AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hmm...I have a feeling this is going to be a veerrry long story :D. Anyway, you hobbit lovers out there will be happy to know that they have arrived, and the War of the Ring is happening at last!! lindahoyland: crazy English language :). Thanks for the correction (much appreciated) because I sort of edited ch. 16 quickly. I am glad you enjoyed it too. Natulcien: wow!! I am so happy you like my story so much :)!! It makes me feel really good. I hope your friends and all do read it (and review :)). I never expected to get such wonderful feedback from you all. Thank you sooo much!! Enjoy ch. 17!! (And remember to review!!)
Arwen rushed to find her father in the long corridors of Rivendell for urgent words had reached her ears. She found him at last and grasped his arm. "Father, I have heard the news," she said meeting his gaze.
He nodded. "I had thought so. I never thought to see such strange events in my time...or unpredictable. Who would have known this was to come?" Tidings had come by word of Gandalf the Grey: the One Ring had been found and was being swiftly brought to Imladris in the safety of the Elves' keeping in the hands of a Halfling from the Shire in the far North. Gandalf had not been able to meet them, yet had said Aragorn had joined them in Bree when all seemed to be collapsing. Arwen had become overjoyed at the word from the wizard.
"It is indeed odd, yet a good omen nonetheless. If only they arrive safely and unhindered."
"That is my strongest desire," said Elrond with a new light shining in his eyes. "They should arrive in two or three weeks at the most if all goes well."
A thrill of anticipation blazed inside her as she smiled at Elrond's back, receding into the shade of the dwellings. She drifted away into the forested area where her heart ever remained and returned many times in years later if not in body.
I hope and pray they arrive here soon, or I...
Her ears caught the hint of soft-soled boots stepping—no, gliding—across the soft, green earth close by. She turned to the side, her keen elven sight reaching out through the wooded land to rest on a tall, slim figure walking her way. A smile crept onto her beautiful face making it all the more brilliant. The Elf's dark hair glimmered in the sunlight brushing against his dark grey and black garments down his back. When he was closer Arwen greeted him.
"Aiya Elrohir! What brings you here?"
He shrugged saying, "I am not quite sure really. I needed to take a stroll to clear my mind, and I saw you also out here alone so...do you mind having company?"
"No," she smiled. "Your company is ever pleasant, brother. Come walk with me then."
He fell in beside her as they began striding across the forest floor with elvish grace and ease, no footfalls heard in the stillness of the wood. Giant tree roots reached out of the ground to curl and dance around each other or the earth beneath the branches up above who reached towards the heavens in praise. The roots covered with lustrous moss, the branches coated in brilliant green leaves; but over the leaves grew blossoms like white stars in the eaves. They spread open to their fullest so as to soak in the soft sunlight gleaming through the cover of leaves. The grove was alive with vibrant life.
"Elrohir, have you heard..."
"...of the certain small company supposed to arrive here in the following month or so?" he finished.
Arwen laughed, the sound like chiming bells mixed with splashing water. "Never mind my question then. We are not to speak of it too openly even here in the safety of Imladris, yet Elrond has me quite curious after mentioning it. It seems Eru is weaving his design and very intricately by the looks of it so far. Many different threads are becoming entwined as the Third Age grows old and Sauron's power swells like a terrible sting to Middle-earth. Sauron may have seemed defeated, yet not so. The sting is spreading poison throughout the blood—which is all the Free Peoples of this land—worsening, and driving us towards the eruption. This eruption will be great indeed, but who can say what the outcome is: for good or evil?"
"I do not know, my sister," said Elrohir gazing straight ahead with his far- seeing grey eyes, "however, I do not think Eru and the Valar will let all light be vanquished in the end no matter what happens. We are loved too much though it may not seem like it now and then; especially in times as these where darkness is ever dominant in the lands where any who wished would roam freely and safely. I fear for Middle-earth, Arwen." Elrohir's voice took on an edge of sharp sadness.
"As do I, my brother. So much is happening! Look at what times we do live in! It is strange if one ponders it long. We may see things never witnessed in the history of Endorenna or Valinor," said Arwen.
Elrohir's eyes brightened and he grinned widely. "You make it seem thrilling while others make it appear to be the end of all that is good here in this despairing land with death to all."
"I try," she said quietly looking up at the white blossoms above. Some drifted slowly to the ground covering the earthy soil and lush grass beneath the two Elves' feet. Arwen caught one in her hands with a soft smile. "Is it not beautiful?" She held it up in the light and felt at peace about all that was revolving around Imladris.
Elrohir plucked it out of her grasp with care. He then placed it in her hair. "There. That will have to do. Strange...it looks even more beautiful now than before."
"Thank you Elrohir. You are too kind." She brought a hand to his cheek. "I am honoured for you to be my brother. At times I feel you and Elladan are the only ones I can trust to reveal my heart to here in Rivendell."
Elrohir's eyes clouded briefly at her words and he said, "Our father is noble enough to be in your confidence. There are none like to him living."
"Sometimes he cannot be because of who he is. At those times it is usually when we dissent over...a certain disagreement of ours." She bit her lip.
"Ai. You speak of your love of Aragorn?" asked Elrohir.
"Yes," Arwen answered lowering her eyes, "that is precisely what I speak of. We are not on good terms when it comes to it. I attempt to steer the discussion down another road, yet Elrond has need to say certain things. I have forgiven him for this since I understand why he acts the way he does." Arwen saw him having difficulty holding back a smile that was tugging at the corners of his mouth. He cleared his throat and looked to the side to avoid her piercing gaze. "Where is Elladan?" she asked suddenly thinking of how often they were in each other's company. "I have not seen him."
"He is...well...I am not sure. For once he has evaded me for a day. Elladan does so when he is thinking hard or...despairing." Elrohir's head lowered to his chest as they continued walking.
Arwen grasped his arm. "Of what would he despair?"
"You know we both changed when mother passed into the West long years ago. She was so dear to us and she had to leave. That is one reason Elladan and I have chosen to take that road after her when the last ship comes. When she departed Elladan and I let our emotions run loose for a time. The Orcs learned to fear the sons of Elrond like no others through the passing years. We still take leave of the valley of Imladris to wander the Wild with Rangers of the North. It is in those times I feel most alive," Elrohir said with shining eyes. His back straightened further and his step was easy. "He is pondering things this day."
Arwen nodded her head letting a dark strand of hair fall from behind her ear. She tilted her head to look over at her kin when he frowned briefly after his words left the air. Now and then a bird with brightly beautiful feathers fluttered from branch to branch singing its song to those who would listen.
"It is strange to know that Sauron used to be one of the Maia. They still mourn over the loss of his skill in Aman." Arwen had begun to wonder of the Dark Lord and why he would forsake the light to embrace darkness.
"As do the Elves. He was great once," said Elrohir. "So many things have changed...yet never the darkness."
"Nor does the light, Elrohir," Arwen said in a near whisper. "For now we must look to the light and all that is good and courageous."
Aragorn moved through the slowly darkening shadows, with Elf-like grace and without sound, alone. He had given charge of Aravel to Halbarad and Tarcil once he set out for Bree, the village of Men and Halflings. Now he was almost there, on the borders, after passing near the Barrow-downs. The Barrow-downs never disturbed him for he was of Númenórean blood who erected those places long ago and the Barrow-wights feared him.
The sound of lowered voices reached his keen ears, so he crept forward to draw closer. Now the words were clearer and he smiled grimly.
"It may be all we could wish," said a voice high for a man, "but it is outside the Shire all the same. Don't make yourselves too much at home! Please remember—all of you—that the name of Baggins must NOT be mentioned. I am Mr. Underhill, if any name must be given."
Old Tom Bombadil had left the four hobbits to themselves when they came to the end of his country, and they were discussing their arrival into the village of Bree. Aragorn stood quite near; although they did not hear or see him being so close. His eyes glinted in the softening sunlight that was almost gone behind the horizon. He had found his quarry before he expected.
The one he presumed was Frodo Baggins was he who had just spoken and given warning to the three other hobbits. He was short, as hobbits are, with dark curling hair and bright eyes. His hairy feet were as large as most Men's at full length as was the same with the others. Periannath, Halflings. They were only a legend among some in distant lands, yet in the North Men and Elves knew better.
The four hobbits mounted their ponies and rode off in a silent manner as they went over and up hills in the road. Aragorn followed quietly and unknowingly to their side beneath the cover of the sparse trees. He was watching them as they went until Bree-hill rose in the distance. At its western base sparkled warm lights of the large village of Bree under the hill's protection. Dark had come during the four miles they trekked. Aragorn was, for once, thankful for the shadows hiding him from sight better than earlier.
They approached the West-gate of Bree that was shut tight. The gatekeeper sat inside the doorway of his small lodging by the roadway. When he saw the hobbits standing there waiting he jumped to his feet awkwardly, grabbed a lit lantern, and looked down at them over the gate. His face did not mask his amazement.
Aragorn heard him say in a gruff voice, "What do you want, and where do you come from?"
"We are making for the inn here," answered Frodo. "We are journeying east and cannot go further tonight."
"Hobbits! Four hobbits! And what's more, out of the Shire by their talk," said the gatekeeper, softly as if speaking to himself. He stared at them darkly for a moment, and then slowly opened the gate and let them ride through. "We don't often see Shire-folk riding on the Road at night," he went on, as they halted a moment by his door. "You'll pardon my wondering what business takes you away east of Bree! What may your names be, might I ask?"
"Our names and our business are our own, and this does not seem a good place to discuss them," said Frodo who apparently did not like the look of the gatekeeper or his inquiry.
"Your business is your own, no doubt," said the man, "but it's my business to ask questions after nightfall."
"We are hobbits from Buckland, and we have a fancy to travel and to stay at the inn here," put in one of the other hobbits standing near Frodo. "I am Mr. Brandybuck. Is that enough for you? The Bree-folk used to be fair- spoken to travellers, or so I had heard." So his name was Brandybuck was it? Aragorn shifted his feet hoping the hobbits guarded their tongues closely.
"All right, all right!" said the man. Aragorn knew him as Harry from a previous encounter. "I meant no offence. But you'll find maybe that more folk than old Harry at the gate will be asking you questions. There's queer folk about. If you go to The Pony, you'll find you're not the only guests." After wishing them a good night the Periannath said nothing more to him. Aragorn watched the man's eyes follow them still curiously when they made their way down the road. The gate clanged shut by Harry's hand, but he still stared after the hobbits. Aragorn stood silently when he saw his chance. Frodo and his companions were moving out of sight soon, so he climbed over the gate once the gatekeeper's back was turned on him and melted into the shadows of the village street. He could see the hobbits' heads looking up and around them at the towering buildings—to them at least—and staring with wide-eyed wonder. They had not seen anything, or been, out of the Shire till now.
A thick man who was tall compared to others in the village, but not Aragorn, glared at him while walking past. Few noticed him unless they came close, and then they did not react kindly. Rangers were known in Bree though not liked. The people feared what they did not know, so they began to despise Rangers of the North. Aragorn pitied them for not understanding that their lives depended on that such kindred. So ignorant, yet still beings.
Frodo had now reached The Prancing Pony inn and entered the two-story building facing the Road. The large door was open letting out streaming warm light from inside. The hobbits walked up the broad steps into it after a raucous song taken up inside had ended. Over the doorway hung a sign painted with a round, white pony and the words: The Prancing Pony by Barliman Butterbur. Aragorn waited across the street holding his cloak close about him. The shadows clung to him while the time passed.
At last the hobbits were led away by Barliman, and Aragorn moved into the doorway, his tall frame almost brushing against the topmost fragment of smooth wood. His height was noted in both places of Men and Elves for he had gained the stature of Elendil and his fathers before him. None was taller who lived.
Nob, who was also a hobbit, scuttled past carrying a tray with empty plates with a grin on his small face. He was in the service of Butterbur. He held candles as well to bring to the parlour where Frodo and his companions were taken. Later, Butterbur and Nob both carried away the food: hot soup, cold meats, blackberry tart, loaves of fresh bread, slabs of butter, and half a ripe cheese. This was after the ale taken to them. Yet before Butterbur could reach their room Aragorn stopped him.
Butterbur's face tightened and he said stiffly, "Yes? What is it you be needing?"
"The hobbits. I must see them, if you would," said Aragorn slipping into the role of Strider.
Butterbur straightened indignantly. "Of course not! They haven't eaten or taken rest. You might catch them if they decide to go into the common room. Be off with you now!" He waved his hands at the Ranger and hurried off with a final glance over his shoulder.
Strider stood watching until he was out of sight around the corner. He let out a frustrated sigh and went into the common room to wait on the hobbits for he was sure they would eventually come out after a meal and mug of Barliman's ale. He sat down in a dark corner to watch and wait. Before him was a tall mug of ale, which he hardly touched even after all was done, and leaf from the Shire for his pipe. He pulled this out of his cloak and lighted it. The wood was light and intricately carved with runes running along the stem. It had been crafted by the Elves; as a gift since they did not smoke. One had been given to Gandalf and Bilbo as well; however, they were all different.
Men sat around the room singing or laughing with drink thick in their throats. There were also hobbits, dwarves, and other travellers at tables together. A pair of dwarves with thick, dark beards spoke to each other quietly as could be heard in the clamour of the common room. Strider fingered the handle on the tankard as he watched with keen grey eyes all those who entered or left. Across the room Bill Ferny wore a frown, taking occasional sips of his drink. Strider shifted in his chair when he saw Ferny was there. That man was ever a nuisance and problem-causing man. If he did not know better Strider would have said the dark-eyed man was a spy of the Enemy. He knew they watched in the most unlikely places.
Frodo then walked into the room with the others excepting Master Brandybuck. From where he sat he could see one hobbit standing protectively by his side while the other stared with open wonder mingled with joy at the room. That one looked to be trouble if he got ahold of too much drink. They all sat at a table and were introduced to all those around. Master Baggins was named Underhill as Strider expected by the talk before arriving in Bree. All in the room began asking questions of the Shire as well as inquiring the reason why Mr. Underhill was there in their village. He told them he was writing a book. A slight smile tugged at the corners of his mouth at hearing that bit of information.
They began to get freer with their tongues as the night dragged on. Strider sat tense in his shadowed corner. Suddenly Frodo seemed to see him there, so he appeared as though uninterested in anything and looked in another direction for the time being. Frodo made a gesture to Barliman to stop him. Strider knew he was asking about him. It had begun at last.