Hi everyone! I know I haven't been making a lot of author's notes lately, but I hope you'll stick around for this one.

I mostly just wanted to thank you all for getting this far in the story; I really appreciate getting those little emails saying someone new has favorited or followed the story! It always makes my day much, much better. That being said, I'd also like to encourage you to let me know in the comments how you're feeling! Feel free to leave questions, comments, or concerns at any time. :)

That's pretty much all I had to say for now. Have a great day/evening, and thanks again for stopping by!

As soon as Avalain entered the village of Bree, she knew she was in trouble.

Though she had her cloak to veil her face, it did not do much good. Her figure was too lithe to pass off for a man's, and her horse too fine to pass off as a commoner's. Between all the hisses and whispers of why a lady of a noble family would be visiting a muddy village such as Bree, Avalain was surprised when she heard one person propose the truth about their visitor.

"That is no mere horse, and no mere woman! I've heard of Elves, but never have I imagined one coming to Bree!"

This, most unfortunately, was the whisper that quickly began being accepted as true—knowing that attracting attention could only make her task more difficult, the She-Elf more concernedly searched for the Prancing Pony.

It didn't take her much longer: as soon as she arrived, a smiling hobbit offered to stable her horse. After being assured that Belutha would be well taken care of, Avalain proceeded inside, her stomach turning in knots as she heard the raucous laughter that thundered even through the closed door.

Fortunately, such a large crowd of people meant that she was able to hide easily. Avalain managed to push through the drunken bodies and towards the barkeep, who already looked quite hassled and weary even though it was only just past sundown.

"I'd like a room," Avalain declared, dropping a few coins upon the counter. "Any of them shall do."

The barkeep blinked as he peered up through her hood—his mouth dropped open slightly, but immediately he recomposed himself and stammered, "Y-yes, of course. I shall escort you there as soon as I grab these men their drink orders."

Avalain nodded and proceeded to the corner of the room, where it was not quite as busy. She hoped the shadows would give her some peace and quiet…

"It is not very often that an Elf travels to Bree."

Avalain yelped and jumped away from her seat—the voice had spoken just beside her. She was, frankly, astonished that she hadn't noticed the man sitting there, especially considering her eyes were more perceptive than any mortal's.

She glared into the darkness to see who had startled her so terribly… and was somehow unsurprised to see a flash of white teeth and wickedly blue eyes glinting back at her.

"Aragorn," she breathed, more as a scold than a greeting. Placing a hand upon her chest, she hissed, "You startled me!"

"A feat I'm sure I will never be able to replicate," remarked the Ranger, his grin growing only the wider. After this, however, he rose and extended a calloused hand in her direction. "Come and sit with me. Something tells me a certain wizard has corralled you to this place."

That made her laugh. "How did you know?"

"Why else would you be here?"

With another short chuckle, Avalain muttered, "I suppose I wouldn't be." With this, she sat down next to her friend and glanced around the bar. They still remained unnoticed by the locals.

Feeling a little better about her arrival, the She-Elf exhaled and leaned back into the solace of the shadows. Aragorn swiftly did the same—after a moment of silence, Avalain heard herself mutter, "How long have you been lying in wait here?"

Aragorn chuckled. "A week and a half. Nothing exciting has happened, unless you count village gossip, drunken brawls, or gambling on cards. You know, some of these men have a very bad gambling problem."

The She-Elf allowed herself to laugh at that, though she kept it quiet so as to avoid drawing attention to herself.

For the next few hours, the two sat in their little corner, beadily observing the goings-on of the tavern. Avalain, however, had had a long journey and was feeling like she needed something to drink in order to feel like herself again. With that, she looked towards her friend and declared, "I'm parched. Want some water?"

Aragorn shook his head. "No, but you go ahead. I shall keep watch."

With a curt nod, Avalain rose and walked towards the bar. As she had feared, the fineness of her cloak caught a few stares—but refusing to meet anyone's eyes except the barkeep's, she completed her journey to the counter and requested, "Just water, please."

The innkeeper hastened to obey, but again—he was a very busy man and had multiple previous customers to satisfy. Giving her an apologetic smile, he bustled off to deliver pints of drink to the Men who had ordered beforehand, leaving Avalain to wait.

At that moment, a faint ringing of a doorbell sounded to her left. Avalain grabbed at the hood of her cloak and drew it a little tighter about her face, hoping that the entering Men wouldn't give her too much trouble…

But no whispers or whistles or gruff voices reached her ears. Quite the contrary, a fair voice called, "Excuse me?"

Avalain jolted and allowed herself to glance at the newly arrived person. She blinked once, twice: the person who had entered was a hobbit that exactly matched the description Gandalf had given her. And accompanying him were three other halflings, all clearly fresh from their homeland and unfamiliar with the inn and the town of Bree.

The innkeeper hastened to make his way towards the small party, accidentally shoving Avalain aside in the process. She exhaled sharply and stumbled backward—straight into a local.

"Sorry," she gasped, moving to step away. But before she could get more than three steps towards Aragorn, his hand lunged out to seize her wrist.

"'Ey, now, yeh can't jus' walk away without a real intr'duction," slurred the Man. Despite being stone-walled drunk, his grip was painfully tight. "Whass yer name?"

Avalain refused to glare at the Man, however much she wanted to. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. So she looked at the ground and stared daggers at it instead. "None of your business," she finally made herself spit.

"Well tha's not very nice," hiccupped the Man. "Not how you should treat someone yeh bumped into, tha's for sure."

"I have apologized," muttered Avalain through gritted teeth. "Now release me. I have other matters I must attend to."

The Man inhaled deeply, as if he were about to speak again—but a voice, so fair a moment ago and now so intent and intense, declared, "I believe she asked you to let her go."

Both the She-Elf and the Man turned to stare at the hobbit in shock. He glared up at the drunkard, blue eyes blazing and looking remarkably frightening despite being more than two feet shorter than them. His friends stood behind him, with crossed arms and scowls only slightly less fierce than the leader's own.

The four hobbits provided enough of a distraction for Avalain to wrench her arm loose and reach inside her dress pocket for the dagger she carried. She positioned it just before the Man's neck, looking at him full in the face, her amber eyes burning.

"Get away from me," she snarled.

The Man made no more arguments. He nodded frantically and staggered away, back towards his friends who were thankfully unaware of the entire situation.

Now alone, Avalain sighed and rubbed her wrist. It stung a little from where that accursed brute had grabbed it… but then she turned her attention to the halflings, who were all watching her with a fascinated curiosity.

Grinning at their charming naïveté, the She-Elf declared, "Thank you for helping me. Things might've gotten unnecessarily violent without your timely intervention."

The hobbits all smiled at that. Whatever lingering tension had remained in the air immediately dissipated, and Avalain was glad to feel it. She was more than certain that these were the hobbits she was looking for… which meant she would need to befriend them, and quickly.

"Happy to help," replied the leader, who simply must have been Frodo Baggins. Even as she observed him, Avalain could see the same sparkle of energy and adventure that was in the eyes of his uncle Bilbo, when she had last seen him twenty years beforehand. But she knew she couldn't outright say that she recognized him… at least, not yet.

"You are far too good a company to live in this hovel," sighed Avalain, gesturing around the tavern. "You must have travelled from the Shire. What brings you here to Bree?"

A flash of alarm ran through Frodo's eyes; realizing his uncertainty, the She-Elf made sure to smile his way, hoping that it would be enough for him to feel like she could be trusted.

It seemed to do the trick… for the moment. Frodo exhaled softly in what Avalain hoped was relief before answering, "We shan't be staying here long. We came to meet someone, but he isn't here…"

"Then we are here on common interest," replied Avalain, maintaining her smile. "As it turns out, Master Underhill, I was sent by a certain wizard to wait for you."

The four hobbits blinked and stared at her, eyes wide as saucers. She couldn't help but notice that one of them, slightly taller and larger than the rest, grabbed at the handle of what looked to be a frying pan, as if he were about to unsheathe it and use it as a weapon.

To quickly reassure them, she added, "Gandalf has told me of your journey, Frodo. I arrived here upon his request that I meet you, should he himself be unavailable to you. I bear no sign of the wizard to give you reason to accompany me, but I can promise you aid in travelling to my city of Rivendell. You will all be protected there, and there you shall be free of the burden you carry."

Frodo's friends did not look much appeased, but Frodo himself was no longer staring at her with fright; he looked at her with faint recognition. His eyes took in her face, and after a brief moment of silence, he stammered, "W-who are you? I feel like I know you..."

This made Avalain brighten. She was surprised that Frodo recalled her at all—he was but a toddler at the time of her visit to the Shire.

"About twenty years past, I visited your uncle Bilbo for a friendly reunion. You were only a small child at the time, Frodo, but I remembered you. It is one of the reasons I took up Gandalf's plead for me to meet you here."

Frodo's skepticism vanished. His mouth dropped open as he gasped, "Avalain Nightshade, Lady of Rivendell."

"An Elf! It really is!" exclaimed the larger hobbit, his voice all but breathless.

Avalain chuckled somewhat at the hobbit's enthrallment and murmured, "Whilst I swore I would never lower my hood in this abominable bar…" With that, she pushed back her cloak, allowing her dark hair to tumble around her shoulders. Her pointed ears were revealed, as well as the unusual brightness of her amber eyes. The hobbits gaped and said nothing for astonishment. All of the hobbits' doubt vanished—Frodo was grinning.

With a slight scowl, Avalain muttered, "I do hope none of these Men were watching. It will make blending in that much harder…"

Frodo laughed outright at that, a newfound sparkle occupying his eyes. The others also chuckled, but they were noticeably shyer than their friend.

Avalain glanced around the bar and noticed that some of the Men were attempting to leave, and that she and the hobbits were blocking the doorway. Turning back to her newly acquired friends, she waved her hand and said, "Come, let us find a table to sit at. We may as well rest here for the remainder of the night and set off in the morning."

The hobbits all nodded and began to follow Avalain in a neat, straight line. The Men who were attempting to leave pushed past them—but the She-Elf couldn't help but notice they had a sinister look about them, and that they were paying a special attention to the young Frodo Baggins…

The She-Elf made a note to herself to keep her dagger close, and her eyes peeled.

Luckily, there were a few empty tables large enough to sit five people. As the hobbits were settling in, Avalain glanced over to the corner where Aragorn was sitting—she locked eyes with him and nodded curtly.

He returned one and waved his hand. He was leaving the talking and befriending up to Avalain… just as well.

At that moment, Butterbur appeared in front of the table and took orders for the hobbits to drink. He also brought Avalain her requested glass of water before promptly rushing back off to collect the four mugs of ale that were asked for.

Alone once again, the She-Elf glanced over the hobbits assembled before her. With a somewhat wry smile, she declared, "Now, I was told of a Frodo Underhill meeting me at this inn; but I was not aware there would be three others."

The larger hobbit—the one who'd almost threatened her with a frying pan—sat up straighter and cleared his throat. Eagerness plain on his face, he quickly introduced himself: "My name is Samwise Gamgee, my lady, or Sam for short. I garden for Mister Underhill over here at home."

Avalain grinned and expressed her gratitude for Samwise's presence before turning to the two younger hobbits.

"I, my good lady, am known as Meriadoc Brandybuck!" exclaimed the third, with a cheeky grin upon his face as he did so. "But you may simply call me Merry. And this here is Pip—erm, Pippin, that is."

The fourth hobbit, clearly the youngest of the four, jolted in indignation as he stuttered, "W-wait a minute, now, Merry. My real name is Peregrin Took. But… I do go by Pippin most of the time." This was stated almost sheepishly, which only made Avalain chuckle.

"Then I have gathered in front of me Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin. Am I correct?"

Her newfound friends all grinned widely, nodding their heads as one.

At that moment, the mugs of ale were carefully distributed to their patrons. After thanking Butterbur for his hospitality, the four hobbits began to drink swiftly, almost like it would be the last thing they would ever taste.

Avalain, in the meantime, sipped her water and glanced back over at Aragorn. He looked a little agitated as he gestured outside the inn—the She-Elf followed his gaze and noticed the same shady men loitering by the exit…

Withholding a deep breath, Avalain set her cup upon the table and broke the silence that had arisen.

"Would the four of you be willing to remain in a room with myself and my compatriot tonight? There are… rather unique circumstances regarding the nature of our meeting. It would be safer for us all this way."

Merry and Pippin nodded swiftly in agreement, but Frodo and Sam paused. With a slightly wary look, Frodo repeated, "Compatriot?"

Avalain glanced around before leaning forward and murmuring, "He is another friend of mine and of Gandalf's. He sits in the corner behind you, and is a master of travelling this world unseen. While I am a decent fighter and guide, he is truly an exceptional one."

Frodo turned around to glance in the corner that Avalain had mentioned, and promptly started when he realized there was, in fact, a man sitting there. Clearly he had not noticed Aragorn's presence until it was pointed out.

"What's his name?" asked Sam suspiciously.

"Around Bree, he is known as Strider," replied Avalain. "In time, and in a safer place, you will learn his true name. It isn't well known."

The hobbits exchanged looks, but apparently decided to trust Avalain due to their newborn friendship. It was Pippin who sighed and said, whilst raising his mug back to his lips, "It's just as well that we have two of you. There are lots of those Black Riders out there after all."

At these words, Avalain inhaled sharply. The halflings froze for the briefest of moments, all of their eyes wide, as she simply stared at them in astounded horror. Her voice a dread whisper, she inquired, "You've already seen them? They've been following you? For how long? You must tell me everything."

For the next half-hour, the hobbits regaled her with the tale of how they set off to Bree from the Shire. They spoke of how Samwise and Frodo had been together since the beginning trek, how they accidentally came across Merry and Pippin and encountered the first Black Rider upon the road—

"How many have you seen at once, do you say?" asked the She-Elf.

The hobbits exchanged glances before Frodo replied, "I'd say about five at one time. Although… it sounded like there might've been more."

Avalain closed her eyes and sighed. She had no idea how to break it to the hobbits that if all nine of the Black Riders were present… not even she and Aragorn combined would be enough to protect them.

She swallowed and nodded slowly. They would have to leave at first light the following morning—and they would need fresh supplies for the journey.

When Avalain looked into the corner, she was immediately met with a curt nod. She knew exactly what he was trying to say: he would watch the hobbits while she would purchase what they would need.

Glancing back to the hobbits and seeing that they were watching her with rapt attention, Avalain realized she was expected to speak again. And so she said, "Thank you for telling me this, Frodo. With this information… it is best if we set off at dawn tomorrow morning. The longer we wait, the closer the Riders come. I must purchase supplies we shall need. In the meantime, remain here and attempt to blend in. When I return, we may retreat to our room."

Frodo nodded, his jaw set. His expression was concerned, but determined. Avalain found herself admiring his spirit.

With a swift farewell, she exited the inn. She glanced around… and noticed the shady men were gone.

Admittedly concerned as to where they might've gone off to, Avalain decided to keep one hand on her dagger as she navigated the streets. Fortunately, most of the shopkeepers were very friendly and offered her fairly good deals on rations and extra water-skins… she was about to head towards a fletcher for more arrows for herself and Aragorn when she heard a loud commotion from down the street.

Fearing the worst, the She-Elf darted towards the sound. A chill ran through her bones when she realized the noise was emerging from the Prancing Pony—without a second thought, she barreled through the crowd to enter the inn, praying that the Nine hadn't already found Aragorn and the hobbits—

She burst into the lounge only to see that the place was empty, save for Butterbur and a few shaken Men.

Whirling toward Butterbur, Avalain demanded, "Where did my friends go?"

"Upstairs," he responded, his face pale and covered in a thin sheen of sweat. "Last room on the right."

Avalain nodded and launched up the stairs, her hand on her dagger, ready to utilize it should she need to. When she reached the door in question, she kicked at it only to have it swing open and reveal the four hobbits and Aragorn stuffing pillows in the beds and making them resemble bodies.

Bemused, the She-Elf stammered, "What… what are you doing?!"

"Making decoys," grunted Aragorn as he pulled the blankets of one of the beds over the pillows. It did admittedly look like someone could've been sleeping there. "They're coming."

The She-Elf blanched. Without another word, she began helping Merry and Pippin, who were struggling with the blankets. She ripped the covers over the pillows to resemble a body before whirling to the windows. As she glanced over the entrance to the city… it could've just been her panicked mind, but she could've sworn that there was an unnatural darkness to the place.

"Hurry!" she ushered, seizing Frodo's hand and darting towards the exit.

"Across the street! Follow Butterbur!" shouted Aragorn's voice, and then Avalain and Frodo were gone, Sam and Merry and Pippin trailing after them.

As Aragorn promised, Butterbur was downstairs waiting for them to appear. Still as pale as a ghost, the innkeeper gestured them to follow him across the street to another room in a secondary building—it was a room on the second floor with an overlook of the city to keep an eye on the surrounding streets.

Once they were inside, Avalain gifted Butterbur the remaining gold coins she had in her pocket and shepherded the hobbits inside. She glanced back out over the city… the unnatural darkness was beginning to shift closer.

"I think the distraction will hold them off. They will think we have left the village."

Avalain sighed and turned around to see Aragorn closing the door behind him. A soft click let her know that he had locked it as well—a very small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

"Won't they recognize the disguise?" asked a timid voice: Pippin's.

Shaking her head, the She-Elf walked towards the edge of one of the four beds in the room. Sitting upon the foot of it, she looked at the young hobbit and responded, "The Riders cannot see. They are able to sense the presence of the Ring. They are able to hear and smell, but see or taste they do not know. Undoubtedly they will discover our ruse once they stab these pillows, but as Strider has said… it is likely they will believe us to have left. The Nazgûl are used to having their prey run from them."

"Nazgûl?" repeated Frodo. "Are they the Black Riders?"

Aragorn opened his mouth to answer, but Avalain cut him off sharply. They shared another glance: she did not believe it necessary to tell the hobbits such terrifying things during such terrifying times. But apparently, Aragorn thought differently.

"They must be prepared, Avalain," he stated calmly. "They cannot remain unaware of what hunts them."

Avalain looked towards the hobbits and saw the terror beneath their façade of courageousness. She admired their attempt, but of course an attempt of bravery would mean nothing when it actually came to the Nazgûl.

Still, she didn't want to alarm them until they were out of immediate danger… so she bargained with, "Let us save the explanation for when they are further away. Then you may speak."

"Fair enough."

And so the long watch of the streets began. Avalain and Aragorn agreed it would be best to let the hobbits sleep, so the two of them would take turns on watch, switching off once every hour so they might both be able to gain some rest.

Despite this system, neither of them seemed able to fall asleep: nor did Frodo. They were wide awake as the three hobbits slept on the bed, snoring lightly.

Hours passed… and still Avalain's unease did not depart. Although she was exhausted and longed for nothing more than a brief rest, her churning stomach simply wouldn't allow it.

That was when she witnessed a dark silhouette—two—three—four—five—enter the inn across the street.

Avalain and Aragorn leaned forward while Frodo watched from where he stood, all of them narrowing their eyes in concentration.

Merely two minutes passed before blood-curling screeches filled the night.

Merry, Sam, and Pippin sat bolt upright from where they had peacefully slumbered. Their eyes found the three who were still awake.

It was Frodo who broke the silence that settled through the room. His voice a whisper, he asked, "What are they?"

Aragorn looked at him gravely and answered, shadows lining his face, "They were once Men—great kings of Men. Then Sauron the Deceiver gave to them nine Rings of power. Blinded by their greed, they took them without question, one-by-one falling into darkness. Now they are slaves to his will… they are the Nazgûl; Ringwraiths, neither living nor dead. At all times they feel the presence of the Ring, drawn to the power of the One. They will never stop hunting you."

Suddenly, five black cloaks fled the inn and mounted black hoses. They split up in different directions: two headed west towards the Shire, one went north, one traveled south, and one rode east, the direction in which Rivendell stood.

"We must hurry tomorrow," murmured Avalain. "I saw only one ride in the direction we shall be traveling. If we are lucky, we will reach Rivendell in a fortnight."

She glanced over the hobbits, who were staring at her silently.

Forcing a small smile upon her face, she murmured, "Rest for now, dear ones. You will need it in the coming weeks. Strider and I will protect you."

Comforted, the hobbits fell back asleep. Avalain and Aragorn exchanged another look before nodding solemnly… they both knew that in the coming fortnight, they would be hard-pressed to keep that promise.