent in bed.

Everything was breathtakingly beautiful, right down to the goddamned chamber pots. I've always had a thing for art nouveau but they took that style and turned it into something inhumanly perfect. Part of nature and yet still man-made. Or elf-made, whatever.

Speaking of elves, they sort of freaked me out. Every single one I passed was horribly beautiful, graceful beyond measure, and didn't see the curvature of the fucking earth. Those stories Beornraed told Rosie about elves being around before the sun, and the world literally changing shape after humans tried to invade the equivalent of heaven? Yeah, completely true.

I was really beginning to regret being such a hardass about the apparently impossible.

But seriously, it's something else to set eyes on some of the most beautiful people I've ever seen and then think, "Too pretty to actually be pretty." Not even getting into the sudden feeling of inadequacy I felt when I saw a female elf for the first time.

At least Boromir seemed just as discomfited. He greeted those we passed and was generally a decent person but was tense. Did he also feel like he was lacking in comparison? I didn't dare ask; men get weird about that kind of thing.

Thankfully I got tired around dinnertime and didn't have to make awkward table talk with strangers. Instead I slept through dinner, then the rest of the night, until Boromir woke me the next morning. Until he said the word "council", I was ready to tell him to bugger off and let me sleep some more.

Like hell was I going to sit out on a council that may decide the fate of the world.

Sometime while we were sleeping someone had laid out a dress and slip for me to wear and I found myself thinking of Andy's wedding when Boromir helped with the laces. Briefly I wondered what happened to that lovely dress. This one was just as pretty, only in a graceful way rather than the rugged Viking sort of look the Rohirrim preferred.

When Boromir opened the wardrobe there was a looking glass on the inside of the door. I couldn't resist a peek.

To be honest, I didn't quite recognize myself. In the five years since I'd arrived in Middle Earth I hadn't found a mirror quite like at home; it was always standing water or a piece of polished brass that didn't let me get a detailed look. The important things were the same, only my features were more mature and my face had slimmed a bit. I was paler, but that was only to be expected with the sun being weaker here than Afghanistan or New Mexico. It made my freckles stand out in a way I'd always liked.

"Have you never seen your own face?" Boromir asked as he dealt with his hair.

"Not in five years," I answered, squinting at my reflection as I spoke. At least my teeth were no worse than before, still a bit too long and pointy on the parts meant for tearing.

Still pulling his hair back, Boromir wandered over to stand slightly behind me. Unlike me, he didn't have to go on his tip-toes to see his whole face. "Now you see what I see," he told me, smiling at me through our reflections.

"And you see what I see," I replied, trying to decide what to do with my hair. Leaving it down didn't seem quite right but my usual french braids wouldn't do either.

A pale glint caught my eye and, heart suddenly beating a little faster, I dug through my hair for it.

"What are you doing?" Boromir asked, frowning as I tried to isolate just a couple of hairs.

Silver. I was seeing fucking silver. Unthinking, I pulled them out to see them better and let out a high pitched squeak when I wasn't wrong. "What color are these?" I demanded of Boromir and held the hairs up in front of him.

"I see a lack of color, actually," Boromir said diplomatically.

I let out a noise like I was dying and took another look at the hairs. He was right. They were silvery white like my grandma's. "I'm going fucking grey!" I exclaimed to no one.

Compared to the fate of the world or being faced with the nazgul, this was nothing. Just a few stray silver-white hairs. But frankly, I was in a Chernobyl style melt-down. I was barely thirty! And already going grey!

Caught off-guard by my hysterics, Boromir watched in bewilderment as I searched my hair for more grey. He did stop me from pulling any more hair out, questioning, "What the devil are you doing to yourself?"

My first instinct when he grabbed my arm was to fight. Instead I, stupidly, started crying.

If possible, Boromir's expression grew even more confused and alarmed. "Do your wounds pain you?" he asked, eyeing the bandages visible over my chest.

Yes they did, but that really wasn't the issue. "A little," I admitted on a croak, wiping my eyes, "Come on, we'll be late to breakfast." Oh, I was still freaking out, but I needed food if I was going to have a proper fit.

Thankfully Boromir let it go for once. Or maybe he just felt too awkward to dig while I was still crying.

Without looking in the mirror this time I pulled my hair up around a nice stick I had found in the garden earlier. My poor hair. Before I could abuse it any further, we left to assuage our rumbling stomachs.

On our way to the great hall we passed several elves, which normally wouldn't have been a problem except that my reflection had blatantly pointed out just how badly I didn't belong here. When confronted by physical perfection I felt like an orc. And I couldn't even point out that I've got great hair anymore.

Upon entering the great hall, I surveyed it quickly and smiled to myself upon finding Frodo sat between Lord Elrond and Gandalf at the high table. He looked a bit pale and as out of place as I felt, but just fine. The guilt eased some upon seeing him on the mend.

Then my attention was caught by someone on Lord Elrond's other side and I barely kept my mouth from dropping open. If I thought the elves I've seen so far (besides Lord Elrond) were beautiful beyond measure, then this lady blew them all out of the water. Was she even an elf? I was reminded strongly of the being who sat on that throne in the afterlife, so horribly glorious that I thought my brain would explode.

Realizing that she was being stared at, the woman raised her eyes and looked back. A soft smile made my own lips twitch upward.

Embarrassed, I nodded to her and scurried to where I had seen the non-ring bearing hobbits sitting.

It only dawned on me then that I was also the object of much attention. Of course they would stare, I had stopped in the middle of the doors and let in the draft like a complete dumbass. "Hey guys, enjoying yourselves?" I asked the hobbits as I seated myself less than gracefully beside Sam.

Mouth full, Pippin only nodded eagerly.

"Guys?" Merry asked as he reloaded his plate from the much diminished platters in the middle of the table.

"It's a multi use slang term," I explained as I began to fill my own plate, "It can either refer to a group of people of all genders, or it can just refer to the males, depending on context. So you're a guy, but I can also refer to everybody at that table as 'those guys', even though one of them's a lady. Get it?"

Sagely Pippin nodded. "Language is complicated. You should talk to Bilbo about it when the council is over," he suggested, only to yelp when I heard him be kicked under the table.

"The council which we know nothing about," Merry clarified.

I winked at him. "Of course not. What council?" I asked faux innocently and tapped the side of my nose.

The gesture was returned with a grin.

From there conversation was pleasant. I asked Merry, Pippin, and Sam about what they've seen all over Rivendell, and there was so much to say that I didn't have to put anything in. Mostly it consisted of the kitchens (where the elves were already getting exasperated with their appetites) and gardens. Of course, when they weren't attached to Frodo or Bilbo.

The food was excellent and I was rather sad when the bell rang that apparently ended the meal. I would be here for breakfast tomorrow, I told myself and set my spoon down.

Unfortunately, no one had actually told Boromir where the council was supposed to be and he didn't realize that until the room had cleared out. "I thought it would be in here," he hissed.

I didn't have any better ideas of where it would be. I got the urge to move anyway. "Let's go this way," I told him and pointed at the entrance to the room.

"Are you sure?" Boromir asked as he followed me out.

"Nope," I answered and continued to march down the corridor like I knew where I was going. All I was doing was following the urge to walk.

Despite Boromir's antsy questions, he still followed me into a part of the town where fewer people lingered. His faith was gratifying.

Even I was surprised when five minutes later, we walked out onto a round deck where most everyone from the high table was gathered. Lord Elrond, Gandalf, even Frodo was there, sitting uncomfortably in a stone chair far too big for him.

"How did you know?" Boromir whispered while we were still unseen.

"I didn't," I replied. The tugging feeling was still there and I followed it, only to find myself in front of Frodo. Odd.

He smiled tightly up at me. "Were you invited to the council as well?" he asked, blue eyes darting from me to Boromir and back.

The whispering in the back of my head returned. It was shoved even further back out of habit. "If they don't want me here, they can tell me so," I said, more casually than I felt, "I would bother Boromir or Strider or you into telling me everything later, in that case." I would downright pester them until they either told me or knocked me out.

"Unless I am forbidden, I will tell you," a familiar voice stated from the side.

Despite that I had only seen him a few days ago, I barely recognized Strider. So that's what he looked like when he was clean, I thought, impressed with the downright delicious sight. If I wasn't married and he wasn't taken, I mused as I took in the sight the ranger made in grey velvet. It was sort of weird to realize that his hair wasn't actually black like I thought but a nice wavy dark brown.

"Thanks, buddy," I told him, and clapped him on the shoulder.

We were interrupted by Lord Elrond calling, "If everyone would be seated."

Boromir put a hand on my lower back and guided me to a seat. Gentlemanly, I thought with a questioning look up at him.

He didn't notice, face hard as he looked over his shoulder.

When I turned my own head, I only saw Frodo and Strider. And an elderly hobbit climbing into a chair between them who I suspected to be the infamous Bilbo. What on Middle Earth had Bilbo done to Boromir?

I took my own seat, shivering a bit at the chill hitting my back and bottom. Hopefully this council wouldn't take terribly long to decide to destroy that stupid ring; it was getting cold out.

"Strangers from distant lands, friends of old. You have been summoned to answer the threat of Mordor," Elrond announced dramatically, pacing between an empty seat larger than the rest and a stone plinth in the middle of the courtyard, "Middle Earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite, or you will fall."

How cheerful. I settled back into my chair, winced when my wounds pulled, and got ready for a very long monologue.

AN: Funny little fact, what Boromir said about Cass's whites is exactly what my husband said about mine when I took them to him. (For reference, I'm not quite thirty.) Thankfully I didn't have nearly so bad of a melt-down as she did.