Weakening rays of sunlight still stretched themselves onto the dark streets of Bree, illuminating them enough for everything to be visible to my eyes, although I knew that this was soon not to be, as soon as night fell. The darkness hid far too many things for any foreign place to be safe, and by that time, I hoped that I�d be away from here. Even in the limited light, my rather active imagination was already twisting the queer shadows into shapes and images I did not wish to see, especially as I was quite alone at the time. Perhaps Father was right as always. I wasn�t all that ready to wander off by myself.
Bree was inhabited by both hobbits and Man, one of the few centers to boast this type of population, although I hardly slowed down long enough to read the swinging signs in front of the shops, much less study the many villagers hurrying about their own business. I shuttered as I realized that all of them seemed to be cloaked in darkness, and potential hostility. But they didn�t have any reason to chose me out of all of the others about . . . and they didn�t have any reason not to . . . Elendil tossed her head as though reassuring me, and I patted her softly, dismounting and tried to weave her between the thongs of people. Of the villagers I could actually see, their very unique facial features offered them as far from friendly and I didn�t think they�d appreciate it if I asked for directions. I took a deep breath, concentrating on not walking into anyone and not missing the inn.
Fortunately, the weather-worn Prancing Pony was very strategically located for its type of customers and I found it with ease, rather reluctantly parting with Elendil into the care of a stable hand as I tried to ignore the large wolf-like black dog laying rather protectively by the door. In the daytime, with more light, the inn with its two wide wings sweeping back into a hill would have looked quite homey, but compared to Rivendell, the Prancing Pony did not compare.
Unlike those in Bag End, this door required a little more push on my part, but in the end it did admit me into the dimly lit interior of the inn, into which sunlight no longer filtered. The heavy cloud of smoke from various sources hung over the large room and the smell of a greasy roast fought with the pungent wafts of tobacco. I glanced nervously about at the worn establishment, the boards beneath my feet worn until they were gray, the many roaring fires casting a cloak of unnatural warmth about the place, but the common room was far from empty and seemingly far from safe.
"What was Father thinking?" I muttered to myself as I walked up to what I assumed was the main counter, its top a deep brown, worn smooth with use. As I waited for the rather large and sparsely haired man behind the counter to finish with a column of sums, I realized that my heart was racing and my senses were heightened, from a fear I had never experienced. Beneath the many round wooden tables, a tabby cat crept over the hay spread across the floor, probably not looking for leftovers, but rats. I shuttered. I can do this.
"Oh!" The innkeeper suddenly looked up and gave me a smile which showed both crooked and missing teeth, "I must apologize for that . . . you�ll be requiring . . . ?"
"Butterbur, right?" He nodded and waited for my reply. It was an inn, I mused, but answered, "I was told to deliver a letter." My hand strayed away from the hilt of my blade which I had not even been aware I had been gripping, and shoved the envelope of parchment over the counter. "There."
"From . . . ?" Butterbur picked up the envelope and turned it over in his large hands, "You, Miss?"
"No." I faltered again for some reason, and thought I must be sounding like the greatest idiot the Prancing Pony had seen in a long time, "From Gandalf," The name sounded foreign to my ears for some reason, "Gandalf the Gray."
"Oh. Really?" He seemed to get suddenly suspicious, and turned the letter over again, examining it as though it were about to explode in his face, "Hmm . . . And you are . . . ?"
The question took me by surprise. Of course he would ask that, I reprimanded myself. There was no reason not to answer honestly, now was there? "His foster daughter, Emily."
"Ah," Butterbur�s eyes lit up as though recalling a fond memory, "I remember!" He chuckled to himself, "Last time I saw you, you were wee high," He motioned below the counter, and from what I remembered, I was not that little the last time I had come about to Bree, but decided not to correct him. "You�ll be wanting a room for the night? A warm meal and . . ."
"Actually," I turned and looked out the windows of smeared glass to see the last rays of the day, "I am in sort of a hurry. I just came in to deliver that letter."
"Times have changed." Butterbur frowned, "The roads are dangerous at night."
Probably not as dangerous as in here, I reckoned, "I�ll be fine. I was fine on the way here."
"The wizard was with you then." He answered, and I had to agree, "Not now."
"I can take care of myself." I found myself defending for the millionth time and supposed that my elven cut cloak did a pretty good job of disguising the blade at my side, "I won�t be alone. I came with Elendil."
"Your horse." Butterbur laughed, not unkindly, "You look tired."
"I am." I admitted finally, "I suppose you�re right." I looked about. One night never did anyone harm. "Maybe a warm bite to eat will be worth it all." He gave me a questioning look, but did not press that point any further.
"I�ll have your things brought up," He looked down at a register, "We seem to be filling up quick tonight." Running a large finger through a thick book, Butterbur looked up suddenly, looking about. There was no one behind me, but he motioned for me to come a little closer. "There�s a roast on, as soon as it�s done I�ll bring it up. No sense for you to try and come down here."
So he had noticed my discomfort. I grinned weakly in thanks. Was it that obvious? "I�ll be off in the morning."
"Yes, that would be for the best." Butterbur smiled again, "We wouldn�t want ol� Gandalf knocking down my inn and turning me into a lumpy green toadstool if anything were to happen to you on the road, eh?"
"Lumpy green toadstool?" I repeated, "He�s never turned anyone into a lumpy green toadstool."
"There�s a first time for everything." He clapped his hands, wiped his hands on his overly large white apron and called loudly, "Nob!" Almost instantly, a cheery looking hobbit appeared at my side, a wide grin on his face, reaching for me to hand over my bundle. Butterbur added, "Find her something nice and a horse outside."
"This way, please," Nob dropped something like a little bow and I found myself smiling idiotically, quite glad that someone seemed cheery in this place. Perhaps it was just misgivings. That had to be it.
I followed the hobbit up a flight of stairs and counted fifteen closed wooden doors before the hobbit pushed open a door, "I hope this will be satisfactory, it is a humble inn."
"It will be." I answered before I had a chance to look around, too tired to really care. Besides, I was leaving with the first light. "Thank you."
"Glad to be of help. I�ll be up in a bit with some warm washing water and . . ." Nob grinned, "I won�t trouble you any longer, and just ring if you need anything." He motioned to the rather large bell sitting on a wooden stand by the door, "Good night."
"Same to you." The hobbit scurried off and I closed the door softly behind him, glad of the warmth of an already roaring fire and of the privacy. I breathed a sigh of relief and set my bundle on the carefully made up four poster, and looked over the simple room cautiously.
A carved figurine of a prancing pony on the mantelpiece was the only decoration that caught my attention, and there wasn�t much room for anything else. The fireplace took up most of the far wall and the round table in the middle of the room took up the rest of it. A worn but colorful round rug was a welcome break from the gray flooring and I pulled out one of the two chairs and slumped into it, exhaustion of continuous riding finally catching up with me.
A soft knock on the door caused me to look up. Nob? Back already? Hobbits were quite efficient creatures, and I smiled in admiration. "Nob, you can just come in." I called, "It�s alright." There was no answer. I stood and began to walk softly across the room, "Nob?"
The heavy wooden door slid slowly open and instead of admitting the little hobbit, a dark and silent shadow slipped in, its flowing black cloak wrapped about it in a shroud of mystery. My heart flew up to my throat and drew my blade with a surprisingly steady hand, "Who are you?!"
The other simply gave a deep, roaring laugh and I found my mouth dry. Shadow . . . phantom . . . My mind and heart raced as one . . . "Ringwraith?!" I finally asked, "Nazgul?" But they only existed in the stories Father spun out of his head . . . stories, nothing more! Surely! "What do you want?! I . . ." I gulped and took a step backwards as it seemingly glided towards me, "But the Nine! They�re legend! They don�t exist!"
"The wizard has been filling your head with useless legends again, I see." He gave a low growl, "Calm down, Aranndil."
I gasped at my elven name, "Who are you?!"
"Sit." He snapped and glanced around the room, apparently at the candles I had not lit yet, "Now. Before you take out someone�s eye with that thing."
"If I was taking out eyes, it would be yours." I answered, but as he pulled out the chair across the table, I heeded the order and sat. "What is this about? Are you an elf? Man?"
"Just wanted to catch up a little with an old friend, that�s all." With a quick, deft motion, he drew back his hood, "You surely weren�t going to slice me into mincemeat, now were you?"
"Aragorn!" I gasped, staring into familiar dark eyes, sparkling with amusement, "What a pleasant surprise!"
"You handle a blade well." He shrugged, and heaved a sigh, "I suppose I have a bit of a rascally look to me now, don�t I?"
"Hmm . . ." I mumbled with embarrassment, but then suddenly stared at him, "How did you know I had arrived? Surely you didn�t overhear me talking with ol� Butterbur!"
"No, I didn�t." Aragorn gave me a little smile, "But is it every day an elven steed shows up in Bree?"
"I suppose not." Stifling a yawn, I resheathed my sword, "Why are you here?"
"Prancing Pony is a haunt of the Rangers. I thought you knew that." He looked about, "You did order some dinner didn�t you? I�m starved!" Our conversation grew silent and he studied the patterns of the table, "How is Arwen?"
"Fine." I offered, and added, "She misses you so much, she�s beginning to think you�re the knight on her chessboard."
"Why not the king?" He frowned, disapprovingly, "Very well, then. Anything unusual going on in Rivendell? Particular?"
"No, nothing I�ve noticed." I shuttered as he seemed to relax, "Everything�s normal. Except . . ." He tensed and I decided to keep Father�s hunch to myself. It probably wasn�t much of anything anyway. "Nothing."
"Where�s Gandalf?" Aragorn asked, suddenly looking quite tired, "You�re not here alone, now are you?"
"No, I�m not." I answered honestly, "You�re here too."
"That�s not what I meant." He replied tightly, "Where is he?"
"I don�t know. Really, I don�t." Shaking my head, he seemed to believe me and I glanced over his travel-stained cloak, "Ah! We ran into you on the way to the Shire!"
"I thought you recognized me then." Aragorn grinned, "Obviously not."
"Well, a few hours of the Shire for me," I mumbled, "I�m back to Rivendell again."
"And you seem distressed about that?" He lifted an eyebrow, "Are you?"
"He promised though. Minas Tirith." I sighed, "I actually want to go out there and do something!"
"You�ll get to do something soon enough." Aragorn answered simply, "You�re continuing on to Rivendell? By yourself? The wizard is actually letting you do that?!"
"He had something important to see to." Defensively, I returned, "I can take care of myself!"
"Ah," He laughed, "There are things in the darkness of the woods that even a blade can not protect you against, girl."
"I have been taking archery lessons in Rivendell," I tried again, "I just had to come to deliver a letter. Nothing more. I�m off in the morning."
"Oh." He sat back, as though offended, "Really."
"Yes, that�s about it." I nodded, "And to think I would have got a good night�s rest first."
"There is rest to be found in Rivendell." Aragorn sighed, "When I can get back there."
"Are you busy now?" I tried, "If you�re not, we could ride together." I grinned, "I�ll be glad of the company."
"Unfortunately, I can�t." He pulled a folded and sealed piece of worn parchment from his pocket, "You can get this to Arwen, right?"
"Why am I all of a sudden the errand runner?" I growled, pretending to be angry and slipped it into my cloak, "It�s about as good as in her hands."
"That�s it." Spreading his rather large hands across the table, Aragorn stared down at them, "Oh. And I suppose I�d best mention that around here, I�m known as Strider."
"Strider?" I laughed, "For whatever reason?"
"Go figure." He growled, "It isn�t very complimentary, now is it?"
"I suppose not . . ." I trailed off as a small knock sounded on the door, "Nob?"
"No, it�s Butterbur, Miss." The voice called from the other side of the door, "I�ve brought your dinner."
"Very good, come on in," I stood and the innkeeper pushed the door open, balancing the large tray of delicious smelling dinner in the other. Once he had accomplished that task, however, he stood, staring wide-eyed into the room, as though frozen. "What�s wrong?"
"I don�t think you should be associating with him," Butterbur began, his voice shaking slightly, "The wizard would not approve of . . ." He faltered, "That sort."
"I . . ." I began and Aragorn raised a hand to stop me.
"Fine." He almost hissed his answer as he turned to leave, and gave me a nod, "Later then, Aranndil." Before I could reply, Aragorn swept by the innkeeper and was gone as suddenly as he had came. I frowned, a deep sense of perhaps regret or want of his company settled on me. I heaved a sigh.
"What did he call you?" Butterbur scurried into the room, kicking the door softly closed behind him, and settled the large tray on the table, proceeding to light up the candles about the room. I didn�t answer. The innkeeper gave me a startled look, "He didn�t frighten you, now did he?"
"No . . ." I stuttered, "No, it was fine." I realized how stupid that sounded. "Nothing. Never mind."
"Fine?" He grinned kindly, and turned towards the door, "Nob will be up with the water shortly. Was there anything else?"
"I . . ." Mind flashing quickly I nodded, and reached into the leather pouch of elven gold I carried, and tossed him a heavy coin, "Yes, could you get . . . Strider a bit of something to eat? He seemed hungry." I faltered slightly at the name.
"Ah Miss," Butterbur smiled again, showing his crooked teeth, "You�re far too kind to that rascal."
"There�s nothing wrong with him." I answered evenly, and perhaps a bit threateningly, "And I have a name."
"Meant no offence, Miss, but maybe you�re a bit too soft for your own good." He grinned and nodded, "I�ll be going now."
"Yes." I turned away from him, "Goodnight."
"Same to you as well," The innkeeper wiped his hands on his apron again before departing. "Breakfast will be ready in the morning, along with a bit of something to take with you." The door slid closed again and I found myself alone.
"Soft. I�m soft?!" I growled to no one in particular and sat down, making quick work of the rather large dinner featuring everything from that roast Butterbur had discussed to a bit of fine wine, not the coarse ale served downstairs. "Just for being kind to an old family friend?"
I hated grumbling to myself almost as much as rats, but there wasn�t anyone to talk to. There would have been Aragorn if Butterbur hadn�t sent him away . . . for whatever reason . . . I fingered the copper bracelet at my wrist and stared at the serving platter which was now empty of any type of food. I had no idea I had been that hungry. At least Elendil was comfortable for the night, and not cramped into some little hobbit-pony stable. Something scurrying across the floorboards caught my attention and to my ultimate disgust, a large gray rat stared back at me with little black beady eyes, teeth snapping. I moaned softly, for me, the morning could not possibly come soon enough.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A soft tapping on glass awoken me a few hours before dawn and I sat up in the rather uncomfortable bed, looking about. The ewer and basin Nob had finally brought up last night were untouched, but at my window, what seemed to be a small falcon was tapping its beak against the glass. Oh, what did it want? The floor was freezing cold and my bare feet didn�t like it one bit as I walked over to the window, and the golden bird nodded its head at me.
"Oh, good . . ." I faltered slightly in my greeting as I pushed open the panes of glass, "Morning, I suppose."
With only a soft click of the beak to indicate that it understood, the falcon extended a leg to which a small cylindrical scrap of parchment was tied and I didn�t need to look at the message before I knew whom it was from. I stroked the falcon under the beak a little along the neck where birds seemed to like it, and seemed to be waiting to see if I would give it reply to take back.
"In a moment," I lit a candle on the round table and sat down to read, shivering in my linen shift, "Seems important, eh?"
The bird clicked its beak again, but moved within the room, perching on the back of the other chair and paid close attention as I unrolled the piece of parchment, fingers stiff from the cold. The message was as brief as could be, and told me nothing that I did not know. In his familiar elegant script, Father had written; I have left the Shire. Do not venture back. It is unsafe. Continue on to Rivendell. Caution would be advised in the forests. Will contact you again as soon as possible.
It took me longer than I had expected to respond as the ink in my bottle had seemingly decided to slightly freeze and I had to melt it by holding the bottle over the candle and managed to slightly burn my fingers in the process. Tearing a strip of parchment from my journal, I paused before replying. Should I even mention Aragorn? Or Frodo�s confusion? What about Bilbo�s Ring? No, nothing that could worry him. Making great time. Will see Rivendell in a few more days. Message delivered to Butterbur. What else to write? The falcon seemed to be impatient, so I hurriedly finished with, Having a great trip, hoping you are having the same.
What a stupid way to end a letter. Obviously he wasn�t having a great time, but it was the thought that counted. The falcon hopped about on a leg as I tied my message on, and patted it again. The silence of the night was broken by a pair of ravens fluttering outside the window, cawing madly. I had barely managed to shut the window behind the bird when another tapping sound caught my attention. Was it just traveling alone that heightened your senses? This time, it was the door. A slight, soft tapping, perhaps not meant to catch my attention. But then who visited at this time of morning . . . ?
Driven more by instinct than thought, I quickly slipped by bow off the mantelpiece and strung it, all the while trying to remember where I had tossed my quiver so difficult to locate in the dark. Ah, if only I had better vision. By the time I had fitted an arrow to the string, the tapping was growing louder, and I raised my weapon, drawing back, ready to smack a nice stick in whomever was vandalizing my door in the middle of the night. The tapping grew to a knock.
"Come in," I hissed softly, the light brown fletchlings brushing against my ear, and realized that it was hardly any way to receive a guest. Guest?! At this time of night? With the softest creak, the heavy door slid open as I loosened and a quick move on the other�s part caused my arrow to slice into the door, and I fitted another, cursing my luck.
"Whoa!" Aragorn! Again! I muttered another oath under my breath as I lowered my bow, breathing a sigh of relief, "What are you so afraid of?" He hissed angrily, closing the door softly behind him, "You nearly took out my eye!"
"Well, what are you doing here?!" I demanded, rubbing my arm where the bowstring had slapped painfully against flesh, "At this time of night?!" Butterbur would not have approved. "Surely it could have waited for a few more hours and morning!"
"It really couldn�t wait. You need to leave. Now." Had I heard this before? Aragorn looked about quickly, and gave me an accusing look as he snuffed out my candle, "Ever heard of caution?!"
"It�s just a candle!" I protested, "What harm could it do?!"
"Quite a bit." He growled, as I unstrung my bow, "Might as well take the arrow out of the door."
"Might as well," I agreed, "Where am I going at this time of night?"
"You find this amusing, don�t you?" Aragorn snapped, furious, "I can feel it. There is to be trouble in the Shire, and it will lead here. I want you in Rivendell at that time."
"Three hours isn�t going to do me any good!" I protested, "What about the morning?"
"No, I want your departure to remain as quiet as possible." He frowned, and glanced out the window, suddenly his eyes widening, "What just happened?!"
"Nothing!" I gasped at the fury in his voice, "What do you mean?!"
"Some kind of thing," He glared, "By air?"
"Yes," I answered quickly, "A letter by golden falcon from Father."
"How could he be so careless?! A golden falcon! Might as well sent the King of the Eagles!" Aragorn snapped and turned back to me, his eyes flashing, "He knows now!"
"He knows what?! Who?!" I sputtered, confused, "What�s going on?!"
"The ravens." He answered, softly and then almost yelled, "What are you doing, standing there?!"
"What am I supposed to be doing?!" I protested, thinking I�ve forgotten something, "I�ve already unstrung my bow!" He did not respond and stared at me, mouth agape, and seemingly pale. "Is something the matter? You look almost . . ." I faltered, "If I may say so, frightened. What of?"
"Not of something," Aragorn whispered in reply, "But of what might happen."
"Oh." I replied dumbly, "That sounds pretty bad, then."
"I�ll ride with you as far as I can." Aragorn quickly strode across the room, "I�ll have your horse ready in five minutes. Meet me in the courtyard then if not sooner." And he was gone, leaving me staring after him, my mouth open in shock.
"Who do you think you are?!" I snarled into the darkness, "Coming up here in the middle of the night and telling me that I have to leave?!" But something about the seriousness in his voice urged me not to question but mechanically dressed and gathered up my things, the cold temperature of the room only adding to my numbness. Bow and quiver across my back and blade at my side, I was about to leave when I turned back to place a small pile of heavy gold coins on the table, paying for my night�s stay.
As I ran into Aragorn in the dark courtyard, I realized that for the first time in my life, I was actually early for a meeting. But there was no time to celebrate that fact as he had already mounted his black stallion and growled, "We ride hard until dawn."
"And then what?" I asked, digging my heels softly into Elendil�s flanks to urge her to keep up with Aragorn�s mount, "Just to ride?! And why all of a sudden you�re coming with me?!"
"I . . . I don�t know . . . I just don�t know!" He faltered, turned and almost gave me an appraising look, "Only Rivendell would be safe. Temporarily."
"From what?!" I protested, "I want to know!"
"You want to know?!" Aragorn laughed loudly, "Gandalf made a very serious, but slight miscalculation by sending you that falcon. You�ve meddled in a conflict between wizards, Aranndil, and once one does that, there is nothing else in one�s path aside from danger. Especially one, like you."
"Like me?" I frowned, "What do you mean like me?!"
"You�ll find out." He answered grimly, "All too soon."