28 | Off We Go...Again

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Darcy Lewis | Doctor in Astrophysics

Location: The Shard, London, UK, Earth

Time: August 2027

She had her fair share of being escorted by dodgy government dudes in black uniforms for almost twenty years. But never would she consider being escorted as a pregnant woman with practically six bulky men around her – all being six feet and might be well described as an actual brick wall.

Though nothing could match her lightning brother, Thor. He's always gonna be more buffed up than anyone else he imagined.

For a human-looking guy of course.

But by the time they flew all the way to London (which was a damn long journey for her poor bladder), Darcy already knew these so-called 'men' were not human. Not with how they almost growled at things or even hissed, an animal-like instinct as some bystander walking into The Shard passed by.

Not to mention how their faces almost glitched in her own special sight: it wasn't long before Darcy's heart grew cold as the realization hit her that these beings wanted her for something more than just her supposed 'association' with enhanced beings and smart-ass people making portals.

The Shard was perhaps the most unexpected thing she was intending to enter into. Maybe a random warehouse of an abandoned building somewhere in the countryside would fit more on the 'captured' aesthetic of her predicament. But not this. Definitely not the fancy-ass building which housed over a dozen corporate companies under a roof made of steel and glass.

As the elevator music hummed quietly, Darcy's eyes lingered around her. It was getting harder to ignore the little changes. How their hands almost looked like claws. Or how their skin almost glitched into a pale-sickly grey to even green.

'God, I wish sometimes this weird trick had a better on and off switch.' She mentally groaned at herself, hitching a breath as something hit her stomach.

Darcy heaved outwards, keeping her breathing steady. 'Yes I know we're in such deep shit right now, kid. But you've got to calm down for mama, alright?'

It took perhaps a long two minutes before the doors opened, finding themselves in an open planned office lobby. Its modern and sleek interior design contrasted with how she appeared in her mediocre clothes, causing her more discomfort as she was escorted around.

Nobody seemed to look back at her. Maybe a few looks and interests but nothing drastic. It was as if this was normal for them.

How the hell was this normal? She was being escorted by six not-dudes to wherever it is.

Finally, they arrived at two double doors at what seemed to be a large office. As the doors opened, Darcy's heart skipped as the guys in black parted away, giving her a path and sight to a figure standing in the centre of the office.

Standing with a beaming smile, a low baritone voice rumbled strongly through the room as he called out, "I think we shall take it from here, thank you."

Eyeing them, Darcy had no choice but willingly enter the office – her hands doing her best to stay at her side and not her stomach. She whispered in her head that everything was going to be fine and that either Stephen, Wong or Illyria would come and rescue her.

When that is...well that might be a long ass time.

As the doors shut with a click, her eyes wandered back to the well-dressed man and narrowed her gaze.

Darcy then snapped harshly, "Whoever the heck you are, could you cut to the chase."

The man had the audacity to raise his eyebrows, amusement in his eyes as his lips were still plastered into some frozen grin.

So frozen that it looked creepy if she stared long enough.

"Well I first must apologise for the manners of our security team; we ensured a compliant and safe journey for you. I hope it wasn't too hard for you, Miss Lewis." The man told her in a trying comforting voice, "And believe me, I think we'd like to discuss quite quickly why we had to ask for you. Moreso on the topic of your association with certain sorcerers as well as dangerous enhanced individuals. We only want to consider the safety of the country."

Oh, she tried not to snort back at that.

Everything that he just said was utter BS.

"Firstly it's Doctor Lewis. Not Miss or Misses. Doctor Lewis," Darcy pointed out with a knowing tone as she said with a more implied voice, "And second of all if you wanted to speak with the sorcerers you can talk to Stephen Strange directly. He probably already knows that you wanted to talk to him if you're so concerned about some threat."

'Or probably try and kill you after you just took me without any fucking consent,' She bit back her lip, giving him a scrutinized gaze before she folded her arms over her chest.

Whoever this man was, he seemed like a proper dick. It almost distinctively reminded her of another certain director. The former director SWORD in fact. Lovely Hayward thought it was appropriate in throwing a missile at a bunch of kids and Wanda Maximoff as well as try to kidnap a young Hex version of Illyria.

But this time: this man was definitely not fucking about. He wasn't being kind or considerate. No: he wanted something from her and now she was stuck in the mud and forced to play this game. If she tried to mess or full-out retaliate, she was burnt toast and so would her kid.

"Well the threat we are dealing with is in fact you...and Ms Strange and her coworker: Mr Finneas Cuthbert."

The man revealed to her, making her heart skip a beat as those names echoed around the room. Darcy's eyes moved to him as he walked around, pressing some sort of button on the tablet in his hand.

A visualizer appeared on the wall a second later, showing what seemed to be photos of some lab.

Finneas and Illyria's laboratory to be exact.

'How...'

He continued to explain: "We've heard from multiple sources that they have both created a highly advanced and highly lethal weapon that could potentially endanger the entirety of Oxford. If not the world, if it is not contained."

Arching a brow, she slowly responded, "Yeah...because they're researchers. Illyria's a PhD student in astrophysics and Dr Cuthbert is a professor at the university." Her eyes wandered slightly to the rest of the room, with most of it empty apart from the desk, and some weird metal statues. The rest was mostly full glass windows, overlooking the London skyline.

When she turned back to him, Darcy questioned back, "Besides, haven't you picked up the rest of the threats?" She rambled on with a shrug, "You know, the thing with the Skrulls and Kree. Maybe the one about the war going on in the US on weapons. Nukes and shit?"

Once she saw his jaw tighten, there was a flicker of which she noticed something.

The way his eyes flashed in a blaze of gold.

Wait what.

"Those are for other organizations to deal with, Dr Lewis. Since we focus on the situation nationally, we have taken the hands of the government to try and maintain the threat secure." His voice grew almost forced, his smile growing less as he moved towards her with slow and elegance. When he looked down at her, his eyes peered back as he lowly warned, "Unless you wish to disagree, then perhaps we will have the US government intervene as I know that Ms Strange and you are indeed American citizens."

Darcy stared back unfazed.

Someone with golden eyes isn't exactly human...or ordinary at all.

Even with the fancy get-up, he was trying his best to portray.

So she might as well begin to open up and honestly bombard him with more accusations. Darcy then began with the same calm expression: "What I'm wondering is why a corporate company helping reestablish trading and treaties for the post-Blip organizations is so interested in our work."

"Only for the safety of the population, Dr Lewis."

A scoff left her mouth as she heard those words enter her ears.

The man before her moved away, his face gradually turning into a look of displeasure.

"Give me a nickel every time somebody told me in the lines of that." She sent a deadly glare back at him as she continued, "I think we both know we aren't here for a fucking chat, golden eyes. Now fucking tell the truth or..."

"Or what?" His head tilted ever so slightly as he tutted, "Dr Lewis, I do suggest you care for your tone."

That was when she paused, realizing the immediate change in the man's demeanour. His eyes were pure golden now, with specks of red and orange which caused his entire appearance to almost be snake-like.

Her body shivered. Man, did the room just got cold all of a sudden...or was it her and the bubbling fear that was slowly being peeled out in the open?

Yeah, she cut a cord alright.

With a tentative warning voice, the man spoke: "We wouldn't wish for a heavily pregnant woman to miscarry due to distress, now?"

When he spoke those words, Darcy couldn't help but bite back a sharp inhale. Her hands curled into fists as she did her best not to lash back and slap the dick. There was one thing which threatened her about her and wherever the hell her kids were. But to downright threaten the baby that was literally inside her was a low blow.

She was about to snap back but halted when a knock interrupted their glaring contest.

Peeking out from the door, a lady, who looked more like she wanted to be anywhere but here, eyed the man in the room before she spoke with a meek tone.

"Mister Goldwyn...your guests are ready to see you," she said.

The man – now known as Mr Goldwyn – somehow changed his face. As if their conversation didn't even happen, he smiled courtly and insisted, "Of course, let them in. Let them in." As the door slowly closed, he looked in her direction and noted, "We would have a lovely reunion soon."

All Darcy could do was stand there, wishing all she could that it wasn't the one person who she had done all she could to not be here.

Then Fëanor appeared out of the door.

A sigh left her lips as she grumbled to herself, 'So much for wishing...'

However, it wasn't just the familiar tweed jacket-wearing man who was escorted into the room. Some other guy who she scrunched her eyebrows in confusion was with him, rising rather tall with dark raven hair matched with a beard. How he held himself was far different to Fëanor's, that sort of urge in his body and eyes that he wanted to throw a punch at the nearest person and escape as fast as he could.

Instead, he stayed put, though not without snatching his hand the moment the men in black took the handcuffs away and glared at everyone around the room. Darcy did all she could not stare, but it was not every day that you were in a room with a criminal who was supposed to be locked up.

The same criminal who she helped bust out of the Raft in fact.

(But nobody – and definitely Thaddeus Ross – needs to know about that cough cough.)

She wondered again how this guy could change from his cheery to a deadly attitude so quickly as he opened his arms and gestured to the two new people in the room.

Goldwyn glanced at Fëanor first, his eyes brightening slightly as he began, "Ah, welcome Mister Cuthbert. I am glad to hear you were willing to discuss the matters on hand. I must apologise however for interrupting your work."

His eyes then crossed over to the Winter Soldier and the moment they did, Darcy could have sworn his eyes glowed and his teeth showed between his lips as he spoke.

"And...Mister Madoc...or perhaps Morozov. That is your true name, is it not?" Goldwyn wondered.

Just as she expected, Theo Madoc (or Morozov which wasn't what she found in the databases she hacked into,) snapped in return, "Who the fuck are you? And why are we here? What do you want from us?"

Walking away, Goldwyn hummed and simply replied, "Ah, well it is quite self-explanatory." He then turned his head towards the door as it opened. "If you would allow me."

Turning her head, Darcy saw two men in suits enter with what seemed to be a metal case.

At that moment a hundred or so expletives shouted in her mind.

As the case was placed into Goldwyn's hands, he thanked them before returning to his desk, placing it down as more men in suits surrounded the door and each of them.

Darcy watched as Goldwyn looked at the case for a few seconds, his hands almost caressing the lock as he murmured, "It is a wonder how such things do come into fruition." When he rose his head, he stared back in one direction and added, "Is it not, Curufinwë Fëanáro?"

Darcy's head flung across to Goldwyn before returning to Fëanor's: who was already looking more suspicious as he said in a dangerously low voice.

"How do you know my name."

His voice almost echoed within the spacious office, causing everyone to look at him but not without returning to Goldwyn and the case.

Instead, the man ignored him as he opened the lid. A burst of light filled the already day-lit room, causing her to squint at the sudden change. Heart racing, the dread soon came as Goldwyn dare not to touch what was perhaps the power of the sun in his palms.

With a command, one of the men held a glove to him before Goldwyn carefully plucked it out from its foam sheath.

Now in his hand was the very thing they've tried to hide for so long.

She heard him murmur in awe, "Thousands of years...I have only gotten a glimpse of this gem..."

Darcy loudly called out, "Whoever you are, you don't understand what you are doing with that—"

"The Silmaril will be our solution." Goldwyn never stopped staring at it, throwing again her and Fëanor in shock at how he knew what it was, "A solution we have been trying to uncover for many years. How is it possible for our worlds to connect? How was it possible for you, Fëanáro, as well as the Oialëa, to be reborn in this world? But then my master discovered the truth...that it was something more than the remnants of the Trees which created the pathways. It was more than just the jewels."

Her anxiety and fears were already making her squirm as she glanced back at the reincarnated elf: who was now looking deadlier than before.

"I demand of you to give the jewel back to me."

Those worlds almost held everyone upon a rope, her mind almost stopping as she turned to him. As like everyone else.

But not Goldwyn.

No, in fact, he did the exact opposite of going silent.

Goldwyn laughed. "You believe you have power over me, elf?"

The stagnant silence was halted as the Silmaril was placed back into the case but never put away. Almost placed like a display, he turned to Fëanor and stalked closer to him.

"They will come after you." Fëanor sneered back.

To his response, the man simply grinned – though his eyes remained fixated with an eerie glow. "And when they do: they will be too late." Goldwyn turned to them now and proclaimed, "It is time to prove how much this world could withstand the forces of the one true Master of Fate."

All Darcy could then be let her hand rise as she breathed in, clenching the ring which was upon a chain around her neck.

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Maglor Fëanorion | Wanderer of Worlds

Location: Arthorien, Far Harad, Middle Earth, Arda

Time: April 2981 T.A

Deep down, Maglor hated this.

He hated that he agreed at all. Deep down: he agreed with Nimrodel that he would rather have them all stay here than risk their lives fighting for something they could be more at risk than even those who lived here. They were Arfanyarossë. Their fëar were tied to the places they were born from and the moment each of them chose to be an Arfanyaras: they chose a permanent death.

No Halls of Mandos or reincarnation. Not even an afterlife for them. Their souls would forever be within the dust of what this universe would become.

Maglor could not bear to lose them.

So watching every fighter and sorcerer readying their weapons, putting on their armour as they quietly spoke between themselves. Their children and friends. Family. People hugged one another as others patted their shoulders or even kissed.

A pained sigh left his mouth as he flexed his hands at his side, scanning the crowd of the training grounds before he watched the last of Elurín's group ready to scout their journey. It won't be a problem to journey to the Yellow Mountains, but what was beyond it would need extra precaution.

As for the rest of Arthorien: he knew that Nimrodel would keep most of her guards here. But Mithrellas, Faelivrin and Gildor would ready themselves to go north. Most likely Umbar.

Then Gondor...

Because he knew Faelivrin and Gildor all too well what their first priority would be.

For a moment, he felt like he was back in the war. Which war? There's been too many in his account to pick a specific one nowadays.

How many Dagor Dagoraths did he witness in his entire life?

The buzzing in his ears halted as he sensed a presence nearby. When he glanced to the side: there stood Gildor Inglorion – dressed from head to toe in his armour.

"When was the last time we ever did this?" Gildor questioned, no doubt towards him as they spectated the commotion at the edge of the training yard.

Whilst the former was fixing something on his bracer, Maglor answered with a knowing tone, "I think we both know the last time, Gildor." Pausing, he glanced sideways once more. Longer he noticed how familiar it had been. "I have not seen you wear that in...centuries."

Or even millennia. The last time the blonde ellon wore that armour was the day Maglor met Gildor in his universe.

That day was a dark time for all of them.

When Maglor almost thought he would have died, alone in another universe, with a sword at his neck as he bled before the person now standing next to him.

The same person who bore his cousin's face.

The same day when Finrod Felagund died...and Gildor Inglorion was born.

Though not without atonement and redemption. To this day, Gildor would always strive to try. To make his best attempt in becoming not what he once was, but someone different. Not better, no. But far from the stranger he met.

Gildor eyed himself before he turned to Maglor and clarified, "I had Durin tweak it. In case a certain person decides to stab me."

A small huff of exasperation left Maglor's mouth. "She will not stab you."

He tutted in return, "This version of her might if she believes I am not who I am." From his view, he saw Gildor's lips quirk just as a hand reached out to grasp his shoulder gently. "We may not be cousins in this world: but you are the only thing I consider as a brother left, Maglor. I see the guilt you still carry, the same with Faelivrin, who I know is doing all she could to hide it for the sake of mending what she did."

The single touch made a warm feeling spread over him as Gildor's voice was nothing but concern and care. He couldn't fault anything in his words, pierced by what defined him to the ellon before him. His brother.

A brother who needed to part with now.

A brother who he might lose.

"It wasn't her fault Greater Harad did not sway to her, as well as your effort in Ciryatandor. You did all you could," Maglor reassured him again, trying to change the subject to cheer up the mood between them.

Though despite his encouragement, the way Gildor's eyes crinkled slightly and the light dimmed – it was hard not to fault how he felt. The feeling of failure. The same expression and mindset he wore when they counselled with Illyria and Bilbo.

"Yet we failed. The whole truth is that we failed to keep the south safe," Gildor inhaled now, his eyes training towards the north, eyes panning up to the stars. "The only way now is to stop the south from entering the war in the north. We have to fight for the people we chose to defend."

His words deepened the growing pangs in his chest, as Maglor looked back at him.

"If you go: you know what comes," He murmured, his voice growing raspy.

With that, Gildor Inglorion looked back at him with a small smile on his face.

"Then I think this would be more of a fitting death than cheating it twice," He wryly noted, his smile mixed with sadness but also the same adventure and wanderlust he once showed so openly. "Who knows? Perhaps I'll face a certain dark lord once more just to make things even more interesting."

Maglor couldn't help but mentally bite back a sob before he hung his head low, shaking the disbelief with a scoff.

Though once he looked back up, he reached out his hand. He grasped Gildor's shoulder, squeezing it gently.

He murmured back to him, "La nev net mina lirë maeth lan ho nányë, Ingoldo." [1]

Tears welled around his eyes, letting the electric hue almost sparkle as he smiled, teasing back: "Lá vandar, Makalaurë." [2]

With one last knowing look: both he and Gildor headed towards their next destination and readied one last time for their departure.

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Outside Arthorien's walls and now upon the edges of the domed shield, Maglor along with the Guardians and those wishing to send their good lucks and farewells stood in a spread group.

The stars shone brightly above them, though with several of them carrying a lamp each upon their hands as they waited for their goodbyes.

Nimrodel stood beside Mithrellas, hands entwined as her head remained high up: keeping her appearance with a bold and stern protector as always. Alongside her, Mithrellas couldn't help but allow her emotions to show – grasping Elurín tightly before planting a kiss upon his temple. A share of love between them both as they teased each other, sending a burst of laughter in the air.

Whilst the three seemed to be chatting, Maglor turned to where Daeron was: seeing the young Apysani girl next to the tall Sinda. It would seem even in this short time, Daeron had fallen into the charms of the young girl and already taken her under his wing. Of course, there was still affection between Shana and Illyria, but there wasn't any doubt that Daeron was reminiscing again about what it felt like to be an uncle again. Just as Daeron had been with Elurín and Eluréd all those years back.

However, it didn't stop the young girl from crying out for the half-Aini. He watched with a throb on his chest: seeing the girl lunge forward to hug Illyria Strange, pleading in both her mind and voice to come back.

Illyria Strange stared forwards at the girl before reaching out her pinky finger, curling it around the girl's own finger before she nodded and planted a short kiss on her head.

His breath shortened and he tried to clear his throat.

This was all déjà vu.

But now this time: this time it would just be him and Elurín now. No Mithrellas or Faelivrin to join them across the mountains and into the unknown jungles of the south.

Thankfully his thoughts were cut short as he noticed a figure striding toward him. She was dressed as well in her armour: her spear, Aeglos, attached on the strap at her back as her eyes never wavered from him. [3]

After a few seconds, Maglor yelped internally as her arms engulfed him, going over his shoulders.

He relaxed his muscles and sighed, allowing the familiar bond to link between his and her own souls as he brought his gloved hand to her head, brushing her hair down before he breathed out.

"Faelivrin—"

"I know we said no proper goodbyes but please...please do not run if things go wrong," Faelivrin murmured into his ear, his heart skipping as she pleaded out to him: "I know you will do the right thing. And if not, I want you to still come back home."

Maglor breathed in, his lips lingering over her ear before he pulled back and stared at her. Slowly, a soft and yet knowing smile rose from his lips.

"Haven't I always?" He whispered in return.

With her arms moving back, Faelivrin rolled her eyes before a smile threatened to also form on her face. Maglor's smile turned to a grin as she then mentally groaned.

Lightly smacking his chest before gripping the lapel of his robes, she gazed back at him and fondly asked, "I wonder sometimes how I managed to fall in love with you, Kanafinwë Makalaurë."

Out of the guardians themselves: only the one before him did he allow to call him by his true name.

In turn: Maglor was allowed to speak of his wife's name as well.

As he brushed her hair back, he leaned over and planted a chaste kiss upon her temple. Maglor's smile softened as he muttered in return, "Sometimes I wonder as well."

They stared at one another one last time, not knowing when or where they will be together again.

He then spoke her name as he wiped a single tear falling from her cheek: "I will try as I always do, Ereiniel Gil-Galad." [4]

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Gone was the barren arid landscape of the Fireplains; now came through the golden portal was a mountain range snowcapped and vast. Clouds hid the peaks as they observed from below, spotting more vegetation and rivers winding in the distance.

The Yellow Mountains – or the Orocarni – stretched along the entire landmass according to Limroval. It was what divided the unknown South and Far and Greater Harad respectfully, with only a few openings that were too far for them to reach or they weren't aware of the rest. Even then, the only pass they know was too far in the east and the risk of travelling via portal with no specific destination was too risky for their small group.

The group consisted of him, Illyria, Bilbo, Elurín and eight more soldiers. A mix of both Mithrellas' spies to Faelivrin's warriors. Aphadriel was amongst them, surprised she volunteered when he knew she never liked the idea of the Oialëa as much as Nimrodel disliked any of the Calaquendi.

The reason they stopped at the northern side of the Yellow Mountains was because of the mining settlement they had. It was in fact the last standing outpost they've had beyond the protective dome Arthorien occupied.

A reason why only a few variant dwarrow were seen in Arthorien as well.

Once they arrived, the small mining fort grew visible by the hidden shield, discovering advanced and yet hybrid technology the dwarves, elves, men and peredhil were working on. Almost everyone stopped to look at them, nodding towards Maglor before he guided the group towards the main halls.

Elurín managed to already alert their protector: the variant of a certain dwarf looking at him with a concerned yet accepting look. Guess everyone was sceptical of his choice to move beyond the mountains but at least they were not stopping them.

After discussing further plans for the outpost to start transporting weapons and materials to Arthorien as well as a shocking interaction between Bilbo, Illyria, and their rather uncanny variant of one of the dwarves from the Company of Thorin Oakenshield: they were off.

(Maglor tried to hide his amusement and actual happiness to see the older hobbit embrace the dwarven lord tightly whilst Illyria was grinning from ear to ear at seeing one of her friends again. Whatever happened in their quest must have been quite something if even an Arfanyaras of Balin Son of Fundin would greet them with open arms.)

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They portaled up to the top of the Yellow Mountains only to be hit by gusts of cold winds as they stepped through onto a thick layer of snow. The heat from the Fireplains was gone and now replaced by the western winds whipping against their faces.

When Illyria mentally noted that this was exactly how it felt like being atop Mount Everest then Maglor would agree. It definitely marked its equal beauty and grandeur as well. Turning to face the north, even the second time around he couldn't help but take that moment and breathe in with awe at the landscape. The arid landscape below, with its rocky landforms to then the speck of lush greenery of Raj, was a sight to see.

But nothing could comprehend once they turned one eighty degrees.

It was Bilbo's large gasp which stopped Maglor from looking North to then at the south, only letting his heart leap and his breath grew short at the sight.

Long has he remembered of what the south truly looked beyond these mountains...and that was an endless vast land of jungle and greenery. Trees varying between the smallest ferns and shrubs to the overhanging, thick-trunked, giants which toppled over the rest. Even from this height, there was no telling how tall they were, only that the jungle canopy might be larger than he thought.

Centuries ago: this place was already a maze for them. What would it be like now in the dead of night? With the jungle already grown after years gone.

All he could think about was the first time they had done this, back when they had no clue what was beyond those mountains they always looked at. They had been underprepared for the dangers, and not just for the sake of creatures they could encounter but for the place itself. Hot and humid, it was not a place for any of them to thrive. Elves could withstand it perhaps, but even after two weeks of constant walking and the depleting sign of supplies, it wasn't some holiday hike.

Maglor never felt so guilty then. Everyone who was there relied on him. He was their leader, their protector: and he failed them. He failed to bring some of them home and when they did – it was actually the other guardians who made sure everyone escaped.

Too many lives were lost to finding their goal.

And now...Now they had to do this for the sake of the world.

At least now most of those who he was with knew what happened that time. They knew the precautions. They studied the plants and the life that was growing in this unknown part of the world and make sure none of them was going to try and end up severely poisoned or damaged.

It was why they managed to portal further south than before, landing in a familiar open area in the middle of the jungle. Now overgrown and with nature taking back the land, the previous known campsite was barely noticeable. Maglor noticed the markings on the trees, seeing the familiar six-petal symbol before he told them that this was their last mark.

They didn't stay too long: gathering themselves then as Elurín took the lead to scout ahead as they now headed in the direction of Illyria's map.

Before he could step foot into the portal, Maglor looked back over his shoulder with an ache in his chest.

He imagined then the rest looking back south. Especially with the hopeful and confident face that a certain Noldo Arfanyaras would bear in return.

'I will come back home, Faelivrin...' Maglor thought in barely a whisper. 'If only you promise to stay alive for me and her.'

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Boromir | Captain of Gondor

Location: Gondor, Middle Earth, Arda

Time: April 2981 T.A

Six months ago he would never expect this.

Returning to his home: only to see it in ruin.

They passed into Gondor a night ago, riding hard as fast as they could within the endless night. Some sorcery or magic must have been at play as there wasn't any orc or evil creature in their path. Or perhaps they were banning together in groups, preparing to strike with their armies for Rohan and what was left of Gondor. Even so, it shouldn't have been so easy despite the trail he took them in (which is safe but no guarantee they would come across some trolls or a warg pack).

But no, not even an orc roamed in sight.

Which irked them more than ever.

With being the one with the most experience out of the four, Boromir advised the three to keep as quiet as possible. Though no doubt he knew the young hobbit companion he rode with would find some chance to cause a panic, Boromir did his best to not be pessimistic about it. By Eru, Pippin wasn't supposed to be here at all! He was barely of age; he should not bear the weight and pain of war at all.

But when he saw the horror and guilt upon the young hobbit's face, after what Sauron did with the Palantir: Boromir understood how he felt. It was not Pippin's fault for what happened, and nor should he be blamed by simple curiosity.

Maybe a little bit on the fact that he might be too nosy but that was it. He was young. He was a child for Eru's sake. He shouldn't be burdened by coming with them.

Though as they were travelling, he wondered if Merry knew. Had Pippin snuck away as well and spoke none of his plan to him? From the months they travelled, there was no doubt that they were almost like brothers. Brothers who would always stick together no matter what.

At that moment, Boromir's mind turned to his brother.

Pain struck him once more, his heart squeezing tightly as he asked himself where Faramir was right now.

Was he still in Gondor? Did he get the rest of the people away? Was he alright?

Only one question stuck far back as possible. Not because he couldn't bear it, but because he refused to believe that his little brother was gone. No. Faramir was alive. Boromir would have felt something, maybe some sort of bond or tie between them – invisible in the eye but noticeable in his heart.

Yes. Faramir was still alive and he would repeat it until he saw him.

His father on the other hand...

Boromir couldn't deny his mind and heart were conflicted by him. What his father said to him and Faramir hurt him. Hurt him more than ever before as they left with the majority of Minas Tirith. Did his father give her a proper goodbye? How long did he mourn beside her then?

Yet all this time, both he and Faramir didn't have any time to mourn for her. Instead, they've been forced to fight this war.

A war in which winning seemed like it was as far as the stars above.

Just as the stars were that night again, the third day of their hard travels. they hid in the forests surrounding the White Mountains and camped with barely any fire. Arwen's light was the only source they used as it gave no smoke but enough heat and light to see for them.

After passing their rations around, Lady Tazhin eyed him before he conceded and gestured out his arm.

After that evening in Meduseld, celebrating with the rest of the Fellowship and of those of Rohan, the healer insisted then to call her Tazhin – which was difficult to stamp out in his mind as he was so used to being proper to any of the ladies of Gondor. But after knowing Arwen and Tauriel, pushing through his teachings as a child: he grew accustomed to calling them by their names.

But for Lady Tazhin: it was different.

He could not understand why, but even being offered the chance made his tongue roll back and his chest tightened whenever she looked at him. Though not every turn of course: but the looks she gave him when it was just her.

Or the way her eyes filled with mirth would make the room grow warm.

How his heart stopped sometimes whenever her gaze somehow floated back to him.

Boromir tried his best to remain placid as they now travelled together, but the number of times she asked to check his wound he couldn't help but look longer at her. Though only when she wouldn't notice him staring.

The way her hands were nimble but ever strong and precise, made him wonder if they were simply for healing or for fighting. He saw what she did on the battlefield. The way she fought was almost like a cat, stalking her prey before quickly lashing with her knives hidden in her clothes.

How many knives did she possess in her person: who knows?

All Boromir advised himself that he needed to take care of what he says or what he does.

Which was hard when somehow all of their conversations seem to cause them to bicker or even argue. Then afterwards, when his head was too heated and his heart was pumping too fast: all that frustration would leave him in disbelief and even guilt.

Why does she need to question everything he says? Why can't they just agree on something?

Like this time: as she was finishing her check and they were asking where they should head to. Boromir suggested – despite knowing the backlash – to head to Minas Tirith.

With a surprised glance, Tazhin responded, "You believe they are still alive?"

Boromir almost gawked back hadn't he realised who was speaking to him.

Of course he believed they were alive! Why would he not when everyone who was there was considered his people? Not only his but hers too!

Boromir peered back at Tazhin, questioning why she would even ask that.

However, Arwen's voice cut him just before he began. She announced, "I can possibly go and see?"

His head as well as Tazhin's and Pippin's turned to her.

What on Arda was she implying?

"Can you do that?" Pippin asked.

Wait.

Hold on.

'How' should be the first question they should ask first. Not 'can'.

Arwen hummed and nodded, "Yes."

Boromir hid back his scoff.

She then sternly looked at them and cautioned, "But if I begin to shake, you must wake me up."

Simultaneously asking, both Boromir and Tazhin scrunched their faces and questioned, "What? Why?" He turned to the healer, ignoring how his face warmed before flicking back to his elven friend's presence.

Breathing in, Arwen explained to them her magic. Along the lines of being able to travel with her spiritual body at a faster pace, though not being able to affect the present itself. From what Boromir assumed: it was like a ghost or a wraith. Like the undead spirits, his tutor used to tell him and Faramir as children.

Of course not a haunting spirit. But it still made him shiver slightly even if he hid it by stretching his back.

Arwen warned them lastly, "However, the closer we are to Barad Dur; the enemy can pull me. It was how he tried to do it back in Meduseld."

The words that came from her only confused Boromir more, but he spoke nothing as Arwen settled where she sat and brought her hands down to her knees. His eyes then turned to Tazhin, who was equally as confused but more intrigued by how calm the elf in their group became.

Almost like a trance, he couldn't help but stare as she breathed in – freezing at the spot like some statue. Why he was still shocked should be something to question himself; he'd already seen her do the same during the Fellowship. Somewhat like how Gandalf would often sit and stare at a spot until his eyes would blink and he would return to smoking a pipe.

Though, it was far from believing he would see anyone like Arwen smoke a pipe.

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Once he knew Arwen wouldn't be in danger, Boromir checked their supplies and mentally sighed at how far they'd used. It wouldn't be enough to reach even Minas Tirith at the rate Pippin was eating (how a hobbit could eat so much still baffled him to this day).

So with no choice: he left their small campsite to search around the area. Some hares or birds would suffice, or perhaps some berries. Though with the weather being so poor: hardly anything has grown or has withered and rotted.

Boromir had caught a few birds, biting back a wince every time he used the arm when Tazhin caught him in the act.

How the healer's face contorted into pure frustration almost made him feel guilty.

Well, how were they going to feed themselves? Pippin could hardly sit still let alone stay quiet to hunt.

Once Tazhin found him, he asked her if it was sensible to leave Arwen with the young hobbit. Tazhin threw back at him by asking if he was sane enough to wander alone in the dead of night with only one working arm. He had to bite back a snarky reply at her, though impressed internally at the witty comment about how he was going to draw a bow with his teeth.

As silence fell over them once more, the sound of hooting and insects within the grass and brambles, he couldn't help but stop and look back at her when she was focused on her surroundings.

Holding out a curved knife, she gripped it steadily but also gracefully. Even as she slowly moved across the trees, Boromir could not help but admit she was good at such stealth. She would have excelled as a ranger of Ithilien, and her adept knowledge of healing and Varadia would be useful in Faramir's forces.

Then he remembered who she was tied to. A man whom she loved but would never see the light of day ever again due to Osgiliath. The same battle he believed they could have one but had lost.

As guilt soon grew in the pit of his stomach, Boromir could not help but hide back the question he wanted to ask her.

'Why do you not despise me for what I have done?' He thought to himself, pausing to stare at the back of her head. 'You know that I was the one who led the battle in Osgiliath. I was the one who led your husband to your death.'

His mind flickered over to her once more.

How her quiet yet strong and passionate voice seemed to lull him to her.

"Boromir?"

He turned to her, his cheeks growing flush as he realised that he had been staring back at her. How long has he stared though? He begged the Valar it was not too long before it was obvious that he was thinking of her.

As he shook himself from his trance, Boromir cleared his throat as he responded: "Apologies, my mind was wandering." He then lied, "About my brother."

The way Tazhin's face softened as she walked over caused his chest to tighten.

"I shall be certain Lord Faramir is still alive, Boromir," She softly spoke, assuring him.

Boromir blinked several times, shuddering away any remnants of his embarrassment before he told her, "No, I...I believe he is alright." Somewhere out there: his brother must be laughing if ever heard this. "If anything that I can think right now is that he is somewhere out there: still fighting back the same darkness. The same evil we are going into right now."

Slowly, he could imagine his brother's face. The way he smiled as they spoke about what they had done on their trips apart. When Faramir would always read to their mother, sat on a stool at her bedside, whilst Boromir would sometimes visit and listen as well.

How his anger and worry grew whenever he heard that Faramir was in trouble. Or that he could have been hurt or killed every time they entered the battlefield.

But never would he think his brother was dead. He would have to see with his very eyes that it was true, no less he would go to Mordor and back just to see him safe.

Tazhin's lips formed a smile, her eyes glimmering under the pale starlight. "You care for your brother a lot." She fondly murmured, "And I think he should be proud to have a brother who would always believe in him, even if he believes there is no one there. He would know that no matter what: there is always the one who would believe in him."

When those words echoed into his ear, the aching feeling in his chest grew twice-fold, forcing him to let out a short breath. Her words caused his heart to falter, ceasing everything Boromir had tried to push away for the sake of what they were doing. For the sake of their own hearts as well.

A widow of a ranger and a captain of Gondor.

He realised then their distance. Her breath almost brushed his face as he looked down towards her gaze. Dark pools which were nothing more but gentle and yet so forthcoming.

Boromir then hoarsely began:

"Tazhin, I..."

Then there was a scream.

"Boromir!"

It was as if both of them were snapped out of a trance, their heads stopping for a moment. Both of them realised what happened.

Or perhaps how close they were together.

However, the moment they recognized that voice: Boromir flicked his head in the direction of the voice and knew who it was.

Pippin and Arwen were in trouble.

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They bolted straight back to where the two had been, only to freeze just several steps as he realised what he witnessed.

"Arwen!"

Shaking profusely at the spot: Boromir could only describe it as a shaking tremor of the ground as he sprinted towards the elven sorceress. Every inch of her body was convulsing, her eyes under their lids moving sideways constantly. Her lips remained shut, but there was a slight tremble, almost as if she was mumbling, whilst her face remained placid.

Though the moment Boromir reached to grasp her wrist, he immediately felt the sudden cold surface and retracted in surprise – her skin was freezing.

It didn't stop him though carefully grabbing both the side of her arms, kneeling on the ground as he looked directly towards her, trying to shake her slightly to wake her up. But to no avail did she even react to his shaking.

Tazhin on the other hand was already at his side along with Pippin who stared up in pure worry and fear.

The healer never let her gaze from Arwen as she questioned, "What happened!"

Pippin's panicked tone sent his heart skipping; "I don't know; the minute I closed my eyes just to take a nap she was fine! The next she was shaking!"

He shook her once more, calling out to her, "Arwen? Arwen, can you hear me?"

'Dear Eru...' Boromir cursed to himself. 'I should never have let her do this alone.'

What would happen if she couldn't come back from this state? How were they going to explain to the others what occurred?

Or more importantly: how was he going to tell Aragorn what she had done? Gondor's future queen no doubt...and he let her go into danger for the sake of it!

Oh, he was so dead.

Boromir's tone diminished as he said with a pained expression, "I do not like this one bit." [5]

Beside him, Tazhin already tried to snap her fingers in front of the elven woman's face, calling out loudly, "Elenníca. Arwen!" She raised her voice even more, "Wake up! Come back please!"

That was when there was a gasp.

Boromir grunted slightly as some unaware force pushed him back along with Tazhin and Pippin. He reached to grasp the hobbit first, making sure Pippin landed on top of him whilst Tazhin rolled across him.

Groaning in slight pain, he got up to his feet once the hobbit in question got off him – reaching to grab Tazhin's hand. The healer obliged as she glanced up to his hand, causing Boromir's breath to hitch as he found his large, calloused hand take her own petite one.

His hand engulfed her's, but it was not any more shocking as a string of electricity zapped him up from his deliriousness.

Tazhin and he retracted both, eyeing one another for a second.

And that second felt like an eternity.

Boromir was about to speak until they then heard another gasp, turning in the direction of their last person who've they been wondering what was wrong with them.

Far from where she had sat: Arwen jolted, her eyes bulging out as her body flung backwards and fell onto the damp ground. She fell luckily on her behind, letting out a breathless noise before there were whispers crawling into their ears.

Tazhin and Pippin rushed to their aid before Boromir hurried. His shoulder took a slight hit but it wasn't as bad as being shot thankfully. Though he didn't take any chances as he stalked quickly toward them, seeing Arwen laying on the ground with her chest heaving heavily.

Only a few words caught him as he looked her way.

"Minas Tirith...Minas Tirith..."

Boromir knelt down between the healer and hobbit, taking his friend's arm as he pulled her up to support her stance. He then asked with concern, "What do you mean?" Panic rose from his voice as he quickly blurted out, "Did you see the city? Has it fallen?"

The only question he dreaded to ask himself was tucked deep in the depths of his head, hoping that he would never have to hear its answer either way. Though as Boromir was looking into Arwen's gaze, he simply couldn't tell it other than it wasn't good.

He was only stopped by Tazhin's hand as she slapped his hand and hissed, "Don't hold her so hard!"

Boromir retracted, apologizing silently before the healer reached forward to give their elven friend a waterskin. "Arwen, drink," Tazhin instructed, and thankfully Arwen didn't refuse it and grasped it lightly in her hand.

Nevertheless, the stiffness and slight tremor of her lips didn't end as she stared blankly at them as the words echoed into his ears.

"Minas Tirith is gone. There are men...they were wearing armour I wasn't certain of." She revealed as she trailed off. Though after a pause, she turned towards him and added, "But...they mentioned his name. Your father's name..."

A pang in his chest erupted and Boromir swallowed the bile which grew from his throat before he asked, "Did you see anyone else? Anyone with Gondorian armour?" He refused to think about what the worse came to him, even if the conflict was still present.

However, she simply shook her head.

Arwen answered, "None. But that was not what I was afraid of."

When her eyes darted to the hobbit now, all Pippin could utter were two names: "Frodo...Sam."

Gulping, Arwen nodded.

Boromir's own chest tightened, and the worry formed into a fear that he seemingly once felt the moment he could have died. Knowing that Frodo and Sam could be anywhere now but far from their aid was fueling the guilt he had hidden for months. Now: now who knew what has happened to them?

Has the enemy found them?

Has Sauron found the Ring?

Pippin's voice cut him from his own mind as he quickly questioned, "Are they alright?" He continued, clinging onto Arwen's arm as he spoke, "Did you see them? Where are they now?"

"They are almost there but...the Eye." She breathed out raggedly, fear growing back in her face as she revealed to them, "He knows it is near. He's looking for it and if he knows who Frodo and Sam are..."

"He will try to take it," Pippin whispered.

Silence withdrew and all Boromir could hear was the whistling and howling of the wind through the trees. Though inside, all he could pay attention to was the rapturing of his heartbeat and the ragged breaths as he finally questioned aloud to them.

"And what shall we do?" He didn't mean his word to come off harsh, but it caused the three pairs of eyes to look at him as he quickly said, "If Minas Tirith has fallen into the hands of the enemy—"

"We need to go there," Arwen answered quietly, making all of them flick their heads at her.

Clearly, there was something in that drink Tazhin gave her.

Or perhaps it was his own hearing.

Though that conclusion was scrapped as Tazhin bluntly gaped, "I'm sorry?" She shook her head before she said, "Did you just say: we need to go there?"

Arwen merely nodded.

"Eru above—" Boromir pursed his lips, trying all he could to not act so exasperated. Even when in reality, it was hearing the hobbits that they wanted to try and fight a troll. He then said to her, "Arwen, did you not recall the enemy has gained the city and we have no certainty that my father is even there?"

He stared back at her, and all he saw was the determination and stubbornness boring through her gaze.

For an elven woman that was supposed to be the lady of a royal house, she had the hardiness of a dozen soldiers combined.

Boromir had to admit he respected it.

Her attention changed to Pippin's when she questioned him back: "Pippin, you saw the tree didn't you?" As the hobbit nodded in realization, Arwen confirmed with a nod, "I must go there."

Arwen began to stagger upwards, and the three of them rushed up to their feet along with her. She had just experienced whatever magical thing he witnessed and yet she was forcing herself to stand and feel fine. He wanted to tell her that she had to have some patience, but his own thoughts were on the topic of whatever she just said.

And why he furrowed his eyebrows at her.

He said confusedly, "The White Tree? It is all but dead now."

As he glanced between Pippin and Tazhin, he inhaled sharply.

Tazhin didn't seem convinced but the young hobbit on the other hand seemed certain of whatever was said. It was evident, however, as Arwen looked at them with encouragement. "You have to trust me on this. Tazhin. Boromir." She took a deep breath as she confessed, "Something happened when I connected to him and it showed me the tree. I believe the only way we could help both Frodo, Sam and the others is to gain the upper hand."

Boromir and Tazhin somehow looked at one another, a silent doubt washing over them before he sighed and nodded shortly.

It would seem they would be finally returning to their city.

Hopefully unharmed that is.

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[1] - "La nev net mina lirë maeth lan ho nányë, Ingoldo.": Translate from Quenya "Try not to get into a song battle whilst I'm gone, Ingoldo."
[2] - "Lá vandar, Makalaurë.": Translates from Quenya "No promises, Makalaurë."
[3] - Aeglos: The name of Gil-Galad's weapon. It means snow-point or icicle in Sindarin.
[4] - Ereiniel Gil-Galad: Variant of Ereinion Gil-Galad from Ea-743. (Which I can't wait when she and our Gil-Galad meet in person.)
[5] - Stranger Things Reference: I couldn't help but add the 'Chrissy Wake Up' meme for my own sake.

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A/N: This chapter confirms two of our variants to be none other than Finrod Felagund and Ereinion Gil-Galad (but female). And yes, Maglor married a variant and hopefully I get to tell you in another short story how that happened. :)

As for Darcy and Feanor, things aren't so well for them at the moment. As for Boromir, Arwen, Tazhin and Pippin, which I think it's quite predictable. (These four are secretly my favourite to write; they're such a random bunch and yet they work for some reason).

I'm still abroad at the moment and next week I won't be able to update as I'm off somewhere with very shite wi-fi. Apologies in advance but once I get back I'll try to remember to post.

Thank you. :)

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Edited: 05/04/2023