Meeting by Twilight
Branwen blinked in the sudden daylight. Where she had come from, the light was more subdued, as her master preferred it. The shimmer of a portal closing silently behind her disturbed the air for a moment. She had emerged in a stand of trees; not far beyond was a well-traveled road, rutted from a recent rain. Settling her pack more comfortably and loosening the short swords girt at her hips, she headed for the road.
As she walked, Branwen noted that the daylight was fading toward twilight; it had seemed so much brighter compared to her master's domain that she had missed that detail.
Away up the road, she heard the distant sound of a horse's hooves, growing ever closer. Hands on the hilts, she stood waiting. There was often a confederate of her master, knowingly or unknowingly, at her arrival point to greet her. The figure that approached, however, was not expected.
A ghost-like man riding a black horse advanced toward her. He slowed his horse to a walk, examining her. Then he hissed, drew his sword, and spurred his horse into a gallop, barreling toward the lone woman.
Of all the ridiculous luck, Branwen thought grimly. Swords were no use against Nazgûl. Dodging the Rider's first attack, she rolled to the side and came up in a battle stance. A word seemed to whisper in her mind, and she extended her hands in front of her. A ball of crackling energy formed between them and shot toward the Rider as he wheeled his horse for another charge.
The spell rammed into the Nazgûl with the force of a wrecking ball; he flew backwards off his horse. Spooked, the beast reared up and ran off into the trees.
"Tell your master I have come," Branwen snarled, readying another blast though the first one weakened her. The Nazgûl scuttled off the road and disappeared in the same direction his horse had run.
Suddenly, from out of the trees emerged three small young men, staring at her in awe.
"Hello," Branwen said, approaching them. "The roads are not as safe as they used to be, are they?"
"No, they are not, but he didn't seem to bother you," one of them said. "What did you do to him?"
"Good question. I have never had that ability before." Perhaps my master provided me with a gift, she mused to herself.
"What are you called?" the same one said.
"I'm Branwen. And you are?"
"I am Frodo...Underhill, and these are my companions, Sam Gamgee and Pippin Took."
Branwen staggered slightly, and looked at them in shock. Her master's ambitions were bold, but this?
"Do you know us? For we don't remember you," Pippin said.
She looked up and down the road. Darkness was gathering about them. "You wouldn't believe all that I know," she whispered. "I know very well who you are, where you go, and what you carry." She looked significantly at Frodo. Dropping to one knee before the startled hobbit, she said pointedly, "I think I'd better accompany you. You must be the one I'm looking for, Mr. Baggins."
They all exchanged surprised looks. "How do you...?"
"Suffice to say," she interrupted brusquely, "that I know a great deal, and I would pledge my knowledge to your service, if you would have me."
"What sort of things do you know, miss?" Sam asked suspiciously.
She winked at him. "I know you have a soft spot in your heart for a maid called Rosie Cotton." Sam jumped back as if she had given him a physical shock. "What say you, Frodo son of Drogo? Master Peregrin Took?"
Frodo looked her in the eyes for a long moment, then nodded. "Very well," he said. "You seem to know much, or so you claim. In any case, you know of the Black Riders and they do not frighten you." He shuddered.
Branwen nodded, and placed her hand on his shoulder. "Well they should frighten you, for they are terrifying creatures in their own right. We should leave the road; a lone walker of the Race of Man is not what they seek, but a trio of Hobbits..." She let the thought dangle unfinished. Rising, she urged them to follow her into the trees.
Once they were well away from the road, she turned to them. "Do not look to me as a guide, for this land is unfamiliar to me. I will trust to your knowledge in where we go from here."
"We go east, to the Brandywine River," Pippin supplied. "We aim for the Bucklebury Ferry."
"Then lead on."
They hiked across the hills of the Shire well past the setting of the sun. The Hobbits' talk was light and merry, and they described their home as they went, pointing out landmarks that figured in local and personal lore. Frodo in particular relished his role as docent, happily telling stories of adventures he had in his youth. Sam still watched her warily, but it did not bother her. It was good that he was yet suspicious; it gave her renewed confidence that he was the right choice for Frodo's task.
They camped when fatigue bested the party. Branwen stayed up as they slumbered, ever watchful. She had not walked as far as them, so she was not ready for sleep. She sat in quiet contemplation of her task, and how she would go about it. Of him whom she had so recently lost, she refused any thoughts at all.
In the morning, they breakfasted and continued on. Frodo walked beside Branwen, and they talked. As night once again fell, they looked for a suitable place to set up camp. It was then Frodo saw the Black Rider on the road near them, making as if to follow their trail. They crouched and hid in silence, watching. Just as the figure began crawling toward their hiding place, the merry voices of elves could be heard approaching. The Black Rider darted away and disappeared on the other side of the road.
Sam seemed to forget all about his suspicions of her, or his fear of the Black Rider, so great was his joy in hearing the melodious elven singing. When the party was near, the companions emerged from their hiding place and approached them.
The song was one Branwen had not heard in many years, and brought a lump to her throat, hearing it sung by the familiar voices. Introductions were made, and the leader of the elves, Gildor, kept glancing at her curiously. When Pippin asked them about the Black Riders, they bade the travellers join them, and the companions followed the elves to their meeting place a few miles further.
Gildor spoke in riddles when the Hobbits pressed him for information about the Black Riders. Branwen wasn't sure if such knowledge would hinder or help, but it was not within her to lie when asked directly. Gazing sternly at the elf as he spoke, he finally acknowledged her look and addressed her.
"But you seem to disapprove," he said. "Do you know the answers to their questions, yet have not revealed what you know?"
Nodding, she said, "Indeed, that is so, but they have not asked me."
"I beg of you to withhold such information for the moment," he said, concern on his face. "If they know too much, it would freeze their hearts."
"No," she said, shaking her head. "If they ask it, I shall tell them what they wish to know. I do not lie to friends."
"Then you will frighten them," he warned.
"Should they not be frightened?" Branwen countered. "Does not fear often speed one's feet, and is not haste what is required now?"
"I do not argue that Frodo must hurry to leave the Shire," he said. "I merely wish to do as little harm as possible."
"As do I. But much harm has already been done. Gandalf is delayed; counsel he would give must come from somewhere."
"Do you claim to know as much as Gandalf?" Gildor chided gently.
"In this matter, yes, and more," she replied.
This revelation caused quite a stir among the elves, as well as the Hobbits. "What do you mean?" the elf asked.
"I know much that is yet hidden, for here, it has not yet come to pass." Looking into their shocked faces, her voice softened. "I know much. Time is like a river with many tributaries; I am a pebble cast in the stream."
"Will the Enemy be defeated?" Frodo asked in a small voice.
She gazed kindly at him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "He shall be, whether I remain a pebble or become a boulder. His defeat is my chief task. Take what comfort you may in that."
"So what are the Black Riders?" Pippin asked.
"Frodo knows them by another name," Branwen answered. "They are the Nazgûl. RingWraiths." Frodo gasped. "Know this, Frodo – they are utterly blind in this world. You may have noted them sniffing about for you. But if you enter their world, the Realm of Shadow, you will be revealed to them, as I am."
Gildor leaned forward. "Speak. What do you mean?"
She looked up at the elf. "They can see me, and I can see them."
"How did he appear to you?" the elf pressed, his voice quiet and full of concern.
"Like a ghost, white and nearly transparent. He bore a helm upon his head, and his face was gaunt and wasted."
The elves exchanged alarmed looks.
"Did you see his black cloak?" Frodo asked, his own voice barely a whisper.
She shook her head. "I saw no cloak, only the faded raiment of a king." She looked at Gildor. "I can see into their world as easily as my own. They cannot hide from me."
"It would appear so," he said, wonder in his face.
"It is a double-edged sword," she said grimly. "I can see them, and they can see me; there is no hiding from them. We can use it to our advantage. If we encounter one again," she said, turning to Frodo, "I may be able to distract him long enough for you to escape."
"That would not be wise," Gildor cautioned. "They are terrible beings, not to be trifled with. I suspect you are now known to the Dark Lord. He will be curious about you, and wonder what his servant's report may mean."
"I am not concerned about them," she said coldly. "I know them well; they do not frighten me."
"Rest now," Gildor said. "We will be gone by the time you waken in the morning, but you may sleep in peace and safety tonight."
The sun shone brightly upon the travelers when they rose the next morning. The elves had left provisions for them, which they gratefully packed. After a quick breakfast, they continued on.
They caught only a distant glimpse of the Black Rider dogging their trail as they struggled through the harsh and broken lands of the Marish. It was with great relief that dusk found them on Farmer Maggot's lands, and they went to his dwelling to be greeted by his hounds.
Branwen recognized them as wolfhounds, for they were huge, towering over the Hobbits by several inches. She dropped to one knee before the apparent alpha who led them, and allowed him to sniff her. Then she petted him, scratching him behind the ears. Great tongue lolling out in contentment, he sat heavily before her. The other two hounds kept Frodo and Sam at bay.
"Here now, what goes on?" came Farmer Maggot's voice as he approached.
"Hullo, Mr. Maggot!" Pippin called happily.
"Young Master Took!" the elder Hobbit cried. "What brings you here so late at night? And who comes with you?" His gaze fell on Branwen especially, still petting his enraptured hound.
Pippin quickly introduced them, and explained how they had gotten into his lane without his seeing them. At the name Baggins, the farmer urged them to come into his house and, calling off his dogs, led the way.
Even though Branwen was by no means a tall person, she still was obliged to duck her head inside the low-ceilinged Hobbit house. They sat around the table and talked, for Farmer Maggot had been visited by a Black Rider only a little while before they arrived, and he had much to tell.
At his urging, and with the promise of a ride to the ferry afterwards, they stayed for a magnificent dinner with all the Maggot household. The hounds were curled up by the hearth, with the exception of Branwen's special friend, who she learned was called Wolf. He sat beside her chair at the table with his giant head upon her lap. She passed bits of food to him as she ate.
"You will ruin him," Farmer Maggot admonished with a twinkle in his eye. "I've not seen him take so to a stranger, and that's a fact."
"I have a great love of dogs, and hounds especially," she said, stroking the smooth head.
"And a way with them, I see," said Mrs. Maggot, smiling.
After dinner, they climbed aboard Farmer Maggot's wagon and departed for the ferry. It was a still night, mist-shrouded and silent. The only sounds were the creaking of the wagon and the clop-clop of the ponies' hooves on the road.
When they reached the landing, Farmer Maggot halted the wagon, and they heard the sound they had been listening for with dread: hoof beats on the road ahead. Branwen got down off the wagon and stood defiantly beside the ponies. But they did not do more than prick their ears at the sound.
"It is not a Rider," she said quietly. Before the Hobbits could ask how she knew, the figure appeared in the gloom ahead, and to Branwen's calm eyes, he looked like nothing more than a hobbit upon a pony.
"Hallo there!" Farmer Maggot called nervously. "Don't you come a step nearer! What do you want, and where are you going?"
"I am looking for Mr. Baggins," the figure replied, "Have you seen him?"
Relief was palpable in the air as the Hobbits recognized Merry's voice. Greetings were exchanged, and Farmer Maggot, satisfied that they were delivered safely, turned his wagon and departed, but not without first handing a basket of mushrooms, compliments of Mrs. Maggot, to Frodo with a wink.
They boarded the ferry and struck out across the Brandywine. A glance back at the landing revealed a dark figure lurking, swaying to and fro as if searching for some sign of their passage. Branwen flattened herself on the boards, hoping to be unseen should the creature look up.
Before long, they were dropping their packs with relief inside the foyer of Frodo's house at Crickhollow. Merry had not only provided the three travelers with their own baths, but Branwen as well, in a separate room for her privacy. She was deeply grateful for this boon and thanked him heartily.
At supper, Pippin regaled Merry and Fredegar Bolger with the tale of their adventures since leaving Bag End, and gave what accounting he could of their meeting with Branwen and her history. Merry listened in wonder, his eyes searching hers for some sign of her rumored power.
In the end, Frodo could stand to wait no longer, and finally revealed to his friends that he intended to depart from Crickhollow as quickly as possible. Merry and Pippin, with occasional help from Sam, then revealed their own conspiracy, and intention to follow Frodo wherever his path lead. Branwen nodded her approval of their conviction, and urged Frodo to accept their help.
"Great things are afoot, Master Frodo," she said. "If you trust nothing else, trust in these fine friends. Small hands may turn mighty wheels – you all have tasks ahead of you in this venture."
"You riddle worse than the elves," he chided. "Will you not tell us specifics?" Frodo asked.
Chuckling, she shook her head. "Now where would the fun be in that?" Sobering, she said, "I only know that which may be; while I may be able to tell you much, there is no guarantee that what I know will still happen as I recall it, or even when. As I told Gildor, I am a pebble tossed in the stream, yet I may still divert the course of the river. It is best that I not reveal too much, too early, lest my words steer you from your path."
Making such plans as they could, they settled to bed for the night. It seemed she had only just shut her eyes when she was wakened by Merry. A quick breakfast later, and they were tramping in the pre-dawn darkness, aiming for the doorway in the hedge that led to the Old Forest.