This is a much more serious chapter, but it had to be done sooner or later. I'm working on another one (and it's turning out pretty long), but I've gotten myself hung up on certain particulars and haven't worked on it in a week or two. This semester I'm taking more credit hours than I've ever done before, too, so I'm a little frazzled.

The day after the room-cleaning fiasco, Gandalf, Aragorn and Legolas cornered Sarah in the mudroom as she was scooping out the litterbox. She knew something was up when Gandalf didn't remark on the ingenuity of clumping litter and Legolas didn't even comment on the smell. The old Wizard gave her a small smile, but it disappeared quickly, and the faces of the other two remained grim.

Uh oh. Legolas usually kept a straight face, true, but it couldn't normally be described as grim. And Aragorn was usually ready with that quick little half-smile of his. Something was wrong. Something had happened to make them revert to the tense, wary men who had first turned up on her lawn.

Sarah straightened up and set down the bag and the scooper, dusting her hands. She eyed them warily. "What's wrong? What happened?" she asked in what she hoped was a calm, nonchalant voice. The Man and Elf glanced at Gandalf, who stepped forward a little.

"Miss Sarah," he began, kindly enough, yet something in his voice gave her the impression that this was extremely serious. "Yesterday, when Legolas was cleaning your room—"

Sarah shot the Elf a filthy glance. He merely gazed at her impassively.

"—he found something." Gandalf ignored Sarah's look. "Something that we would all very much like an explanation of."

Sarah's mouth went dry. What on earth could he have found in her room to merit this reaction? Her panic level went through the roof as she quickly went through a mental catalogue of all the horribly embarrassing things Legolas could possibly have unearthed. Gandalf began to produce something from the depths of his robe, and her dread tripled, expecting to see the worst.

He held it out to her. It was a book. A very thick book. Sarah let out a breath of relief and began to relax, until she glanced at the title. Then she began to sweat profusely.

The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien.

Oh.

Oh boy.

"Did you…you haven't…?" she gasped weakly, gesturing to the book. Gandalf caught her meaning. "Read it? No, only the first few pages. Enough to realize what it was." The girl nodded, visibly relieved at this.

"Am I correct, Miss Sarah, in assuming that this book tells our story? That it is the reason you recognized our names, and were so well informed as to our hair colors, not to mention our purpose and path?" Sarah nodded again, seemingly speechless at this development. Her eyes kept flicking back and forth from Gandalf to Aragorn to Legolas and back again, looking like a trapped rabbit faced with three ravenous foxes.

The three men correctly guessed the reason for her fear simultaneously. Aragorn stepped forward and placed his hand on the book. "We would not read the ending, my lady," he said softly, "nor would we have you tell us. We have no need nor desire for specifics. We ask that you tell us one thing, and one thing only." The Ranger glanced at the others, who nodded. "Please, let us know this: does the Dark Lord fall?"

Sarah felt close to tears now. How dare they ask her this?! One thing only, indeed—only the most important thing in the whole book! Now she was stuck on the spot, thoughts and emotions warring in her chest. She wanted to tell them, if only to get out of this horribly uncomfortable situation, but also to reassure them; they all looked so noble, so earnest, so tired, standing there watching her expectantly.

But what if telling them anything, even that much, changes it? argued a little voice in her head. What if they act differently later on because they know the outcome?

Oh, like it's not already changed?! she countered herself. I think the Fellowship getting swept into 21st century America sufficiently changes the story! Who's to say they'll even get back?

But what if? What if? What if?

The three men stood, calmly watching the girl's internal struggle. They were sympathetic, because they could near enough guess what was going through her head, but this was something they must know.

Why did they ask me this?! I wish this wasn't happening to me! Sarah screamed to herself, squeezing her eyes shut. Because that totally helps when making impossible decisions.

Actually, it does, at least this time. Out of the blue, Ian McKellen's soothing baritone rumbled through the back of her mind. "So do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All you have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to you."

Not completely applicable to this situation, sure. But Movie-Gandalf's words gave her the strength to face down Real-Gandalf. Sarah opened her eyes. (Yup, the problem was still there.)

"I won't tell you," she said, her voice surprisingly even. "I can't be sure it won't change your decisions going forward, once you go back." She kept herself from adding if you go back at all. "It could change everything.

"I know what you're going to say," she continued, holding up her hand as Legolas opened his mouth. "Everything already HAS changed. But I still don't know. I have no way of knowing how this information could affect the story. I'm sorry, but I can't tell you." Sarah gathered her courage, took the book from Gandalf, and pushed past the three very stern-looking men into the hallway. She supposed she would have to take the book to Goodwill or something—shame, as it was one of those all-in-one editions and was rather pricey. Then she remembered that she had introduced Gandalf to the Internet.

Crap. I ought to give them something, I guess.

Sarah turned back around to face them, still standing in her mudroom, watching her. With the book clutched to her chest, she shuffled her feet and cleared her throat, trying to think of the right thing to say. "Just…" she trailed off, then tried again. "Just…maybe think about…think about what makes stories worth telling," she muttered to the wall above their heads. "Why we would still be reading it." She found her eyes being drawn to Gandalf's, and his began to twinkle. She thought of Sam's speech about the stories that stay with you, stories of standing bravely against the darkness and fighting for the good, and her heart swelled a little.

She looked them all in the eye at last, and gave them a crooked smile. "Just think about it," she repeated, and with that she walked away.

The three eldest members of the Fellowship looked at each other, faces reflecting their racing thoughts.

Gandalf began to smile. "Why, indeed…"

Now, some of you might think, "They would never ask whether or not they won!" Believe me, I spent a good amount of time pondering this, writing and rewriting this chapter. But I decided, in the end, to go the same route that boz4pm did in "Don't Panic!" (an incredible fic, by the way, totally recommend) and have them simply ask whether or not Sauron fell, not for any specifics.