Mr. Butterbur began to look a little uneasy as he started to twirl the corner of his apron.

"And who might this person be?" he questioned, keeping his eyes on the cloth in his fingers. Leah had another urge to disappear, which caused her to slump further down in her seat, trying to stay unnoticed.

The man in front dropped his voice to just above a whisper, "We have no name or description of face, but have you seen anyone who is clothed differently, or speaks in unusual ways. Someone who does not seem to fit among the others…" his voice trailed off as he caught a glance of Leah, who had by now vacated her food and was trying to slide off back to the kitchen. He returned his eyes to Butterbur who was still fixated on the beige fabric.

But then suddenly, Butterbur looked up, as if suddenly realizing something after hours of thought. He peered into the overshadowed face, and then brightened slightly. "Well sir, if it ain't old Strider!" she exclaimed with unaccounted relief. "And here I was worrying my head off thinkin' you were one of them comin' through to gather information. Poor Mr. Riverlog, when they got a-hold of him, well, he wasn't there the next day. Any who, sure I'll help you!" He seemed to be overfilled with joy that he wouldn't end up like the Riverlog fellow, and hopped down from his stand. Walking around the counter, he came closer to Strider to have a better look at him.

Strider then lowered his hood, revealing his true face: dark brown hair framing a war-worn face that looked somehow younger than the years shown in his eyes. But now he spoke in words too quiet to be heard by Leah, who had been frozen by his previous glance. He gave a nod towards her, which made her blood freeze in her veins. Was he looking for her? How did he know she was here?

Her fear peaked when Butterbur responded by turning jubilantly to her and called out "Oy! Leah! Come over and meet Mr. Strider! Hop-to!" Whether he be simply overjoyed that he was going to live another day, or by some other reason, he seemed more than happy to have her meet this stranger.

Apprehensively, she got up and stalked over to where they stood, the other workers looking at them expectantly. "And the rest of you can go home now, no need to dawdle around here!" he addressed everyone else in the room, and they all got up and left obediently, leaving with mixed ideas of what just happened. "Come, come! I have a parlor over here if you would just come with me…" he turned and practically bounded across the floor, leading them to a door towards the back of the inn.

He opened it and allowed them into the room that it led to: it was a cozy little space, comfortably furnished with small couches and chairs. The corner was the home to a fire that had long been without a blaze, and was now reduced to embers. The line of people was hurried in, and Butterbur lit a lantern and carried it to the table in the center of the room. Leah sat in the chair farthest from the glow, trying her best to look as confident as possible, despite her paling face.

Once they were all in and the door securely closed, the other two figures discarded their hoods, revealing in turn who they were. One of them, who Leah just realized to be much shorter, was quite stout, an auburn beard pouring over his chest. The other was quite the opposite, tall, slender, and with long blond hair. What surprised Leah the most was his pointed ears and handsome features; he looked to be around her own age. Again, it was Strider who spoke, his solemn face look slightly sunken in the light. He said but a single word, "Greetings," and bowed his head in a gesture of respect.

"Good evening," said Leah, trying to stay polite and calm at the same time. Her eyes danced about, moving from figure to figure, finally resting upon a sword hilt that had become uncovered when Strider had sat down. "May I help you?" Her eyes completely fixated on that hilt, she feared finding out who it was meant for.

"You're not from these lands, are you?" he said, his gaze piercing into hers, shattering all previous armor of confidence.

Leah looked down at her feet that dangled over the edge of her chair and spoke to them, "No…." she looked back to his sword, expecting him to pull it out and slice her to bits. She added almost sheepishly, "not any of these lands…" Now she felt foolish. Who would ever believe such a thing?

The man leaned back, as if satisfied with the answer, and smiled. "I don't believe we've been properly introduced. I'm Aragorn, son of Arathorn. This—" he motioned towards the stout man sitting in a chair to his right, "is Gimli, son of Gloin, and is of the dwarves. He represents his own race on this endeavor, and this—" he turned to man to his left, "is Legolas, prince of the Mirkwood forest. He was chosen to represent his race, and it was by his bidding that Gimli come as well. Now let us hear your name." He finished with an encouraging nod in her direction.

"Oh! I'm Leah…um, call me Leah," she felt color rush to her face as she smiled weakly, and looked back to his hilt. But something bothered her. "Wait, why would you need representatives? I mean no offence, but… if you came for me, which—how did you know I was here any way?" the words rolled from her mouth before she could stop them, and she felt ashamed in the presence of such high people of her lack of control. She glanced up at Legolas who looked down on her with understanding, which made her feel a little better, but silly all the same.

"To answer the first question first, we have come to escort the prophesized one to Rivendell." Said Gimli, who had grown slightly impatient with all the pleasantries.

"Excuse me!?"