[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Alli had absolutely no inclination to be here. She never asked for this. She didn't want the dreams, the drama, or even, any more, the job. She'd had a nice, if toasty, job winging balrogs and yeah, it wasn't perfect, and yeah, she had to deal with admins all the time, and not all of the balrogs were as friendly as Roggie, but seriously, she was always warm, she could pay her phone bill when it came, not just in terms of 'please, please pay it for me and I'll owe you, I don't get paid for another two weeks and Eru, I only have sixty minutes left this billing cycle and that doesn't end for another month and seriously, this poor stude-- I mean spymaster thing really isn't working for me,' but in terms of "Oh, a bill, okay, I'll write a check." She was warm, had steady pay, had a few good friends, could wear leather every single day without it being a fashion statement, AND she could say anything without compromising national security.

But noooooo, she had to get chosen for that confounded Escape from Mordor plot, and nooooo, she just had to end up falling in lov-- I mean getting a bit of a crush on some stupid guy that ended up being a King somewhere, and she just had to end up taking a job for a friend that got her in all kinds of trouble, angered wizards, t'd off werewolves, and had her curled up in a cemetery with bills to pay, no tea, people chasing her, and a lot of politicians in her every day life.

Last time she did a favor for a friend, she thought, looking around, listening to strategically ominous howling, and looked up at the moon.

Full.

"Eru!" she shouted to the moon. Aimè hurried to hush her, looking toward the are-you-sure-they-aren't-hyenas? howls, pulling her into a tomb so at least they'd have solid stone at their backs when the battle came. Because she was a Seer and he was a Hunter, or was he a Ranger? But either way werewolves didn't like them, and were guaranteed to seek for them at night, and it was night, and thunder boomed across the cloudless sky.

"Illamatar!" she cried. "Speak to me, you miserable creature!"

"Alli," he panicked, "Blasphemy..."

She turned on him. "Aimè, I DO NOT HIDE. I don't hide. And I can't see a thing in here."

He couldn't tell if she was being literal. It was pitch black spotted with darker shadows of even pitch blacker in the tomb, and he had a disconcerting idea that he was sitting on something dead.

"Illamatar, now would be a good time for guidance, what with the Fate of Mordor resting on my shoulders." She could only hope the war she simply Knew was brewing could be forestalled, just like in a story. Except, she reflected, this isn't a story. "Illamatar, you know THERE HAS TO BE A WAR because OTHERWISE LIFE IS TOO PREDICTABLE. You know that the ADVISORS have to somehow end up in this cemetery WITH ADVERSARIES ON ALL SIDES because this is real life and the climactic moments require a lot of UNHAPPY PEOPLE with grudges and you know that you're going to have to, ILLAMATAR, STEP IN AND SAVE THE DAY."

There was no response.

Alli sat moodily in the tomb, thinking of her phone bill, thinking of a lot of people on their way to CERTAIN DOOM in the cemetery, thinking of how Mordor was falling to ruin, thinking of how annoying it was that Roggie and Mardil couldn't just get along, and thinking how now wouldn't quite be the right timing for Eru to respond, given that it was just in the point of the story where she was supposed to say, and did:

"Well, it's not like it can get any worse."