This is my first ever fanfiction so it may not be great at first, as I'm still getting used to how everything works...
Bear with me!
It was raining by the time the hobbits reached Bree. They stopped on the edge of the village, anxiously looking both ways in fear of seeing the black riders once again. When he was certain that the coast was clear, Frodo led his friends hurriedly across the road, knocking on the gate. A grate slid back, revealing a cloaked elderly man who squinted at them through the rain.
"Hobbits," he said, observing them with wary eyes, "Four hobbits. What business do you have in Bree?"
"We wish to stay at the inn," Frodo replied, "Our business is our own."
"Alright, young sir, I meant no offence," said the gatekeeper, opening the gates, "It's my job to ask questions after nightfall. There's talk of strange folk about."
The four hobbits slowly ambled down the streets, feeling slightly intimidated. Everyone they passed gave them strange, and at times, threatening, looks. Eventually the inn came into sight, reading 'The Prancing Pony.' Frodo breathed a sigh of relief. Gandalf would be here.
The Inside the inn was warm and crowded. The smell of woodsmoke and ale filled the air, along with the drunken chatter of the men around the bar. Frodo slowly walked up to the bar that towered above him and his friends.
"Excuse me."
The barman's head appeared over the bar, and he observed them with kindly eyes.
"Hello, young masters," he said, smiling at them,"If it's accommodation you're looking for, we have some nice, hobbit-sized rooms available. Always happy to cater for little folk, Mr..."
"Underhill," Frodo finished, "My name is Underhill." Gandalf had told him that the name Baggins was no longer safe.
"Underhill..." the barman repeated, nodding thoughtfully.
"We're friends of Gandalf the Grey," Frodo explained, "Can you tell him we've arrived?" He watched as the barman pondered at the name.
"Gandalf? Gandalf...oh, I know! Elderly fellow...big grey beard, pointy hat?" Frodo nodded, smiling in relief.
"I haven't seen him in six months."
The smile from Frodo's face vanished. He turned to his companions, whose faces showed equal worry.
"What do we do now?" asked Sam.
A few moments later, Frodo, Sam and Pippin were sat around a table, clutching mugs of ale uneasily. They were unused to this place, the noises and the crowds. Away from the familiarities of the Shire, the hobbits suddenly felt very small indeed.
Sam gave a sigh, worry evident on his face.
"He'll be here, Sam," Frodo told his friend reassuringly, "He'll come." They sat in silence, until it was broken by Merry's return from the bar. He slid onto the bench beside Pippin, clutching an incredibly tall flagon of ale, and looking extremely pleased with himself.
"What's that?" asked Pippin, staring at the flagon in awe.
"This, my friend, is a pint," replied Merry smugly.
"It comes in pints?" Pippin said, sounding amazed, "I'm getting one." He clambered up from the bench, and dashed towards the bar.
"You've had a whole half already!" Sam called after him, but to no answer.
Frodo stared at the table, deep in thought. Sam nudged his arm, and pointed across the room.
"That fella's done nothing but stare at you since we arrived," he muttered. Frodo's gaze drifted up to where Sam was pointing. In the corner sat a figure, smoking a pipe. He had the cloak of his hood drawn up, covering his face in shadow, but even from here, Frodo could feel the intensity of his stare.
"Excuse me," the hobbit said, catching the barman's arm as he walked past.
"That man in the corner - who is he?" The barman looked towards the stranger and his face darkened.
"He's one of them rangers," he murmured in a low voice, "Dangerous folk they are, wandering the wilderness. What his real name is, I've never heard but round here, he's known as Strider."
"Strider..." Frodo repeated thoughtfully, as Sam eyed the man warily. The ranger's pipe glowed, lighting up his eyes for a brief moment.
The door to the inn opened suddenly, and the ranger's gaze flickered away from Frodo. Another cloaked figure had entered the inn. They pushed back their hood, revealing the face of a young woman. Dark auburn curls lay plastered to her face, and her eyes were as green as forest moss. She observed the bar with watchful eyes, her gaze resting ever so slightly on the ranger. Then she swept over to the bar.
Strider watched all this without movement. He had been waiting for her to arrive for some time now, and was glad that she had. From his position in the corner, he observed her at the bar. Her auburn hair had come loose from her cloak and hung down to her waist in bedraggled waves. She was dressed in a dark tunic over leggings and boots, all of which were worn and slightly faded - suggesting that she had been on the road for a long time. At the moment she was surrounded by a group of drunken men, who were firing endless comments at her, which she ignored completely. One of the men tried to slip his arm around her waist. Strider didn't see what happened, but the next thing he knew, the man was on the floor, bleeding from his nose. He smiled inwardly to himself.
'Just the same as ever...' he thought. Suddenly he heard a voice ringing out from the bar.
"Baggins? Sure, I know a Baggins! He's over there, Frodo Baggins!" What was that hobbit doing? Surely Gandalf told him to no longer use that name, it wasn't safe. Obviously his friend didn't know that. The hobbit Strider knew to be Frodo went running up to his friend at the bar, and tried to pull him away. Suddenly he slipped backwards. Strider caught a glint of gold go flying upwards. He sat bolt upright, every nerve tingling. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the girl from the bar on her feet, staring intensely at the scene before her. She caught Strider's eyes, and a look of understanding passed between them before her eyes flickered to the hobbit once again. Frodo had his arm stretched out as if he were desperate to catch something. Strider saw the flash of gold once again, and before he could react, the hobbit vanished in front of him.
There was a gasp of amazement from the crowd of people around him. Strider was on his feet in a flash, turning to look at the girl. She stared back, eyes wide, and nodded. Strider knew that he needed to get Frodo away from here. He saw the girl hurry from the room, up a flight of stairs. Just as suddenly as he had vanished, Frodo reappeared, looking both exhausted and relieved.
Before the hobbit could do anything, Frodo felt somebody grab him and haul him out of the room. Without looking, he instantly knew it was the ranger.
"You draw far too much attention to yourself, Mr Underhill," hissed a voice in his ear. Frodo was shoved into a room, as the ranger followed, shutting the door behind them.
"What do you want?" Frodo asked, sounding braver than he felt.
"A little more caution from you, that is no trinket you carry," replied the ranger. Frodo felt his blood run cold. He knew about the Ring...
"I carry nothing," said the young hobbit.
The man known as Strider swept towards the window, extinguishing the candles there.
"Indeed? I can avoid being seen if I wish," he said, "But to disappear entirely, that is a rare gift." He pushed back his hood, so that the hobbit could see his face for the first time. He had eyes as grey as storm clouds and shaggy dark hair that hung in a tangled mess. Dark stubble lay across his handsome face, and there was a wild look in eyes.
"Who are you?" demanded Frodo.
"Are you frightened?" Strider asked in a mocking tone. Something about the ranger made Frodo answer truthfully.
"Yes."
"Not nearly frightened enough. I know what hunts you." There was movement in the corner, as the girl from the bar stepped out of the shadows.
"Aragorn," she said, addressing the ranger, "We do not have much time."
"I know," said the ranger. He turned back to Frodo and was about to speak again, when suddenly the door burst open. Strider whirled around, drawing a long silver sword that Frodo had not noticed before. Standing in the doorway were Merry, Pippin and Sam, their fists raised.
"Let him go!" Sam yelled, "Or I'll have you, Longshanks!"
Strider sighed and lowered his sword.
"You've a stout heart, little hobbit. But that will not save you."
"Who are you two?" Frodo asked. The girl stepped forwards.
"We are friends of Gandalf the Grey. You can trust us, Frodo. We know what you carry and we are here to protect you. I'm afraid you can no longer wait for the wizard. They are coming."
That night, Strider set up a diversion to mask the Wraiths from the hobbits' trail. While he was gone, the girl stayed with the hobbits, looking out the window with keen eyes.
"What is your name?" Pippin asked her. She looked up through her waves of auburn hair.
"My name is Elwyn," she said, "And you must be Peregrin Took." The young hobbit nodded.
"Gandalf mentioned you," said Elwyn, "And your friend, Merry. He said to keep a sharp eye on you two."
Merry and Pippin laughed.
"So, how long have you known Gandalf?" Frodo asked, "He's never mentioned you or Strider before." Elwyn gave a half smile.
"That is because we prefer not to be mentioned. But the two of us have known Gandalf for a very long time, though I have known him far longer than Strider has."
"How much longer?" Pippin asked as curious as ever. Elwyn shrugged.
"Oh, about fifty years."
"What?" Merry gasped, "How old are you?" Elwyn raised an eyebrow, smirking.
"That is hardly an appropriate question," she said. She brushed a wave of hair behind her ear, and the hobbits gasped. Her ears were pointed at the tips, revealing what she truly was.
"You're an Elf," Sam said, his voice full of wonder. He has always longed to see the Elves. Elwyn turned to him, a slight smile on her lips.
"Yes, Master Gamgee, I am."
"I thought all the Elves were sailing to the Undying Lands."
"Indeed they are."
"Do you not want to go?" Pippin asked. A hint of sadness flickered briefly across the elleth's face.
"Not yet," she said, "I am still needed. I will stay for as long as I have to and when this world no longer has need of me, then and only then, will I leave."
She gestured to the four sleeping mats that she had laid out on the floor.
"I suggest you get some rest," she told the hobbits, "You're going to need it."
"What about you?" asked Frodo.
"I do not sleep," said Elwyn, "As it is for all Elves. I'll keep watch until Strider returns. Do not fear, young hobbits. You are safe with me." She unpinned her cloak from around her shoulders, draping it across a chair by the window. Frodo saw that she had two silver, curved blades strapped across her back, each one as long as her arm. He still wasn't entirely sure if he could trust her, or the ranger. But then again, what choice did he have?