Hello, everybody! Rather a long wait. Thank you for reading and please review!

Chapter 14

-and crashed on us.

The black rider grinded to a halt, screeching.

Panting, I sought out Frodo.

"How far to the nearest crossing?" His voice drew out, apprehensive.

"BrandywineBridge," Merry said, taking a row and beginning to push us further off. "20 miles."

Sam helped Frodo up, their eyes frozen onto the enemy. It reared up on its horse, before riding away. Through the still air, a wail left either the thing or the horse, before it got caught up with the same of its kind, galloping out of sight.

Colour returned to Frodo's icy cheeks – if colour could come back. Then, he saw me crumpled by his feet.

"Petal," he said, helping me up. "Are you all right?"

I sighed gratefully as he helped me up.

"Well, for one thing, I'm glad you're not Pippin or Merry."

He laughed, for the first time I've heard in a long time, though it wasn't the same: it was ridden with embarrassed fear and pain.

"Why?" he asked, amused.

I leaned in closer to him, and whispered, "You are much lighter than them."

Frodo grinned before turning his back to me, scrutinising the glistening, calm waters.

Rain began pouring down, so densely that I could barely see through it as we leapt off the boat, onto land.

I could feel my hair plaster onto my scalp, the water clinging onto strands of it.

After a short walk, we stopped at a bridge, liquid reaching through its wood. It had an empty crossing, before a large gate.

"Come on," Frodo said, after checking if it was clear. We scurried across, watching him rap hard on the gate.

A wait was necessary; a pause was required for someone to answer.

Hastily, a small window opened in the gate, a swollen, hunch-backed man bent down, peering down at us with icy eyes.

"What do you want?" he hissed.

Frodo seemed to be startled from this snappy outburst. "We're heading to the Prancing Pony."

The old hag shut his small hide-hole and opened the door to the wooden gate.

"Hobbits!" he exclaimed, surprised. "Five Hobbits! What business brings you to Bree?"

"We wish to stay at the inn! Our business is our own."

The dimly lit, musty glassed lantern didn't seem to brighten his ashened face, but we saw him nod inconspicuously.

"All right, young sir," he said, "I meant no offense." He stepped back, allowing admittance to Bree.

"It's my job to ask questions after nightfall. There's talk of strange folk abroad…can't be too careful."

Dark shadows towered over us as we stumbled past. Men pushed past, drunkenly, storming past.

Small, alone, were my first feelings in Bree.

A wave of hope swept through me as I saw the sign, swinging in the roaring storm, with the words of: Prancing Pony.

The door handle was at the same level of Frodo's face as he fought through its stiffness in the struggle of trying to get in.

He eventually opened t, and we stepped inside. The boys took their hoods off, shaking their heads, banishing the water from their straggly hair.

My mind changed to the pub. It was a bit like the Green Dragon, but everything was so big and once I stepped in, I thought the ceiling was as high as the sky.

We followed Frodo as he nervously made his way to the counter.

"Excuse me?" he asked, trying to be visible to anyone over the other side.

A round man looked over us, a very large moustache on his face, looking almost like a dead rat hanging underneath his nose.

"Good evening, little master," he said to Frodo, making the dead rat move to any small shape that his lips made. He bent forward, indicating Frodo. "What may you be wanting?"

"Beds for five, please may they be separate," Frodo said. "Are you Mr. Butterbur?"

"That's right," Butterbur smiled. The dead rat seemed to glare so grotesquely at me that I moved my eyes away from it in disgust.

I saw men around, who were mostly drinking, joking and guffawing. There were a few Hobbits around, darkly muttering to each other. The smell of vomit and burning was awake in the dim air.

Home was astir within me, but it shrivelled into a dead thing when I thought of Ma.

"Hobbits!" Butterbur suddenly cried, and I moved my startled attention back towards him. "Now, what does that remind me of? Might I ask your names, sir?"

"Mr. Took," Frodo started, nodding to Pippin. Before nodding to Merry. "Mr. Brandybuck. This is Sam Gamgee."

Silence strung up when Frodo looked at me. I mouthed, "Make something up about me!"

"I am Underhill," Frodo continued, turning back to the barman. "And behind me is Miss Took."

"There now!" Butterbur yelled again. "It's gone again! But it'll come back, when I have time to think. I'm run off my feet; but I'll see what I can do for you. We don't often get a party out of the Shire nowadays, and I should be sorry not to make you welcome. But there is such a crowd already in the house tonight as there hasn't been for long enough. It never rains but it pours, we say in Bree."

He turned away from us, swinging his vast waist around to face the doorway behind him. "Hi, Nob! Where are you, you woolly-footed slow-coach? Nob!"

"Coming, sir! Coming!"

I looked to the doorway Butterbur was shouting through, and a new Hobbit appeared, a jolly look planted on his round face.

He surveyed all of us, his eyes widening as his eyes rooted on me.

I bit my lip as he grinned, and I gifted Frodo with a look, seeing a glare sharpening in his blue eyes.

"Where's Bob?" the barman asked.

"I don't know, sir," Nob said, smirking. "'E could be anywhere, 'suppose."

I zoned out then, hearing Butterbur's muffled speech drowning away, as I looked back in, looking at Nob. He grinned, and flashed a wink at me. He was quickly rewarded with a small smile before he scurried away, looking pleased. Confusion was in me as the others followed Nob, Frodo gripping onto my wrist.

"What?" I asked, lowly. "Where are we going?"

"We're getting a room," he said, plainly. "Nob's leading us to it."

I made a sort of mumble and murmur that made him laugh. "Do you not like him?"

I shrugged, and he knew the distinct answer. "'s'alright."

Frodo gave a chuckle again. "I take that as a no then."

Nob was off at a brisk trot, so we had to jog to keep up with him. He ascended up a set of stairs and halting at a door. He stood by the door, hands locked behind his back, his chest stuck outright formally as the boys pushed through, leaving me trailing like an antisocial person. The door swung open as the pushed it open for me, a smile slipping on his face.

"Uh….thanks," I said, saying it more like a question than an inform. He smiled; shut the door behind me, and the room seemed the freeze as we all scrutinised in disbelief at the four beds, three singles and a double.

Cursing in my mind, I leapt forward, trying desperately to get a single bed. Damn. The closest one to me was taken by Sam, looking very triumphant as he mounted upon the stacked sheets.

Glaring at Sam briefly, I then across to the next bed, feeling like a bird, on its first run, about to take flight. Not quick enough, because as I nearly touched the prize, Merry somersaulted first into his landing position, glaring at me territorially.

"Please," I prayed, under my breath, as I moved helplessly to the last single - which Pippin had lastly taken, watching hysterically as Frodo and I were remaining, standing.

The aloud swear slipped from my mouth but I leapt onto the bed, giving Frodo a look of fire as he watched me from his standing spot.

"My bed," I hissed.

He shrugged, nearly smiling. "Your bed." I must have looked horrified as Frodo sat on the lonely floor because Merry started sniggering.

"I don't want the bed anymore," I said, slyly. "I'll sleep on the floor tonight. You can sleep here, Frodo."

"No!" he said, aghast.

"Yes," argued I.

Frodo reluctantly mounted to his feet, and slowly edged towards my bed and sat on the very side that he looked like he was supporting himself.

The floor's better sleeping with than him, I reminded myself.

"I'm getting some drinks," Pippin piped up, swerving the subject to a completely different route.

"Ditto," Sam sighed, smacking his lips together.

"Alright," Frodo agreed.

"I think I'm going to stay here for a bit, and then go out for a sniff of the air later," Merry said, unusually.

"Me too," I said. As the others moved their shocked eyes off Merry to myself, I could feel blush in my face. "I need some air."

I decided it true. Pub air really got to me – because it was so strange compared to the Shire's.

The still air remained with us as the others noisily left. Slipping onto the floor, I crawled to the fire and curled up in a ball by it, feeling the flames' heat reflecting onto my left side of my body.

"Pa," I whispered, watching him get ready. "Where are you going? Why do you have to leave?"

Pa's thin face turned to mind as he unhooked his jacket from the prop. Sorrow was fresh on his face.

"I must, Petal," he said, nothing in his voice to give me hints. Tears filled my eyes.

The door suddenly opened and a young Hobbit entered; wide, blue eyes and a small grin on his face.

"Are you leaving?" The smile fell off Frodo's face.

"Frodo." Pa turned to my friend. "Look after Petal while I'm gone."

The tears prevented me from seeing Frodo nod anxiously.

"Will I ever see you again, Pa?" I whispered.

Evading, my tears left so I could see my Pa kneel by me and whisper, "Petal, I won't be gone. I'll be right here…" His hand pressed over my heart. "…and I won't go, ever."

He was gone. Maybe not in my heart, but in soul, flesh, blood – gone. A long hug happened from Frodo as my Pa left, a sigh drawing from his lips.

"I am going to look after you, Petal," he promised, pressing me harder into his arms. "As though you are my little sister."

"Petal?"

My stinging eyes opened. Merry cocked his head in confusion at me. "Aren't we going now?"

I don't know how 'hmm' was much of an answer, but he helped me up, pins'n'needles in my feet as I walked out of the room with him.

It was quite peaceful as we set foot outdoors. The cold air slammed against my face, coiled up my sleeves. Dim lamps outside made a nice touch to the aura, and I couldn't help sigh.

We strolled down the street. Minutes crashed past us, until the cold was really setting in.

"I think I've had a little too much fresh air," I said to Merry, hanging on his coat.

He wrinkled his nose and sharply inhaled some breath, a small cloud floating about as he exhaled. "Yeah, let's go in."

Turning back the way we came, we made it only a few withdrawing steps until a hand shot out and gripped onto me like its owner was dying. I spun towards Merry, his face soft, still hanging onto me.

He was gazing at the sky, tilting his head back, his eyes glistening along with the small gleams up high. Confused, I watched at the black sheet of space. A few seconds were consumed, and then I froze as a cold run swept by me.

It appeared as though Merry felt it too, because he had his face alarmed and sharp.

"Who's there?" he dared to call out.

I gasped as I saw the dark shadow slink down an alleyway. I knew who it was. So did Merry. It was rather obvious.

It was a black-hooded figure.

My feet made several stumbling steps back. Merry didn't follow. Instead, stupidly, he shot after it.

Impulsively, I followed my friend, fearful and feeling the adrenaline run through me. I sprinted through the darkness, but stopped as Merry stood a few metres away from a hedge, looking solidified. Horror crossed his face as he eavesdropped on the…bush.

I approached carefully, hearing unspeakable muttering and hissing. It took me a few seconds to realise it was what Merry was eavesdropping – what was coming from the bush. It stopped suddenly, a rustle came, Merry and I looked at each other, seeing the black figures looming over us.

And then we fell into darkness.

Thanks for reading! I'll try to write a little faster in my chapters - but Chapter 15 is coming soon!