Disclaimer: Only Rynna Elenduarg is mine. Everybody else belongs to His Greatness J.R.R. Tolkien.
I wrote this when I was absolutely bored out of my mind, so it will not be the world's most interesting story. I had writer's block in the rest. Anyway, this story won't be terribly grand to those of you who, like me, can recite the whole movie from beginning to end (yes, I have done this, and I have a witness too if you don't believe me), but hey, doesn't matter so much. Rynna Elenduarg has two other stories written about her, both unpublished, and if enough people want to hear them, I might publish them.
This is a version of The Fellowship of the Ring, according to the movie (cuz it'd take too long to do the book and I don't have the book memorized, but I've got the movie down completely), with one difference: We have TEN members for the Fellowship, and #10 is...a girl! And she's of a new race that I made up: the shapeshifters. If this rubs your strictly Tolkien-esque fur the wrong way, go read another story. Doesn't matter to me. This story starts in Bree, after Merry and Pippin have done their pint-bit.
The race of Shapeshifters live where they choose. They are mostly nomadic, but have a ruler who dwells within the forest of Ayolára. Sometimes this ruler is a king, sometimes a queen—the Shapeshifters do not care. Their society deems that men and women are equal, and they fight or rule or live as such. They are great friends of the Elves, all races, and sometimes interbreed with the Fair Folk. They are as immortal as the Elves, but less aloof.
"Those two have done nothin' but stare at you since we arrived."
Frodo glanced cautiously in the direction Sam was pointing. A rugged looking man, wrapped in a dark green cloak, was sitting in the corner smoking. Across from him was another cloaked figure, this one female. She wasn't smoking, not was she looking at her table companion. Her piercing silver eyes were focusing on Frodo.
The halfling looked away and stopped Barliman as the plump man passed. "'Scuse me. That pair in the corner—who are they?"
Barliman looked, and an expression of fear crossed his face. "He's one o' them Rangers. Dangerous folk they are, wanderin' the Wild. What 'is right name is, I've never heard, but round 'ere, he's known as Strider. An' her—she walked in here yesterday, an' he greeted her like an old friend. I heard him call her Rynna."
"Strider," Frodo murmured, absent-mindedly turning the Ring over and over in his fingers. It seemed to call to him, promising him everything he could ever want. "Baggins..." Time slowed. "Baggins..." Frodo became completely unaware of his surroundings. "Baggins..." All he had to do was slip on the Ring... "Baggins!"
"Baggins?" That voice was real, and it was Pippin's. What was he doing? "Sure I know a Baggins! He's right over there! Frodo Baggins. He's my second cousin, once removed on his mother's side, and my fourth cousin three times removed—"
Frodo jumped up from the table and ran to his friend, who had obviously consumed one too many pints. "Pippin!"
"Steady on!" the other hobbit cried as Frodo pulled his arm.
Frodo fell heavily to the ground. The Ring, still in his hand, flew upwards. He reached out his hand to catch it—
—and it fell onto his outstretched finger.
They could sense it, so near, and yet so far, in the grasp of the halfling. They knew—
Ah! There it was! The foolish creature was wearing it!
The Riders spun their mounts around and raced for Bree.
The room blurred around Frodo. He stood shakily. There was something behind him. He turned around. It was a huge, flaming eye!
"You cannot hide," a deep, grating voice said. "I see you!"
Frodo raised his arms in a futile attempt to defend himself. The voice continued to speak in a language he didn't recognize. Frantically, he tugged at the Ring. As it came off his finger, the voice stopped, the Eye disappeared, and the room came back into focus. Frodo looked around hastily, trying to make sure no one had noticed. Everything seemed to be normal. He sighed with relief.
A hand grasped his shoulder.
Frodo looked up into Strider's face. "You draw far too much attention to yourself," the Ranger hissed. "Mr. Underhill."
With Rynna following soundlessly, Strider hauled Frodo up the stairs and shoved him into an empty room. "What do you want?" the hobbit asked frantically.
Rynna chuckled and leaned against the wall. She unfastened her broach and slung her cloak across a chair. Her hair was long and black, constrained in a thick braid.
"There'll be no more caution from you; that is no trinket you carry," Strider informed him, stalking across the room to extinguish the candles.
"I carry nothing," Frodo protested in a last-ditch attempt to conceal the Ring.
Rynna chuckled again, this time louder. "Indeed."
"I can avoid being seen when I wish, and Rynna even better than I," Strider snapped, throwing his hood back, "but to disappear entirely—that is a rare gift."
Frodo's eyes darted from Rynna to Strider and back. "Who are you?"
"Are you frightened?" Rynna asked.
"Yes."
Strider smirked humorlessly. "Not nearly frightened enough. We know what hunts you."
Rynna nodded sharply. "Only too well."
Strider took two long steps towards Frodo.
The door burst open suddenly. Strider and Rynna spun around, swords drawn and ready. Merry, Pippin, and Sam stood on the threshold, each looking terrified, but prepared to fight the two obviously experienced warriors. "Let him go!" cried Sam. "Or I'll have you, Longshanks!"
"Of course I don't matter at all," Rynna teased, sheathing her sword fluidly.
Strider smiled faintly. "You have a stout heart, little hobbit." He, too, put his weapon away. "But that will not save you. You can no longer afford to wait for the wizard, Frodo. They're coming."
Rynna's head shot up. "No," she said clearly.
They all turned and looked at her. "What?" Pippin said confusedly.
"Shapeshifter's gift," Strider explained. "What is it, Rynna?"
"They're not coming," she repeated, turning her head slowly to look out the window. "They're here."
The Riders pounded through the gate, down the streets, toward where they knew the halfling was. They would get him, oh, they would get him, and all his friends...
The raced into the inn, into the hobbits' room. Four wraiths stood before four beds, swords raised. They plunged the blades down, again and again, then reached out to find the Ring among one halfling's bloodied body.
And they found feathers.
Shrieks of rage split the air.
Merry, Pippin, and Sam sat up, wide awake, to find Frodo staring at Strider and Rynna. The Ranger sat in a chair, holding his sword loosely as he peered out the window. At first, none of them could see Rynna, but Sam noticed the big black wolf lying beside the fire. Rynna turned her yellow gaze to him and shifted back to human shape.
"What are they?" Frodo asked.
Strider turned and looked at him. Another scream came form across the courtyard. "They were once men. Great kings of men."
"Long ago," Rynna put in.
"Then Sauron the Deceiver gave to them nine Rings of Power. Blinded by their greed, they took them without question, one by one falling to darkness. Now they are slaves to his will."
"They are the Nazgûl," Rynna said, taking over. "Ringwraiths, neither living nor dead. At all times, they feel the presence of the Ring, drawn to the power of the One. They will never stop hunting you, not until you are dead, or the Ring is no longer in your possession."