Maude hastened to the bar, where she grabbed an old broom from the far left despite the alarmed glances from both the staff and the patrons, before running promptly after the other men, who seemed to have noted the disappearance of their friend. She followed them up a short flight of stairs and down a corridor, and watched as they burst through the furthest door along. In a moment of frenzy she joined them, taking a defensive stance and clutching the broom for dear life.

It became apparent then that Strider meant the small men no harm, as he sheathed his weapon and sent a reproachful look her way. When the others set aside their own makeshift weapons (a barstool, a candelabra, and a pair of fists, respectively), Maude maintained her grip on the broom.

"What was she going to do with that?" asked the man who had wielded the barstool just moments ago, introduced to Strider as Pippin.

And the introductions were brief, for there was no time to waste. Nevertheless, Merry and Pippin took a moment to explain themselves as "Hobbits" to Maude, following their names. They found her to be a curious woman, which in turn led to their interest in pointing at random objects and naming them in Westron, whilst she did the same in English. They were soon hushed, however, by Strider, who began to illustrate the situation of the Ringwraiths which were hounding the hobbits.

All Maude understood was that it was a delicate one.

As they left Bree, she kept the broom, having adamantly refused to part with it despite the insistance of Strider. He simply hoped that the hobbits would keep her occupied enough for him to casually slip it away without her noticing; a broom could hardly be classified as a formidable weapon against the hobbits, let alone against Ringwraiths. Still, she seemed to be in a considerably better mood with both the item and the hobbits in proximity, and so he argued with her no further on the matter.

"Where did you find her, Strider?" questioned Frodo.

"Across the Northern Bree-fields. She was being hunted by an orc."

"In the Northern Bree-fields?!" he repeated, aghast. "What would an orc be doing in Eriador?"

"You forget," said Strider, "that the Northern Bree-fields are bordered with the North Downs. My kinsmen there have recently encountered many problems entailing orcs and goblins." He gave a soft chuckle at the hobbit's expression. "You appear confused, Frodo. Angmar is to the north-east of those lands, and with this new threat, its creatures are becoming very bold."

"Then the Shire is no longer a safe place," lamented Frodo, shaking his head.

"Do not despair just yet, Frodo; there are many protectors in the north who shall not see it fall."

A female voice startled them from their conversation, enquiring, "Where we go?"

Merry and Pippin stifled their laughter from the back, but a slow grin formed across the face of Maude. Her grammar had been poor, yet the sheer effort from the hobbits in training her to shock them with a question worked wonders. Of course, poor Maude still hadn't the foggiest as to what she had just asked him, having only repeated what the hobbits had encouraged her to.

"You already know where we're going," he called to them, and they composed themselves. "I suggest that you find another way to entertain yourselves. Such questions are of no use to her, even more so when she cannot comprehend their meaning, nor the answer she receives in return. If you wish to help her, teach her to translate, not to repeat."

Merry whispered to Pippin, "Well, she can name ten different types of tree now, eh?"

The hobbits chuckled amongst themselves once more, as Maude plodded along next to them, broom still in hand. As they made their way to Rivendell, she collected a rough-edged stone from the ground, and began happily carving the top of the broom in to a sharp point, earning a number of worried frowns from her companions. Indubitably, she had no intention of using the weapon for combat, though this was entirely due to her belief that she would not need to engage in any violence; there was no doubt in her mind that Strider and his frighteningly sharp sword could keep any plausible foes at bay, as irritating as it were for her to feel the need to rely on a strong male figure for protection. She continued her work once they had settled for the night, and the hobbits had started a fire and went about cooking a meal. Their own conversation held little interest for her, and she was attuned only to her actions and musings.

"This is positively archaic of me," she murmured, brushing some splinters of wood from the broom handle. "Conforming to gender roles like this ... goodness me ..." It was then she realised that perhaps modifying a broom to a pike was not at all conformist behaviour.

Before this epiphany of redemption could entirely satisfy her, there came a shrill cry from across the way. There was no word in her vocabulary which could describe the sound with any justice; it was a horrid, cacophonous screech of a sound, ricocheting from synapse to synapse in her mind, piercing through to the darkest depths of her core and rattling fear from it to fall from her lips in the strangest of whimpers. She fumbled with the broom and it fell to the ground.

Within moments, she was being dragged up the harsh stone steps of Amon Sûl by the hobbits with their drawn swords. Swords? Where on earth did they get those? At that moment, she wished terribly that she had been paying more attention to their interaction with Strider, who seemed to have departed. How very convenient, she fumed, quickly taking the broom from the floor once again; after all, it was better to have a poor weapon than none at all.

They formed a circle at the top of the ruins, back to back, with restless shifting and trembling to take their legs. The Black Riders descended upon them without pity, and Maude and the halflings backed away, all formation broken.

"Back, you devils!" cried Sam, lunging to attack. He was cast aside like a mere doll, likewise Merry and Pippin after him.

Whether it was adrenaline or a fraction of faith in her own abilities, Maude did not know, yet she, too, leapt at the approaching Ringwraith, using the broom as a vaulting pole, and promptly kicked him in the chest. The Ringwraith simply staggered for a moment and hissed at her in his anguish.

"I can do this all day!" she warned, voice shaking. "I have been for a very long time, now!"

Yet even she knew that she could not keep it up, not against such foes as these. She doubted they cared very much about how many times her feet came into contact with their chests, or their stomachs, or even their heads. These were no mortal man, and of that much she was certain.

She kicked out again with a practiced turn, only to be evaded. "Two months as Cinderella's understudy!" she proclaimed, folly as it were. "Do you know how many hours I spent with that bloody broom? And I never—even—got to—perform!" With every bitter word she thrust the speared end of the broom toward her attacker, though she never once struck him.

The Ringwraith had become impatient, and shoved Maude aside with the same ease as he had the hobbits. She rolled across the ground, the broom tumbling in the opposite direction.

What happened next was most peculiar: time shifted in pace, only she could not determine in which way; Frodo disappeared behind the looming shadow of the Ringwraith, who would still not be dissuaded, and plunged his blade into where he had been scrambling across the ground seconds prior.

Maude observed, stricken, and only returned to conscious thought when Strider intervened. As he drove them off with sword and flame, she nearly forgot about the wounded hobbit, watching his plight with awe from the ground. But Frodo's kin caught her attention as they rushed to his aid, and she was prompt to join them.

"Strider!" Sam called frantically. "Help him, Strider!"

"He's been stabbed by a Morgul blade," said the Ranger, crouched at his side. The blade dissolved no sooner had he spoken. "This is beyond my skill to heal. He needs Elvish medicine." With Frodo over his shoulder, he made for the steps with his companions in tow. He gave a small start at the sound of more screeches. "Hurry!"

"We're six days from Rivendellhe'll never make it!"

Placing a hand on Sam's shoulder, Maude ushered him along with the other. She knew despair when she heard it, and more so than those drowning in it needed comfort and a rational hand. Though she feared for Frodo, Strider had proven to her on two occasions now that he was not one for allowing others to die when such an outcome was preventable. Dangerous as he seemed, he also seemed a man one could place their faith in.

Something nudged her elbow as they walked, and she turned her head to see Pippin, with the broom in his arms. Smiling weakly, she took it from him, wondering if maybe those hours of rehearsal for a performance which never came had not been as assuredly useless as she had thought.


A/N: This is quite a short chapter, and I apologise for that. If I can, I'll get the next one up tonight, and if not, it will definitely be up tomorrow.

smore9: I would hope to make her dance at some point in the story, but you're quite right about the lack of ballet in Middle-earth. Would there even be a word in Westron for "ballet"? (And it's always nice to have someone with good taste in television paying attention to something I've written.)