Author's Note: I am out of school and work, and have decided to amuse myself with writing. I'm not going to lie: this story is your cliché 'female is added to the fellowship and ends up falling in love with one of the characters.' The best I can hope for is that it will be well written, and I'm looking to you readers to help with that. Please offer critiques and constructive criticism when you see the need for it, the last thing I want is to fall into a bunch of bad writing habits without knowing it. -Elf Girl
Disclaimer: All that I write about belongs to Tolkien's Co.
Chapter 1: A Night in Bree
The last strains of sunlight were slowly releasing their grasp on the dark clouds overhead, when two hooded figures reached the gate of Bree. Their knock brought the night watchman, who eyed them from a window in the door. "And who might you be?" He questioned darkly; even with the aid of a lantern he was unable to make out the faces of the travelers.
"Patrons of the Prancing Pony, if you will let us pass," A gruff voice answered him. The gatekeeper could only assume it belonged to the larger of the two.
"Indeed?" He pressed doubtfully. Silence was his only answer as the man pondered what should be done. Finally, he sighed, "Alright, but mind yourselves;" He warned and, against his better judgment, opened wide the gate.
The figures slipped inside, and were soon lost amid the growing shadows of the village street.
A few brisk moments bought the travelers into the dancing light which spilled from the windows of the inn. As they entered, the two wordlessly parted company; the elder moving off to see about lodging for the evening, while his companion headed for the main room.
The Prancing Pony was never in want of occupants, and this night was no exception. Amid the hearty songs and robust banter of men, dwarves, and hobbits; the younger newcomer moved somewhat unnoticed toward a corner of the large room. Finding a seat, the slim form shrank further into the darkness, even as keen eyes and ears strained to pull anything of interest from the bustling crowd.
There was little to be learned. After only a few moments it could be determined that there was no one of special interest present and, although there was mention of dark riders being murmured by some of the more foreboding individuals, it was not news to the small figure.
"Butterbur has no memory of an Underhill and a Gamgee, at least not traveling together." The gruff voiced traveler informed his friend as he joined the shadowy edge of the common-room. "Here," he added, holding out a key; "Go rest, I can watch for them."
"They should have been here by now," His companion murmured, the notes of her voice bearing the mark of foreign lands.
"They are hobbits, what do you expect?" The elder's voice was muffled as he searched the pack at his side. Bringing forth his pipe, the man filled and lit it, leaning back in his chair to enjoy his first evening indoors in more than a fortnight.
A resigned sigh revealed that the smaller form did not share his sentiment, but she gave no further sign of her disagreement.
"Go rest," Her fellow traveler prompted once more. "Or wander, or eat," He added; "There is no need for you to stay here."
After a moment, the girl nodded in thankful consent. Relieving the elder of his pack, she slid away down one of the halls.
The room itself was nice enough, as rooms in The Pony always were. Though there was no fire on the hearth, scattered candles offered light enough for the girl to make out her surroundings. A table stood directly before her, and here she relieved herself of their bags. The table was encircled with enough chairs to satisfy a large company, though, with only two beds, it would be hard to accommodate such a group in the small room. Beyond all this was a row of windows set into the far wall, and a glance revealed that they looked out onto the street below.
Upon further inspection, the youth determined that, when properly positioned, she could watch the inn's entrance through the curtain of rain which had begun to fall. Immediately, she returned to the table for a chair, and this she brought back to the vantage point. Settling into it, the girl curled her feet beneath her and pulled her cloak tighter. For long moments she merely stared out into the rain.
The younger traveler must have surrendered to sleep, for next she knew the door of her room was being thrown open. She could feel a rush of blood pound in her head even as, springing to her feet, the girl drew a dagger from her side in defense against the intruder. She dropped it a moment later.
A hobbit cowered on the floor, unmoving from the spot where the gruff-voiced man had thrown him. "What do you want?" The small figure demanded, terror shrill in his voice.
"A little more caution from you," The man hissed back, smothering candles as his eyes swept the room warily.
"What has happened? What is wrong?" The girl questioned, pulling back her hood to see better in the gloom which had overtaken the small space. Her voice raised a jolt in the small halfling, and he twisted about to get a look her.
The sight which met the hobbit caused him to shrink back. The girl was dark of skin and hair and eyes, and what little light filtered in through the window shimmered in the reflection of gold rings which lined the youths' ears. Though clothed in common garments, she stood with the pride and coldness of a distant people.
"A Swerting," The hobbit whispered at last, eyes wide; "What do you want with me?"
A dark gleam filled the man's gaze as he drew back to the hobbit's side. "Are you frightened?" He questioned softly.
"Yes," The hobbit admitted, his attention torn between the two forms as he attempted to determine who to be more in fear of.
"Not nearly frightened enough," The man noted softly, venomously; "We know what hunts you."
Footsteps pounded in the hall. Without a word, the man dragged the halfling to his feet and pushed him toward the far end of the room, even as the Swerting drew her dagger once more and stepped to the door as it flew open. Three hobbits stood in the threshold, armed with an array of makeshift weapons. They appeared frozen for a moment, as they blinked owlishly in an attempt to adjust to the darkness within.
"Let him go, or I'll have you, Longshanks!" Their leader demanded. His fists were raised defensively; though it was clear he did not know where to throw them.
"You have a stout heart little hobbit," The man remarked to their leader, before turning back to the first halfling "Time has run out," His voice was still dark, but it had lost some of its chill. "You cannot wait here for Gandalf. They are coming."
The hobbit darted to join his friends in the doorway, but went no further. "The innkeeper called you Strider," Terror had given way somewhat to suspicion, as the halfling eyed the man; "He said you were a ranger of the East. What would Gandalf have to do with the likes of you?"
"He is an old friend–––" Strider began, but he was cut off by the girl's voice, as she broke abruptly into a soft song:
"Farewell we call to hearth and hall!
Though wind may blow and rain may fall,
We must away, ere break of day
Far over the wood and mountain tall.
To Rivendell, where Elves yet dwell
In glades beneath the misty fell.
Through moor and waste we ride in haste,
And whither then we cannot tell.
With foes ahead, behind us dread,
Beneath the sky shall be our bed,
Until at last our toil be passed,
Our journey done, our errand sped."
As she sang, the youth's gaze remained fixed on the first hobbit, and in the silence she watched for a response.
"A song of the dwarves," The halfling murmured absently, lost in thought. "Bilbo wrote of it in his book."
The girl nodded, "We have been to Rivendell; we have met your uncle." She explained, "I can offer no further sign of our good intent that you would understand."
As the hobbit weighed his options, a blanket of silence covered the room. It was broken only by the distant sound of the inn's other occupants, as they passed a merry night unaware of what was transpiring.
At long last, the halfling sighed, "What must we do?"
The Swerting broke into a relieved grin, and Strider clapped her shoulder. "I suppose introductions are in order," The ranger noted, "But we have more pressing matters to attend to.
"At dawn's break we will leave Bree, sever from the common road and travel with all haste to Rivendell. If Gandalf follows us, he will know to look along the path we will take."
The wizard's name awoke a new concern in the first hobbit; "When did you last see Gandalf?" He questioned, "Do you know where he is, or what he is doing?"
"Another conversation we do not have time for at present," The Swerting interjected, shaking her head. "Once you are secure for the night we can talk of such things."
At Strider's prompting, the hobbits lead the way to the room which had been prepared for them.
"No halfling rooms are safe tonight," the girl explained, as she and the ranger gathered up the hobbits' possessions; "The dark riders will know to seek you here." After everything had been removed from the room, the two stuffed the hobbits' beds, to create the illusion that the four were fast asleep. With that, they locked the door, and the six returned to the first room.
Strider set about barring the door from intruders, while the Swerting lit a fire in the hearth and moved the two beds together to create a place for the hobbits to sleep. Food was drawn together from various bags, and soon the company was enjoying a makeshift meal as they quietly conversed.
The hobbits introduced themselves as Frodo Baggins, Samwise Gamgee, Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took. The last two, though not formally invited to join their cousin's quest, had fallen into it rather unexpectedly, and were quickly growing attached to the excitement of being outside the shire.
"And what of you?" Peregrin – or Pippin, as he was called by his companions – questioned their hosts. "You have heard all about us, but I imagine it is your tales which will be the more fascinating."
The two smiled at the hobbit's excited anticipation, and Strider was the first to offer his story. "There is little more to say of my origins that would interest you," He began; "I am indeed Strider, and have long wandered the pathways of Middle Earth as a ranger. I was, however, raised in Rivendell under the care of Lord Elrond, and it was there that I first learned about the importance of hobbits.
"I was there," He noted to Frodo; "When your uncle returned from the Lonely Mountain. I first saw the ring then – nothing more than a trinket to our knowledge. It is always strange the way such trivialities grow to hold such power." Here his voice trialed of, as the ranger turned to his own thoughts.
There was a pause, as the hobbits waited for him to continue. When it was clear that he would not, they turned to the girl.
"My name is Yusraa," She began, noting the hobbits' amusement at her queer name. "I am a Swerting, or Southron, or Haradrim, or any other variation you please; it matters not. I was raised in Near Harad, on the northern shore of the river Harnen." More amusement: though the girl was fascinated by origins and geographical locations, her words meant little to the halflings who were freshly out of the Shire.
"Disaster befell my tribe when I was young. It was by the grace of the Valar that I was found by Gandalf in South Gondor, and brought away to fairer lands. I was taken to Lothlorien, and then Rivendell where I met Strider."
"Are you a ranger, too?" Merry questioned. There had been too many confusing bits in the Southron's story for his taste, but at least they still held their attention.
"In a sense, I suppose," The girl responded thoughtfully, before adding: "Though not quite like Strider."
"What can you tell us of Gandalf?" Frodo interjected.
Yusraa's gaze darkened, "There is little I can tell. When I last spoke to Gandalf he was preparing to head east, to speak to the White Wizard of Isengard. It has been quite some time since then, and no one seems to know where he has disappeared to."
"I believe it is time for sleep," Strider concluded, abruptly rejoining the conversation. "We have a long journey ahead of us." With that, he pulled his chair from its place by the hearth, and positioned it beside the doorway.
Following her companion's lead, Yusraa retook her seat at the window, allowing the hobbits some time to talk amongst themselves as they prepared for bed. It was not long before all four surrendered to sleep.