Not Quite a Maia

They were leaving tomorrow.

Neville knew this because Aragorn had summoned the Fellowship together in the pavilion that morning to give them the news. An air of quiet determination had fallen over the company as the reality of their impending departure hit home.

Even Boromir had been rather sombre at the news (Molly's Cheering charm was beginning to wear off, thank goodness. The man of Gondor had been almost manic with joy for the past two days and Neville wasn't sure if poor Aragorn's liver could take much more of it).

Now, as the afternoon bled into evening and the Fellowship packed for the upcoming journey, the young wizard tightened the fastenings of his knapsack and decided to take a walk to the archery field to practice some of the Offensive spells his Guardian had been teaching him. Molly was lecturing the hobbits (Merry and Pippin) to stop playing with her knitting needles (which they'd fished out of her bag when she was distracted and, thinking they had stumbled upon a spare pair of wands, were currently running around the fountain trying to turn the water into ale), so he knew that she would be unavailable to tutor him for at least an hour (the cousins were proving rather elusive).

Mentally wishing her luck, he tucked his wand into the waistband of his jeans and made his way through the trees to the large field where the elven archers honed their deadly accurate skills. It was empty when he arrived, for which he was grateful - there was nothing more distracting than a critical audience (Gimli, though impressed with his magical abilities, did not think much of his technique and was constantly berating him to lift his arm and put more 'swing' into his movements).

The teenager shook his head at the thought of the well-meaning dwarf. Casting spells was not about force of movement, it was more a matter of determination and flexibility of the wrist and Gimli was not a professor of magic - maybe when the gruff dwarf started teaching at Hogwarts, he'd pay more attention to his critique, but until then...

And a wand was not a ruddy axe!

Oh, well. Never mind. He could flex his wrist to his heart's content until dinner without worrying about Gimli's opinion.

Striding towards the targets, Neville plucked his wand from his waistband and stopped roughly thirty feet away from them. He cast Mobiliquernusaum at the wooden circles and they began to run madly around the field. Moving targets were much more realistic! Raising his arm, Neville fired. His defenceless victims sped around the grass like headless chickens, unarmed and without so much as a word of protest as he scorched them, hexed them, cursed them and generally blasted them into oblivion. Forty minutes later, the air was thick with smoke as the smouldering remnants of the Galadhrims' targets lay scattered about the field.

Oh, dear. Perhaps he shouldn't have been quite so enthusiastic in his practice - the wooden circles were beyond the help of even a good Reparo. And, much to his horror, one of his spells had gone awry and hit a tree near the edge of the field. He blinked his eyes in astonishment at what he had done.

Neville Longbottom had just given Lothlórien its first-ever pink Mallorn tree.

Crikey, how had he managed that? And what the ruddy hell had he been thinking, firing a Colour Change charm during battle simulation? He must've got the incantation mixed up again with Molly's Your-I-Nation jinx (guaranteed to have even the most persistent foe abandon a battle to scamper off to the nearest loo), but still. It was hardly likely to be a useful spell in the middle of a confrontation. Whatever next? A Hair Thickening charm?

He tried to imagine the scenario: the Fellowship backed into a corner in some Merlin-forsaken country with no way out of the abandoned shack they sought refuge in. Boromir and Aragorn in a battle stance before the front door, while Gimli chomped at the bit to 'hack the enemy into the afterlife'; Legolas flitting furiously between the windows, gallantly showering a million orcs with only ten arrows; the hobbits quaking in fear somewhere in the background while he and Molly fired Reductos into the enemy's front line. But the enemy would be relentless and capture them all, dragging them out into the open to slay them and steal their master's prize. A frenzied dialogue would follow while the others looked to him for help...

Orc Leader: "I'll rip yore 'earts out and string 'em round me neck as trophies!"

Aragorn (looking proud and defiant): "I am Isildur's heir! I will slay you before you draw your next breath!"

Boromir (still under the remnant influence of Molly's charm): "Hail my friendly neighbourhood Orc! Let us share a glass of wine before we commence with the brutalities of war!"

Legolas (looking like a Witch Weekly centrefold): "I am not a house-elf and I shall make you rue the day it crossed your tiny Orc mind!"

Gimli (Swinging his ruddy axe): "Let me at them! Let me at them!"

Merry and Pippin (Brandishing the steak knives that passed for Hobbit swords): "We'll die before we let you harm our cousin! Unless you have any mushrooms on you..."

Sam (Brandishing the roses the man of Gondor claimed he was good in battle with): "Don't you dare come any closer, or I'll prick you with my thorns!"

Frodo (Looking fed-up at being cornered yet again): "The Black Riders could not take me! The Mines of Moria could not hold me! The sight of you does not frighten me! Though I do admit, the weight of the Ring is absolutely killing me..."

Molly (Face redder than her hair as she fires Scourgify spells left, right and centre): "What a shocking state to leave the house in! Do you realise you smell like a rotting corpse?"

And finally, him, Neville Longbottom - the hope of the Fellowship, the Chosen One of the Valar. All eyes swivel to him in wondrous expectation as he faces the orc captain and asks: "If I take care of that receding hairline for you, will you and your friends sod off and leave us alone?"

Yeah, because that was bound to work!

Pulling himself from the distraction of his overactive imagination, Neville surveyed the field guiltily for onlookers and was relieved to find that his mutilation of the Mallorn and slaughter of Galadriel's finest oak target stands remained unsupervised. He walked to the pink tree and fired a quick 'Finite' to return it to its former glory.

It didn't work.

Thinking he'd mispronounced the spell, he tried again - with no result.

Well, that was just bloody brilliant! Why wasn't it working? The confused teenager spent another five minutes trying every spell he could think of to correct his mistake, but the once-proud tree remained a rather fetching shade of baby pink.

Excellent! He'd ruined one of the elves' prize Mellyrn - the pride of every Lothlórien native and the wonder of one small hobbit from the Shire. Galadriel would be thrilled. What the ruddy hell was he going to say to her?

"Thanks for accepting me into your fabulous home; for the trust you've shown in me despite these dangerous times; for giving me the chance to show I'm more than a fresh-faced, seventeen-year-old stranger from a distant land with a taste for adventure and a smart mouth; and for letting me prove my worthiness to aid your Fellowship and kick some Dark Lord arse. Oh, by the way, sorry about the tree."

Hmm. Perhaps not.

He sighed. Well, better go and own up to it then before some poor elf took a hissy fit and started accusing him of sabotaging their renowned haven.

Turning on his heel, he vanished the ruined targets and started heading towards the gate, dreading the encounter with his beautiful hostess. Good thing Gran wasn't here - she'd kill him if she thought he was giving the 'noble name of Longbottom' a bad reputation.

He was so distracted by the thought of Augusta Longbottom's dreadful ire that he failed to notice the shocked quartet entering the field and almost walked into Haldir.

And his brothers.

At least Molly was smiling at him - sort of.

"Ah, there you are, Neville dear. I thought you might be here...practising." Molly was having trouble tearing her gaze from the tree. "I just wanted to let you know that dinner will be in half an hour..."

"The Mallorn!" interrupted the seriously unimpressed Marchwarden, glaring at him. "What have you done to our Mallorn?"

Rumil and Orophin had been robbed of the power of speech and stood gazing in utter shock at the pretty pink tree.

Neville debated the possibility of blaming it on Gimli (having heard of the dwarf's first encounter with the brothers and thinking he might be an easier target), but dismissed it.

"Well, er, I...erm, that is..."

The elf was boring holes through him with his accusing glare.

"It was an accident. I didn't know it had happened - too busy blasting away at the targets, you see."

A haughty glance around the field by his accuser confirmed the absence of the wooden circles. "What targets, Master Longbottom? For despite the gift of my superior Elven vision, I am fully unable to locate any."

The smouldering elf took a dangerous step towards him.

"Which rather defeats the purpose of our walk here to practice, do you not agree?"

Brilliant. Gran wasn't going to kill him - Haldir was.

Attempting a winning smile (à la Fred and George), the teenager tried to bluff his way out of a potential confrontation. "Yeah, right. Sorry about that. I was just on my way to find Molly to see if she could conjure some more, but look! You brought her with you. Shouldn't be too much of a problem for her to sort out - she's a great witch, you know."

"Why, thank you, Neville!" declared the smiling matron.

"And the tree?" demanded Haldir.

"Oh, the tree...that might be bit harder. I did try to revoke the spell, but it doesn't seem to be working."

Rumil and Orophin nearly fainted in horror. A pink Mallorn? In Lothlórien? The elves of Imladris would never let them hear the end of it! And Thranduil would probably forego the defence of Mirkwood to bring his people up just to have a look for themselves. They glared at Neville too.

"No need to worry now, dears. I'll just pop over and give it a quick wave and, before you know it, it'll be like it never happened!"

Molly beamed at the trio of angry elves and trotted over to the blushing tree, but even her best efforts didn't avail the Mallorn of its trendy new look.

Sidling round the brothers (as inconspicuously as possible), Neville mumbled his intent to inform Galadriel at the first opportunity when a firm hand clamped down on his shoulder.

"Allow my brothers and I to show you the way," drawled Haldir, cocking a haughty eyebrow. "We would not wish for you to become lost during your travels."

"Er, thanks but that's alright. I know where to go."

"It would be our pleasure, Master Longbottom," said Rumil darkly.

Neville didn't doubt it. "No, really. I know the way," he replied, slightly alarmed. Blimey, what did they think he was going to do - make a run for it?

"We absolutely insist," said Orophin, making Neville's jaw drop.

He hadn't realised Orophin was capable of speech.

Throwing a panicked glance at Molly, he saw her conjuring more targets at the end of the field, apparently having given up on the tree. She seemed to be deliberately keeping her back to him. What was all that about? Wasn't she in Middle Earth for exactly this reason: to watch his back in times of trouble?

As the trio of angry elves marched him towards Galadriel's flet (he was so looking forward to climbing the ruddy ladder again), Neville debated whether or not it was too late to Apparate back to the Valar's shiny halls and ask them to replace his Guardian with someone who'd do their utmost to look out for his best interests (like Draco Malfoy, if he wasn't harbouring a grudge). But instead of heading towards the largest (silver, not pink) Mallorn, they turned a corner and walked down a gentle slope, through a high green hedge and into an enclosed garden, where the Lady of the lands herself awaited him.

He gulped.

The foursome came to a stop ten metres from her. "My Lady, Master Longbottom, as you requested," Haldir announced, bowing before the graceful elleth.

What, she knew already? Did she have people trailing him, to spy on the havoc he left in his wake?

Galadriel dismissed the brothers and beckoned him closer. This was it: she was going to accuse him of being irresponsible for ruining a tree that had 'seen more winters than he', chastise him for treating the home of his hosts with such careless regard, or worse - sack him from his job as protector of the Fellowship! After all, if he couldn't take care of a ruddy tree, how could he be expected to take care of Middle Earth's best hope for salvation?

But the Lady of Lothlórien didn't seem too concerned with the state of the local flora (for the moment). Beckoning him to follow, she turned and led him down a flight of steps into a little hollow. The stream from the fountain on the hill ran through it and at the bottom there was a carved pedestal with a wide silver basin. Galadriel lifted the ewer next to it and filled it with water.

Thank goodness! He was parched after that workout in the archery field. But there were no glasses or cups lying about. What was he supposed to drink out of? Shrugging, he conjured a cup and held it out eagerly as she approached him.

He flushed like a toilet when she gave him an odd look and poured the sparkling water into the silver basin on the pedestal.

How embarrassing! He hastily vanished his empty cup.

"Come, young Wizard and cast your gaze upon my Mirror."

Er, what mirror? Scanning the small garden furtively, Neville failed to spot anything resembling something as grand as the Window of Arda.

"Are you afraid?"

Of a mirror? He might not be the best looking bloke in the world (especially in this world), but his own reflection had yet to send him screaming into apoplexy. Perhaps he should just ask her where the mirror was?

Fortunately, he didn't have to because she indicated the bowl.

"Here is the Mirror of Galadriel," she said in a breathy voice. "To glimpse in its depths is to know the pain of sorrows old, the struggle of times present and the anxiety of years unborn."

Well, it sounded to him like a massive body swerve was in order and Neville wondered if she'd think him rude for declining. If he'd wanted to be miserable, he could have stayed with Haldir and the Brothers Grim and let them knock the stuffing out of him for feminising the Mallorn. Odd that they hadn't mentioned it to her...

"Oh, well, that sounds nice..."

She smiled at him knowingly and he wondered if she'd recanted on the promise not to delve into his mind.

"The Mirror shows that which I command, mortal Wizard. If it is your desire only to see that which pleases you, then so shall it be."

Neville perked up at that. Maybe he'd get a sneaky peak of Varda pining for him...

"However..."

Typical. A ruddy catch.

"...wiser is the one who allows it to show what it will; for in the unbidden, much may be learned..."

Hmm. Apparently he had a choice: the depression of her initial offer (which he didn't much fancy), a glimpse of the woman who'd won his affections (the married woman who'd won his affections - Gran would hex his bits off), or the riddle of the unbidden.

Deciding he should do the noble thing and let the Lady choose what would be more beneficial to the quest, he stepped towards the pedestal and said: "I'm ready for whatever you'd like to show me, my Lady."

"As you wish. But beware, mortal Wizard; for many is the one who believes his defences are hale, only to find that his sword is weak."

She was warning him now? After he'd agreed to look? And what was wrong with saying 'Don't be too sure of yourself'?

Stifling his exasperation, he leaned over the bowl.

"Do not touch the surface of the water," Galadriel added.

He wondered idly what would happen if he did. Would the bowl explode in his face (his scars would be happy for the company, no doubt) or would he melt into a puddle?

It didn't seem wise to try and find out, so he kept his hands clear of the edge of the bowl, resting them instead on the pedestal as he looked into the water. There didn't seem to be much there, really, except the reflection of his sweaty face. Otherwise all was dark.

Which was odd. It was early in the evening yet and the elven land still had plenty of light around it. Must be some sort of elf magic.

But then the darkness dissipated and to his surprise the surface became grey, before clearing. Neville's eyes widened as the Battle of Hogwarts raged before his eyes and he saw himself ablaze under the Sorting Hat between the warring parties standing on the school lawn. The fire went out and his image reached into the hat, drew the Sword of Gryffindor and relieved Voldemort of his last link to immortality.

Blimey! That was quite impressive, actually.

Outside his Yorkshire home, an overconfident Dawlish rapped smartly on the front door, fingering his wand in readiness. Gran answered it and he shoved his way into the house, brandishing his wand menacingly. Heated words were exchanged and then the unfortunate man got the fright of his life as Augusta Longbottom cursed and hexed him to within an inch of his existence before he could so much as fire a Full Body-Bind.

Neville was very impressed. Gran had hexed the idiot's clothes off (except his smalls - she was English, after all) and the garments had taken on a life of their own. His trousers were chasing him through the hallway, kicking his skinny legs; the shirt was taking hearty swings at his stomach while his overcoat boxed his ears and his shoes kept throwing themselves at his feet, making him trip and fall into the furniture every few seconds. Before he could muster a decent defence, Gran had him immobilised over the back of the couch and had charmed the fire poker to whack his behind while she lectured him from the safety of the display cabinet.

And that was before she did him the damage that put him in St Mungo's!

"That's my Gran," he said, beaming with pride and he watched in disappointment as the image shimmered and vanished, to be replaced by one of Boromir blowing on the Horn of Gondor in the middle of some strange woods as he, Merry and Pippin struggled to fight off numerous orcs.

The image wiped the smile off his face and he wondered if the scene was past or future.

Hopefully past, because if it was the future, then why the hell wasn't he there defending them?

Next, Molly appeared, looking absolutely driven by anger, tears of fury rolling down her cheeks as she blasted Reductos at a terrified horde of enemies during a truly epic battle. Massive elephants stomped about with strange contraptions and screaming men on their backs, while a blonde woman battled an enormous black-garbed stranger. He wondered where he was until coloured shots of magic appeared from the far left, sending a wave of fire at a group of rampaging Orcs.

Good. No reason why the ladies should have all the fun. But who was the blonde?

The image shifted before he had time to identify the mysterious female and he saw, lying abandoned on a bloody field, the strangest plant he'd ever seen. It looked like no more than a fern, but with slender red fronds tipped with gold. Gryffindor colours! Here, in Middle Earth! It swayed gently in the breeze, seeming very out of place on the crushed grass and scorched earth and he knew, as only a true Herbologist could, that there was something special about it. He wanted to pick it up and nurture it, take it to the nearest friendly bed of earth and sink its roots deep into the soil so that its perfect beauty would be preserved forever, but before he could examine its features in more detail, the image changed again.

Really, he wished it would stop doing that. What was the point in giving him half-glimpses? That plant could've been really important and the ruddy Mirror had left him hanging!

A face began to shimmer into view, distorted by sudden ripples from the water. As the image cleared, he saw Isildur's heir standing by the battlements of a great, white city staring into the distance, a dark frown marring his regal features. Neville wondered where the man was, for surely they were all supposed to be sneaking into Mordor? From what he had heard, Sauron's land was not exactly overflowing with clean, white buildings - unless the mad git was the world's first ever house-proud Dark Lord.

Another swirl, and now he saw himself back in Yorkshire, in the sanctuary of his own greenhouse, but he wasn't alone. The smiling profile of a Weasley boy came into view and Neville realised that this must be the future. George, it would seem, was to take him up on his offer of finding new ideas for Wheezes amidst his plants. It was nice to know the grieving twin would leave his room eventually and try to get back to some kind of normality. Molly would be relieved to hear about this. He really must tell her. The image vanished as George turned to clap his image-self on the shoulder and the next thing he saw was the most alarming yet.

His own face filled the bowl, looking up at him from the water's surface, tense with fright, when suddenly a shadow fell across it. Neville watched in shock as his reflection's features twisted in horror - so much so that he could see the whites of his own eyes as they bulged from their sockets - and his mouth opened in a scream of agony that the vision did not allow his ears to hear.

What the bloody hell??

The water stirred as a dark shape bent over his other self and before he could see what happened next, the liquid cleared completely and he found himself looking at nothing more sinister than the bottom of the silver bowl.

He staggered back from the pedestal, mind buzzing with the last vision. Was that the future? At first, he thought it was a vision of the past, perhaps when he was being Crucio-ed at school, but the scars of those curses had been carved into his reflection's face already.

It must be the future.

A shiver ran through him as he realised what may lie ahead for him - for all of them. This was no camping trip to the Yorkshire dales they were embarking on. It was a desperate flight to attempt the only option remaining for the Free Peoples of Middle Earth to finally have some peace; a battle for the survival of many.

And sacrifices may have to be made.

"Many choices lay before you, son of Longbottom, many paths for wandering feet to tread upon in the search for victory."

Galadriel was staring at him intensely from the opposite side of the pedestal and his worried gaze met her lovely features.

"But not all shall lead where you wish to go. That which you have seen in the Mirror may prove to be of aid or may cloud your future judgement."

Her tone was grave.

"Do not allow one moment of darkness to sway you from your task, for only in the depths of blackness do we learn to strive towards the light."

Easy for her to say.

She moved towards him and cupped his chin. "Though there are those of your kind whose skill has earned them great acclaim, they that could have been chosen for this task over one who appears little more than a noble tender of plants, this duty falls to you - and not without reason: for not all magic lies in the grip of a staff. A defiant mind and a will of mithril may conquer where the untold power of your Wizard's arts cannot. This is a lesson you have already learned. Do not forget it."

Right. Did that mean he should leave his wand here and travel to Mordor just to give Sauron a piece of his mind? Perhaps the Dark Lord would capitulate if he told him to sod off and die (which might work if it was Gran saying it)? It was a tempting thought...

"I don't understand - I thought I was here because the Fellowship needed a wizard."

"I have not said otherwise, young one." She dropped her hand and left him standing alone by the pedestal, somewhat confused.

"The Mirror does not always show what will happen, only what may, if fate travels a certain path. Your own path lies before you - as it does for all the Fellowship, and indeed, all Free Peoples of Arda. The gift of your magic will be a blessing on the quest, of that I am certain, but only if you know when its power is best put to use. Consider always the gift of your mind and the wisdom it has accrued from struggles past, for there may be times when it shall benefit the Fellowship more than a wave of your staff. Go now, son of Longbottom and consider what you have seen."

Neville trudged back up the steps to the hedge trying to work out what was more important: his wand or his mind. He seriously doubted his not-so-impressive academia was going to save the day, if that's what she meant, because the only Outstanding he'd ever achieved was in Herbology.

Then again, his Defence Against the Dark Arts OWL had been a surprising Exceeds Expectations due to his sheer determination in the DA. He could only assume she was referring to that. Funny, though: he'd never thought of himself as particularly strong-minded - even during the year of rebellion at school. It had just seemed natural to take a stand against the Carrows when they were trying so hard to eliminate his friends. He couldn't just stand there and watch while they victimised innocent children.

His train of thought was interrupted by a call.

"Neville Longbottom?"

Neville turned to the Lady of Lothlórien. She eyed him with a slight smile on her lips.

"Yes, my Lady?"

"I hope you have enjoyed your time in these lands. It has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Thanks. It's been great here! Everyone's so friendly. I wish I could've stayed longer, but...oh, well. Needs must, I suppose. I'll miss it, though."

"And I shall miss you, brave child. However..."

Her eyes sparkled mischievously.

"...if the desire to remind myself of your time here grows too great for mere memory to sate, I am pleased to know that I need do no more than pay a visit to the archery field and gaze upon the wonder of a maidenly Mallorn."

Bloody hell! She knew! How could she know? The Brothers Grim hadn't mentioned it.

His question must have clear on his scarlet face, for Galadriel said: "I am the Lady of these Woods, mortal Wizard and your own kind is not the only race that possesses the art of that which you know as magic. The very trees you see speak to me at will."

Well, that explained it: the ruddy trees told her.

"I'm really sorry about that - I tried to fix it, but it wouldn't work..."

"That is because my...magic...did not allow it. I find the thought of such a colourful reminder of your visit very amusing - and the tree has no objections. I would ask that you refrain from using your arts against my other Mellyrn friends though - for your own sake. My Marchwarden and his brothers do not share the same sense of humour that I have been fortunate enough to be gifted with."

The tree has no objections? Blimey!

"Er...right. Of course. Whatever you say. Thanks for, em, letting me look in your Mirror."

A nod of dismissal followed, then Neville turned and left the beautiful elleth to her secret garden and made his way back to the others for the evening meal.

He really hoped Molly hadn't invited Haldir and his scary siblings to join them.

"Are you alright, dear?"

It was an hour after the evening meal and Neville turned from his resting place at the tree across from the dinner table to find Molly frowning in concern at him.

"Yeah, I'm fine, just...thinking."

The matronly witch smiled in understanding. "You looked in her Mirror, didn't you?"

Brows arching in surprise, he nodded. "What...did you look into it as well?"

"Of course. She invited me to see it before I came to the archery field."

Ah. That explained why she hadn't faced him after she conjured new targets - she'd known he was next in line for a sneaky peek into the future.

Molly read his face clearly. "I'm sorry I didn't say anything to you, dear, but Galadriel didn't want you to be unduly influenced by my own experience. How did it go?"

That was something he'd been mulling over before the witch had disturbed him. Thoughts of all the visions he'd been privy to had been clamouring for his attention: some of them had been obvious glimpses of the past, but the one with Boromir and the hobbits was rather more ambiguous in its time span. As for the elephant scene, well, it seemed they were in for some rather stellar encounters with the enemy at some point in the future, and Neville was glad he'd made the most of the archery field during his stay to practice his wand work.

He didn't really want to dwell on the memory of his own screaming face.

"It was...different," he replied as he took a seat on a tree root, his Guardian taking her rest on one across from him. "I saw my Gran and Aragorn, and you as well; I saw some of the other Fellowship members, and there was this woman I don't know who was fighting a really nasty looking bloke in black."

"I see."

Which reminded him...

"Oh, and George came to the greenhouse at my place. Thought you might like to know that."

Her eyes shone suspiciously. "Oh? Well, it's good to know he finally gets out of the house. I hope he was behaving himself?"

He smirked. Molly Weasley was ever the mother.

"Yeah. He seemed to be enjoying himself 'cos he was smiling."

"Hardly surprising," she said briskly. "Put that boy in a roomful of dangerous plants and he's bound to come up with at least a dozen ways to wreak havoc on the sanity of responsible adults everywhere. No doubt he was planning how to turn your prize Snargaluff Pods into fire-breathing foxglove and sell them off as novelties to teenagers looking for an excuse to get out of their History of Magic lessons, or some such nonsense."

Her tone was fussy, but her eyes were sparkling with affection.

Wow. That was great idea! If only the twins had thought of that while he was still at school...

"What did you see then?" he asked curiously, hoping to make some sense of his own visions by comparing them to hers.

Her face tensed slightly at the question before she smoothed it into a mask of indifference.

"Oh, the usual for such circumstances, I imagine. Lots of fighting, lots of running and lots of unwashed bodies," she replied, glaring in disapproval at the as yet pristine forms of the Fellowship across the clearing.

That wasn't much help.

"But did you see anything that, you know, stood out?" he asked, hoping for a more specific reply.

"Well, I did see Harry and Ginny getting married," she informed him with a beatific smile. "Such a relief to know that she'll finally stop mooning over him and drag him down the aisle. Not that she had to drag him down the aisle, of course. Far too much of a lady to act in such a wanton manner."

Great. He wanted to know about the possible dangers they faced in the wilds of Middle Earth, and she was fixating on her daughter's love life.

Neville didn't press her any further, getting the feeling that she didn't want to talk about her visions any more. He respected her right to privacy, but couldn't dismiss the feeling that she was keeping something from him - something that might prove useful during the quest.

Well, he'd have to trust her to open up to him when she thought the time was right.

Aragorn interrupted their cosy chat a few moments later to summon them to another meeting with Galadriel and Celeborn, and Neville had no more time to wonder what Molly was hiding from him.

Or why.

Breakfast the next morning had been a solemn affair. Frodo's face was taut with trepidation at they cleared the table for the last time and Sam was just as bad, hovering over his master anxiously and trying to cheer him up.

A useless task, really, given the circumstances, but you had to give the optimistic gardener points for trying.

A group of elves had came by earlier and bestowed them with gifts of Lembas (which, surprisingly, Gimli had been the first to stuff in his face, not realising that a single one would fill his belly for a whole day and making the elves laugh in disbelief). Every member of the Fellowship had also received a hooded Lórien cloak, which Neville admired for its silky feel and shifting colours. He did have Harry's Invisibility cloak stuffed in his knapsack, but didn't want to turn down the elves' kind offer. Anyway, it would probably be better to wear that for the main part of the quest: if he slung the Wizarding cloak around his shoulders too soon, the others might die of fright to see his apparently disembodied head floating through the forest of their hosts' home.

Molly had divided the Lembas among the members and made sure the hobbits stored it in their little bags, before waving her wand over the Light of Varda and securing it to herself once more with a Sticking charm. Neville exited the pavilion and made his way towards her.

"Where's Aragorn?" he asked, searching the area for the missing ranger.

"Gathering a few more of those athelas leaves for the trip, dear. Are you all ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be, I suppose."

"Good. Well then, we'd better collect the others and head off."

Aragorn returned at that moment, followed by Legolas, Gimli, Boromir and (much to his alarm) Haldir. Neville wondered if the Marchwarden was still upset about the Mallorn, but didn't much fancy getting close enough to the Malfoy look-alike to find out.

"Gather round my friends," called Aragorn to the remaining travellers, and Neville followed Molly and the hobbits to the fountain (but he stood as far from the still-frowning Haldir as possible).

"As you know from our council with the Lord and Lady of the lands yester eve, we have yet to decide where our final journey will take us. Do we make for Minas Tirith to aid in the fight against the Enemy, or slip across the borders of the dark lands into Mordor? We may find ourselves travelling wherever our feet lead us as one party, united until the bitter end. Or it may be that we find it prudent to separate, with some taking one path while others tread roads more dangerous."

The assembled crowd listened silently as he let his gaze flicker over each of them.

"Whatever we do, wherever we go, be it as one or many, know this: we are the last hope of the Free Peoples of the West. In our hands we hold the destiny of untold many and we have a duty to them to aid in their deliverance. Our paths may be dark and they may be troubled, but the success of our mission depends on how we face our trials and the courage we draw from them. We must not allow our own fears and differences to consume us, for more is at stake than the small concerns of individuals. Gandalf himself gave his life for the success of our quest. We owe him no less than our complete devotion to its final success."

Neville was feeling quite inspired by the noble man's words and was quite ready to march all the way to Mordor and take on the flaming Eye of Sauron with a really good Aguamenti until he realised the others were throwing assessing glances at him and Molly.

Probably wondering if they were up to the task.

But no one made any comment and Aragorn continued with his glorified pep-talk.

"Although we do not know our final path, this much is clear: we shall make our way down the Anduin for many days until we reach the Falls of Rauros - and then we shall make our decision: Minas Tirith or Mordor."

Boromir, no longer the happy chappy of days recently past, was looking rather grim at the announcement of the ranger, but Aragorn refused to meet his eyes and he cast his gaze instead to the Ring-bearer, standing not six feet away.

A sinking feeling hit Neville in the stomach. It would seem that the man of Gondor was still in two minds about the value of the One Ring as an aid in his desperate battle despite their chat in the archery field. He'd have to keep an eye on him in the next few days, to make sure he didn't do anything stupid...

"Now," said Aragorn, "let us commence our journey. Haldir will lead us through the city to our point of departure. We shall leave Lothlórien from the banks of the Silverlode and may the Valar grace our quest with their blessings."

The assembled men, elf, dwarf, hobbits and wizarding travellers followed Haldir through Caras Galadhon, with elven song from the talans above floating through the air for company. It heartened the teenager somewhat, and allayed the nervous tension that threatened to overwhelm him. But the songs were left far behind them as they passed through the great gates at the city's entrance and over the white bridge, fading into nothing as they turned from the paved road and headed several miles down through the forest until, finally, a few hours later, they came to a high green wall. The Fellowship passed through an opening onto a green lawn studded with little golden flowers that Neville had never seen before.

"They are elanor," provided the firm voice of Haldir, who'd managed to sneak up on him without being noticed. "They grow only in the haven of these lands under the protection of its Lord and Lady."

The teenager eyed him cautiously. "Er, they're very pretty," he offered, hoping the Marchwarden would be satisfied with that and leave him alone.

"Indeed. A gentle, golden bloom that reflects the light of the Sun's rays. 'Twould be a pity to see them blush like a maiden under the spell of your Wizard's arts."

Neville grimaced and...blushed like a maiden.

"Don't worry, my wand's safe in my trousers - I won't touch your flowers."

The elf favoured him with a lift of his brow. "See that you do not, young Wizard."

The smug immortal turned on his heel and led them towards the banks of the Silverlode as Neville thanked Merlin for his lucky escape. When he reached what appeared to be a little pier made of white wood and stones, his eyes widened.

Upon the water were many boats and barges. Most were white or grey, but a few were brightly coloured and shone in silvers, golds or greens. All were moored by the pier and bobbed slightly as the current of the stream tugged happily at their hulls.

"Oh, look - boats!" cried Merry in delight.

"Oh, look - boats," muttered Sam in despair.

It seemed the little gardener was not keen on a trip down the river.

"Don't worry," Neville said to the stocky hobbit in reassurance. "I'm sure they're sturdy enough, if the elves made them. We'll be alright."

"Begging your pardon, Mr Neville, but how many Elves've you actually seen on a boat?"

Eh, none, actually.

"I've never seen any," he admitted.

"Well, that's as I thought," replied the dejected gardener. "I've seen plenty of Elves in trees, on trees and near trees, but I've never seen an Elf in a boat. Maybe they just builds them, paints them pretty colours and then leaves them here as a sort of decoration? You know, like I'd arrange the garden of Bag End to make Mr Frodo smile?"

Trying hard not to crack a smile at Sam's unhappy face, Neville clapped him on the shoulder comfortingly. "I think that if the elves made those boats, it was probably for a better reason than decoration."

"Thought you might say that," mumbled the gardener miserably and followed Frodo and Aragorn to one of the little grey boats the elves were indicating for their use.

Haldir made the travellers step into and out of the boats several times, to familiarise themselves with the process while they were still near solid ground, then Neville followed Legolas and Gimli to their boat while Molly joined Boromir, Merry and Pippin ("In case he needs another Cheering charm, dear. He's looking a bit grim at the moment, you know").

He'd managed to talk her out of using her wand on the son of the Steward again by telling her it wasn't a good idea to make his future conduct reliant on the whim of a wand. "He needs to make his own decisions, Molly, without the influence of magic. Let him be his own man for a while: he's not a bad sort and I know he'll make the right decision."

Molly frowned in confusion and asked what decision he was referring to, which made the teenager do some furious mental back-pedalling. "You know, whether to go to Gondor or come with us to Mordor."

"Ah, I see. Well, I suppose you're right. Although, I'm not trying to Imperio him, you know; he would still be making his own decisions under the Cheering charm - he'd just be doing so with a smile on his face and a spring in his step."

"Yeah, I know, but, well, I'm not sure it's such a good idea for him to be 'springing' about in the middle of a river."

A motherly pat to his arm followed this nugget of wisdom and she left to join her fellow seafarers.

Neville had never rowed a boat before (Hogwarts' own rowed themselves) and he was quite looking forward to the experience. As he took his seat at the back of the boat behind Gimli, Legolas instructed him to grab onto the oars and row in tandem. Unsure of exactly how to go about it, he observed the blond elf until he got the gist and gripped the handles, pulling them towards him in a high arch before pushing them away in a much lower one. Aragorn's boat passed them and he saw a rather pale looking Sam clutching the sides as he threw wistful glances back at the shore. Now Frodo was the one trying to comfort him, and the Ring-bearer laid a reassuring hand on the gardener's shoulder which drew Sam's gaze back to the boat.

He didn't know why the stocky hobbit was so reluctant to be on the water - this rowing business was a right lark! The teenager was having a grand old time watching the shore slipping away from them under the raw power of his rotating arms and a feeling of complete manliness overtook him as they sped along the cheery stream.

If only Varda could see him now!

Oh, perhaps she could? The Valar did have the Window of Arda, after all. With that thought in mind and a fetching smile on his face, Neville flipped his Elven cloak carelessly over his shoulders and got stuck into the job of propelling the vessel as far and as quickly down the Silverlode as possible.

"Master Longbottom, why the haste? We have not yet reached the Anduin. If you keep this pace up much longer, lad, we shall break from the rest of the Company before evening falls!"

Gimli's sharp remark brought him back to his senses (which was just as well, because his arms were killing him). Wiping the stupid grin off his face (the dwarf was looking somewhat alarmed at his inexplicable good humour), he slowed his pace, matching Legolas', and the boat soon fell back into line with the other two.

A satisfied nod from Gimli, and the dwarf turned to face the front once more.

Soon, they turned a sharp bend and the company saw a large swan sailing towards them. The sun glinted off its white body and its beak shone golden in the reflected light. It was a thing of beauty and grace in the middle of the water and Neville was almost jealous that Lothlórien could boast such an impressive sight while Hogwarts was stuck with a giant squid.

The bird's white wings half-lifted and suddenly, it began to...sing?

A singing swan?

Thinking that might be a good name for a (girly) pub, the young wizard let the flow of sweet music bless his ears as they drew nearer to it.

Which was when he discovered it was a ruddy boat.

He lowered his flushing face, thankful that he hadn't voiced his thoughts. Fortunately, he wasn't the only one to have mistaken the elegant vessel for a giant bird. Gimli was muttering about the frilly ways of the elves, making Legolas laugh in amusement.

Aragorn's boat drew alongside the swan first and Galadriel stood resplendent in white with a circlet of golden flowers in her hair. Celeborn standing beside her, invited the company to lunch before they left and soon all four boats made for the shore where everyone disembarked and followed their hosts. They sat on the grassy lawn and shared their one and only meal with the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien.

After the meal, Celeborn gave them some words of advice for the journey ahead, describing their watery route in the strange manner of speech which all elves seemed to be fond of, before making them aware that Boromir and any who wished to go with him, should leave the Great River above Rauros and cross the Entwash before it entered the marshes.

Blimey, these lands didn't half have strange names. The Dead Marshes? Fangorn? Emyn Muil? Cirith Gorgor? Whatever happened to sensible names like Slackbottom, Chorlton Cum Hardy, Crapstone, or Ham, near Sandwich? Good English names, all of them!

His mind wandered for a minute as he contemplated all the wondrous names from all four countries in the UK that might provide a good alternative to the terribly dramatic ones of the People of the West. It was as he was making his way through this list of possibilities that Pippin interrupted him.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Lord Berkeley's Knob," he replied, without...thinking.

Molly, who was standing next to them, gave a gasp of horror and clutched at her ample chest. "I beg your pardon, young man?!" she screeched, swatting him furiously on the back of his head with her free hand.

"Ow!" he cried in surprise, looking at the seething matron in disbelief "What the ruddy hell did you do that for?"

She closed in on him with the disapproving glare shared by mothers everywhere and waggled her finger at him.

"Your language! What in Merlin's name were you thinking about to utter such a disgraceful thing?"

Disgraceful thing? What was she on about?

Her righteous fury had attracted the attention of...well, everyone and his face burned as the elegant company watched in baffled amusement at the very public dressing down.

"I didn't say anything!" he hissed in embarrassment, but Molly's frown deepened.

"Yes you did, and quite frankly, I'm astonished. Who the devil is Lord Berkeley and why are you going on about his..."

She yanked him down by the collar of his shirt.

"...bits!"

Oh. Bloody. Hell. Molly thought he was having a pervy daydream in the middle of a really important speech by Celeborn!

"It's a place in Scotland. Lord Berkeley's Knob is a place in Scotland! Up in the far north."

"Oh. I see." The matronly witch was clearly relieved by his explanation. "Well, we're not in the far north of Scotland now, so pay attention, dear. No time for daydreaming when we should be listening to directions."

Rubbing his stinging head (and glaring at Pippin for instigating his total and utter embarrassment), Neville returned his mind to the conversation at hand as Celeborn resumed his narrative.

When the tall elven Lord had finished, chairs were brought out for the Lord and Lady and they passed a cup of parting around for the Fellowship to drink from before announcing they had gifts to impart upon the company.

The Fellowship lined up before them and Neville found himself standing beside a rather menacing looking dwarf.

"What did you do to upset the good Witch?" asked Gimli, fingering his walking axe absently as Galadriel handed a gold and silver sheath to Aragorn.

"I didn't do anything," said Neville, annoyed that the incident hadn't been forgotten when there were other, more important matters, to be dealing with; like the fate of the world.

Galadriel now presented the ranger with a green jewel, which he pinned to his breast.

"Is that so?" said Gimli, in a smooth voice. "'Tis of little matter now, I suppose, as you appear to have mollified the good Lady."

"Yeah, well, the good lady certainly Mollyfied me," muttered the teenager, thinking of the slap on the head and the attention of the others her screech of horror had brought.

The company moved forward and Boromir now stood in front of the lovely elleth. She handed him a golden belt, which the Gondorian accepted with a bow of thanks.

Gimli, however, was not finished with his own peculiar brand of male bonding and continued to speak to Neville in a low voice. "Be sure that you do not upset her again, lad. I know you to be a good and noble young Man - but I would not think twice about hacking your legs off at the knees if you brought distress to her. The Fellowship could manage just as well with a Witch as with a Wizard."

Excellent! His very first death threat in Middle Earth - and from a friend, too! Life didn't get any better than this.

Merry and Pippin were beaming in delight at their new silver belts and Legolas was speechless with awe when Galadriel handed him a bow of the Galadhrim. Next, she shared a few words with the furiously blushing Sam, calling him 'little gardener and lover of trees'. Neville wondered how she'd address him. Big gardener and scourge of the Mellyrn? Haldir's new best friend?

Which reminded him...

He shrugged off his knapsack and hunted through it, finding his quarry just as Gimli shuffled his way in front of Galadriel. Closing the bag, he shouldered it once more and stood straight, in time to hear his hostess proclaim to one and all that none should call dwarves grasping and ungracious again.

That made him roll his eyes. What nonsense! Gimli wouldn't think twice about grasping his axe and ungraciously hacking the teenager's respectable six foot form down to a more earth-hugging four foot two if he thought the young wizard was upsetting his Guardian.

But Neville couldn't help smiling fondly at the gruff dwarf as he put in a very flowery request for a strand of the Lady's hair, a request which made the assembled elves gasp in astonishment at its boldness. She, however, couldn't unbraid her hair fast enough and gifted the dwarf with not one, but three of the golden locks.

Aha. It would seem that the axe-wielding serial killer was a ladies man...

Tucking that little piece of information away for the future, Neville straightened up respectfully as he took the last few steps towards his beautiful hostess. He wasn't really expecting anything, seeing as how he and Molly had only arrived a few days ago, and he wanted to spare her blushes at having nothing there for them, so he thrust the object out that he'd been holding.

"We - that is, Molly and I - wanted to give you this."

Surprised, Galadriel accepted the earthenware jug which held the quinberry juice Haldir had been disappointed to miss out on at their arrival.

"This is the last of the Lindon delicacy gifted to you by Cirdan the Shipwright," said the elleth, obviously wondering why he was trying to offload a possibly empty jar on her.

"Well, actually, we charmed it with an Ever-Full spell, so it'll keep refilling itself when it's been emptied. I wanted to give it to Haldir as an apology of sorts, you know - for ruining the Mallorn. And I know he's been dying to try it. But I forgot to hand it to him when we boarded the boats."

Her steady grey eyes regarded him solemnly.

"It's not just for him, though," he added hastily, thinking he'd somehow offended her by not including her in on the gift. "He can share it with everyone, because there'll always be enough to go around. It'll never run out - well, unless the jar gets broken."

"You never cease to surprise me, child," she replied, smiling softly. "I come to you bearing gifts, yet you usurp my role as benefactress by giving of your own meagre supplies. We of the Galadhrim, accept with great honour this gift unasked for, and though it be a sweet reminder of the land of our final departure, from this moment on the taste of it will always bring to mind the grace and courage of two otherworldly Istari."

Molly, standing two people down, blushed. "That's a very nice thing to say, dear."

Galadriel and everyone present laughed merrily and Neville grinned. The ancient elleth probably hadn't been referred to as 'dear' for several thousand years.

"And this is my gift to you, mortal Wizard."

One of her maidens handed her a cloth wrapped bundle which she delicately unfolded. Inside were two buckled silver straps joined by a wide band, which was decorated with elvish script. Little loops of some strange material jutted out from the side of each strap. He accepted the gift in astonishment, marvelling both at her generosity and at the elven ability to whip up something so pretty in a manner of days.

If only he knew what the ruddy hell it was.

"If you strap this to your leg or arm, you may find it easier to transport your staff of power without risking the safety of the noble line of Longbottom," she whispered discreetly.

Gimli, unfortunately, heard her and started guffawing heartily.

"Oh, brilliant," he replied, mortified that a complete stranger had more or less told him to be careful with the family jewels. Gran would highly approve. "Thanks very much, my Lady."

He moved on and she presented a very solemn Frodo with a delicate glass phial that emitted sparkling white light, telling him he was not least in her thoughts and that the phial would provide him with a light in dark places, when all others had gone out.

The Ring-bearer smiled at her and bowed his thanks, gentlehobbit that he was.

Gran would highly approve of him too, no doubt.

Finally, Molly stopped before their hostess.

"And you, daughter of Prewett, who has lost so much, but would still take up arms to protect another's child. Truly you are a mother of many, and I gift you not once, but twice. From this day forth, you shall be known as Naneth o Meleth Bronduai - that is Mother of Enduring Love, in your tongue. For your second gift, I ask that you accept this small token."

Molly - who was holding back tears of emotion - took the gift offered to her and Neville peered over Frodo's head to get a look. It was a silver bowl inscribed with elvish runes, shot through with forest green and sky blue swirls and the rim was decorated in gold leaf. The bowl was easily wide enough for a generous serving of Gran's beloved porridge and he frowned in puzzlement. How was that going to help the her on the quest? Was Molly supposed to use it to clobber the Enemy on the head if they got too close? Not that he would put it past her, of course...

"This will bring you closer to that which you desire. But take heed: to lose yourself in its wonders may prove folly to the vibrant beat of your existence. Use it well, but use it sparingly."

"I don't quite understand dear," said the rather perplexed witch. "It's very beautiful, and really, you shouldn't have gone to so much trouble just for me, but, well - what is it for?"

Galadriel smiled mysteriously. "You will know what to do with it when the time comes, mortal Witch."

With that, Celeborn rose and offered his wife his arm, and they led the renewed Fellowship back to the pier to board their vessels. Soon, all three boats were full of the hope of the West and the shore bound elves thrust the boats further into the water with their long, grey poles.

All eyes turned to watch the solitary form of their gracious hostess slipping slowly from sight as the Silverlode passed into the currents of the Great River. The boats picked up speed as they headed south down the river and Neville could just make out Galadriel raising her arm in farewell and hear her sweet voice singing them on their way.

He was quite sad to be leaving the lands of Lothlórien, for there, he and Molly had made their first, true friendships of the quest, and the beautiful elven haven would always be associated with feelings of glowing peace and contentment in his memory.

Suddenly, the river swept round a bend, the banks rising up on either side and Lothlórien was gone from view forever. Neville was sad to see it vanish.

Not as sad as Gimli, though. The gruff dwarf's eyes were leaking like a cracked pipe for his lost love and he spent the next five minutes bemoaning his misfortune to any within earshot. The teenager sympathised with him, patting his arm (cautiously) in a comradely fashion, but wondered if Celeborn wasn't secretly delighted to see the back of the mini-Casanova, given how quickly his wife had bestowed not one, but three strands of her precious hair to him.

Actually, now that he thought about it, Manwë must have been glad to see the back of him too, what with the way he'd been practically salivating at the feet of his wife. Suddenly, the teenager felt ashamed of his behaviour. He'd been lusting after a married woman for almost a week now with little thought to how intolerable his obvious affection must be to the lady's spouse.

Not that the Vala need worry about him making a move on her, he would never do such a thing (even if he stood a chance of success, which - having met several dozen sickeningly attractive specimens of masculinity in Middle Earth already - he knew was laughable).

Determining not to dwell on thoughts of the beautiful deity any longer and occupy himself only with matters of import to the quest, the teenager took a paddle and helped his new friends steer the boat forward into adventures unknown.

Anyway, maybe the mysterious, sword-wielding blonde from the elephant vision was single...