Disclaimer: I own only the characters of my imagination: Trinity, Dezaria, Destiny, Faith, and Scarlette. The rest, I'm sure you'll recognize as the property of the Tolkien Estate.
She did now know how long or far she rode. After all, this journey wasn't a matter of time or distance to her, but one of necessity. Only the proud documented their travels, she had learned. The horse's hooves pounded against the ground, creating a rhythmic flow to her thoughts.I will find them; she vowed with each stomp, I will find them. The mixture of frigid rain and wind stung her face till her cheeks were flushed and numb. Her joints stiffened to the extent where it burned to move even a little. She jerked the reigns to the left, avoiding a heavy branch by inches. The leather cut into her fragile skin; she savored the pain. Only that kept her conscious. Blinking several times, she fought off the hint of a faint, and then set her jaw in irritation. When her sight readjusted, she could make out a great black wall, wonderfully constructed. As she drew closer, she slowed the mare to a halt and stared impassively at three small childlike figures below her. They looked up with wide eyes and wisps of hair. Unconsciously, Trinity straightened to hide whatever weakness they might find in her. These were not children, their stances and faces proved it. Not a word passed between them. Then, abruptly, a section of the great door opened and an inquisitive face peered out, distrusting and old.
"What do you want?" asked the elderly face.
Trinity did not respond.
One of the others did. "We're heading for the Prancing Pony."
The man stepped out from behind the heavy door of his haven, "Hobbits? Four Hobbits. What's more, out of the shire! What type of business have you to bring?"
The little one replied again, speaking for all of them, "We wish to stay at the inn, our business is our own." There was a small sense of nobility in his tone, and urgency.
She shut her ears, not wishing to become involved with these tiny creatures. These hobbits. Almighty willing, she hadn't the strength to refuse her friends so many years ago. And look what had happened now. The door opened and he let the Hobbits through. Trinity did not move.
"Alright, young sir," replied the wrinkled man in an apologetic tone, "I meant no offense. It's my job to ask questions. There's talk of strange folk abroad. Can't be too careful."
The Gatekeeper paused and focused his eyes on Trinity, squinting to see through the raindrops. "What of this one?" he called to the others.
The voice of them spoke up yet again, "She is part of my kin. Please, allow her to pass as well."
His real kin glanced at each other momentarily, as though silently asking themselves if she was worthy of their secret reason for staying there that night. The question was easy enough to answer. No, she wasn't worthy, because she simply did not care. If the young Hobbit had said nothing, she still would have found a way inside. This only made the transition easier. Strangely, though, she felt some gratitude towards him. He helped her without knowing her name or history. He trusted her, foolish little thing, but she couldn't bring herself to abandon them once inside. For the moment, she indebted herself to him, and told herself that latching onto this group would give her the opportunity to gain useful information about this place. She needed him, for now. Slowly, she dismounted and led the horse by the reigns through the city. When she made to disband from them, the Hobbits glanced up at her questioningly.
"Thank you, Little One," Trinity murmured, her talent for replicating dialect resurfacing, "Your kindness will not be forgotten."
"Can you not stay with us?" asked another. She nearly smiled, her plan worked so easily.
"No," she whispered, then raised her voice slightly, "No, I cannot. I must find my kin; I've lost them." Disdain rose in her, she hated to tell them that, but she would rather not lie either. Not to something so innocent and trusting.
"Gandalf may be able to help her," whispered one of them to the leader, who nodded thoughtfully. Gandalf, she stored the name in her mind and pressed back the question of who that was to the back. This was not the time for questions, not in the cold, stinging rain.
"My name is Frodo," announced the leader, "These are my friends, Sam, Merry, and Pippin."
They beamed up at her and a faint smile touched her lips at their accommodating nature. "Trinity, it is a pleasure to meet you all. Now," she whispered with an air of importance, "Where are we?"
The one called Merry smiled, "Bree, my Lady. We're here to find Gandalf, the wizard." He glanced at Frodo, but said no more. In all honestly, Trinity did not want to hear it.
A stony silence set forth, as the new companions found their way to the inn. Trinity left for the stables as the Hobbits scurried inside and left her pitiful bag of provisions tied to the mare. She stroked its muzzle soothingly, a soundless thanks for its compliance. Then, she walked into to inn as if she belonged. The stench of alcohol was strong, and she it felt more almost like home at once. Men sang off-key, there were scoundrels and fights, just like the club she bartended in New York. Her eyes scanned the figures briefly before discovering Frodo and the others by the bar. He and Sam seemed taken aback. Pippin and Merry; however, seemed at home. Frodo made his way to the bar with uncertainty
"E-excuse me!" he called over the wood, which towered over him.
A gruff looking man caught a glance at Trinity and made a particularly rude gesture that was obviously meant to be an invite. She scowled and considered knocking him on his back, but decided against it. Instead, she fixed him with a glare and rested her hand on Frodo's shoulder. He glanced at her with wide eyes as the bartender looked first at her, then at them.
"Good evenin' Little Masters," the man said cheerfully, wiping at a mug. He talked to the Hobbits as if he spoke to a child and winked at Trinity, "What can I do for you? If you're lookin' for some accommodations, we got some nice, cozy, Hobbit-size rooms available. Always proud to cater to the little folk, Mister…?"
"Underhill," Frodo said eagerly, "My name's Underhill."
"Underhill, yea.." replied the bartender, not looking completely convinced.
"We're friends of Gandalf the Grey," Frodo pressed on, "Can you tell him we've arrived?"
"Gandalf?" he man said, brows knitting together as though trying to recall a distant memory. "Gandalf," he muttered again, "Oh, yes. I remember, elderly chap, big gray beard, and pointy hat." Frodo smiled and nodded. "Not seen him fer six months," he finished.
Frodo's face fell and he turned to his kin, Trinity leaned down to hear their huddle.
"What do we do now?" Sam asked fervently.
Frodo didn't reply. Merry and Pippin looked at the bar with hopeful expressions, and moments later, all except Trinity and Merry sat at a table with mugs of ale in hand. Frodo looked downcast while Sam offered words of encouragement. Trinity sat, balancing her chair on two legs and stared unseeingly at the ceiling above her.
"Are you sure you don't want anything, my Lady?" asked Pippin.
Trinity lifted her head to see who spoke, then rested it against the back of her chair again. "I don't drink."
"Doesn't drink!" he whispered urgently to his friends, but his train of thought was lost as
Merry arrived with a rather large mug and slammed it purposefully on the table.
"What's that?" Pippin asked breathlessly. The awe and envy in his voice was clear.
"This, my friends, is a pint!"
"It comes in pints? I'm getting one," Pippin cried before disappearing into the crowd.
"You got a whole half already," Sam called after him, almost motherly. Trinity rolled her eyes; she was never one for parental figures, which seemed a bit hypocritical, since she had been somewhat of a mother to Dezaria for the last few years.
"That fellow's done nothing but stare at you since we arrived," Sam's observation through the food stuffed in his mouth made her look up.
Her watchful eyes caught the outline of a man clothed in black, a hood drawn over his eyes and a pipe in his hand. He appeared exceptionally threatening, and Trinity nearly smiled as she thought about the thrill of a challenge. Her hand pulled the knife from her boot, keeping it hidden, not yet wanting to expose herself. A little sigh escaped her lips, one almost of pleasure, as she thought of killing someone. Then, perhaps, she wouldn't feel so helpless. Frodo looked over at Trinity to see her pupils dilating; the green which had left him so hypnotized at the gate now lost to the darkness.
Frodo caught the arm of the bartender as he passed by, "Excuse me, that man in the corner…who is he?"
He looked in the direction Frodo had nodded, "He's one of them rangers, dangerous folk they are. Runnin' around in the wild. What his right name is, I never 'eard it, but 'round here, he's known as Strider."
Only half of Trinity processed this, the rest was dizzy, thinking about what she would need to protect the Hobbits. Dangerous man, she thought scornfully, ha! Let's see what damage I can do to that hidden face. A revelation hit her, Frodo had quit answering Sam. Tearing her glare away from the man called Strider, she settled her gaze on the Hobbit and watched in confusion as he fingered a golden ring reverently. The scoundrels gave him strange looks, filled with a kind of lust for the object he held. Trinity pieced together was she could, the secret burden Frodo carried was the ring. Gandalf, whoever he truly was, had been meant to receive it. She flipped the knife in her hands, the men seemed to be pulled by this ring, and judging by Frodo's reaction to it, so did he.
"Baggins!" Pippin's voice rose to them over the noise, "Sure, I know a Baggins! He's over there. Frodo Baggins, he's my second cousin, once removed on my mother's side."
Frodo's blue eyes went wide; Trinity looked at him questioningly as he stumbled clumsily out of his seat and started towards Pippin in a panic. Trinity found herself standing and pressing through the crowd after him. She watched him trip, the ring flew into the air. As it sped to his finger, wrapping itself safely around the flesh, the Hobbit vanished. Once again, her face dissolved into that look of ambivalence, though inside she was bewildered. The other Hobbits separated and searched for Frodo. A hand rested against her shoulder.
"Follow me," whispered the cloaked figure, grabbing her wrist.
When a panicked Frodo reappeared, Strider snatched him and mercilessly dragged him up the steps of the inn. Trinity followed quickly, not really concerned about his welfare, but about what distraction she had been thrown into. Surely this would take away her guide and her chance to find Scarlette and the others. Frodo hit the floor with a loud thump and scrambled to his feet, glaring at Strider and Trinity as if they were plotting against him. She shut the door softly and turned back to face them.
"What do you want?" his bravery was a lie.
"A little more caution from you, that is no trinket you carry," Strider snapped, walking over to the candles which provided the room with a pitiful amount of light.
"I carry nothing."
Trinity raised an eyebrow at his lie.
"Indeed," Strider replied, extinguishing the flames one by one, "I can avoid being seen if I wish, but to disappear entirely, that is a rare gift."
He pulled the hood away; Trinity could see his dirty brown hair, tangled and long. Only his calm blue eyes hinted at the sense of humanity.
"Who are you?"
"Are you frightened?" the tone Strider used was one of mocking.
Frodo hesitated, "Yes."
"Not nearly frightened enough. I know what hunts you," he nodded toward Trinity once, she moved away from the door, knife still in hand.
There was a rumble from beyond the door, and then the it spewed three more Hobbits into the room. Strider had his sword raised, Trinity held out her free hand; palm up, to stop him. Sam came first, little fists raised, Merry second with candles, and Pippin with an oversized mallet took up the rear.
"Let 'em go," Sam cried, "Or I'll have you on shanks!" He whirled suddenly on Trinity with the promise of false allegations, "You! You've been with that ranger all along, haven't you? Are you evil?"
A ghost of a smile touched her lips, "Evil, Little one? Evil is always possible. Goodness is the difficulty. I am neither, sorry to disappoint you."
Strider sheathed his weapon, "You have a stout heart, little Hobbit. But that will not save you. You can no longer wait for the wizard, Frodo. They're coming."