"They should be here by now." Tired, yet still alert, eyes flicked toward the tavern's entrance. "What if something's happened?"
"Gandalf said they'd be here within the week," her companion replied coolly. "The wizard is almost never wrong about these things.
"Almost," he heard her mutter under her breath. He smiled inwardly at the slew of Elvish curses that followed. Though her understanding of the language still needed work, the curses she'd perfected.
She fingered the edges of the wrinkled note that the wizard had left behind. The parchment was now soft and worn from the many times she'd poured over the wizard's slanted script. Something was amiss, of this she was sure. The wizard often spoke in riddles, but this was not one; he had written his message quite clearly but had failed to disguise the anxiety in his words.
To Strider,
Clever of him to address the ranger this way. The men of Bree had no business knowing his given name, nor the prophecy laden within it. His lineage would not be made public knowledge. Not here, not now.
Two hobbits, traveling under the name, Underhill, are journeying to Bree as I write to you. I have…
Here the ink had pooled ever so slightly at the tail of the 'e' indicating the wizard's hand had hesitated. Why, she had yet to figure out; and that was what had kept her awake at night.
…been delayed as it would seem. I must seek the will of the council regarding a very urgent matter. I entrust their safety to you. Deliver them to Lord Elrond in Rivendell. I cannot say they will be safe there, but they are better off there than in Hobbiton. They carry a heavy burden. Travel swiftly. Travel cautiously.
The Elvish rune for "G" scribbled haphazardly at the end of the page concluded his short message.
The pair that sat awaiting the hobbits' arrival were no fools. The wizard needn't explain their burden nor the danger it carried. There was only one explanation, and it was one that lingered on the cusps of their minds and lurked in the shadows of their dreams.
The Ring of Power had returned.
The most unlikely creature, she'd thought to herself, how could a being so naïve, so innocent…come to hold the most dangerous weapon in all of Middle Earth? It had long since passed out of myth and legend, only known to those who'd lived long enough to have experienced its history firsthand. Why now? What was to come?
She rubbed her temples in a poor attempt to still her reeling mind. She'd hardly slept since their arrival and had had no appetite, much to her companion's dismay.
He watched her through the haze of his pipe's smoke. The smoldering vapor obscured her features ever so slightly, though it did not hide the obvious signs of exhaustion. He noted the dull purple circles under her eyes. They used to shine so brightly, he mused. His eyes traced the faint pink line that carved across the left side of her face and eye; an injury from a training accident during her teenage years, or at least that's what she'd told him. He sensed she'd withheld some of the truth from him, but he had never pried deeper into it. She would tell him when she was ready. If she ever would be.
Her cheeks, though fuller now following her recovery, still sunk into her face. She needed sleep. She needed to eat. She needed to be at home, under the care of Lord Elrond; not here, not with him—not with what was to come.
"Aragorn!"
The harsh whisper drew him from the depths of his mind. His companion inclined her head toward the door to the inn. Eye-level with the counter stood not two, but four hobbits.
"Underhill," the hobbit spoke quickly, poorly masking the panic in his voice. "My name is Underhill."
She shook her head. A move like that will get him killed in an instant. Thank the Valar we're here to protect him. Had the old barkeep not been so daft, he would've seen right through this ruse.
"There are four," he muttered as he took another long drag from his pipe. His eyes darted around the common space. They were surrounded by men, talking and laughing over pints of ale and fire roasted cuts of venison. They paid little attention to the hobbits, though they were the only ones of their kind in the tavern. Hobbits were no strangers to Bree. In fact, it was odd for there to be no other hobbits present. Perhaps, the two had met the other pair outside and walked in together, bonding over their likeness.
No, the ranger chided himself. He knew better. They seem far too close to be strangers. Look at the way they interact. They're clearly friends. As he watched the hobbits settle in at a short table across the way, he drew his hood a little lower over his eyes.
"Can you see them clearly?" she asked softly. The smoky haze from the ovens and various pipes hung low the air. Her good eye strained to see them in the firelit space.
The ranger nodded in response, "Yes. I can't hear them, but I can read their lips. They're questioning the wizard's whereabouts." His eyes widened ever so slightly. "They speak of the black riders."
Her heart skipped a beat. "Here?' she questioned. "They've come to Bree?"
The ranger's lips formed a tight line, "So it would seem." He paused and took a drag from his pipe. "Go gather their belongings and bring them to our room. I'm sure Barliman's had them sent to the hobbit lodgings. If the wraiths are in Bree, that would be the first place they search. If the halflings have already had one run in with them, they can't be far behind."
She nodded and rose from the table. As she turned to leave a calloused hand gripped her wrist. Her eyes flicked between her wrist and the man behind it. Worry shone clearly in his eyes.
"Allannia," his grip on her wrist tightened, "Be careful."
000000
She scowled as she closed the door to the tavern behind her, both at the rain pouring down and at her companion's parting words.
"Be careful," she muttered. Ever since her accident he'd been far too overprotective; no thanks to his foster father, Elrond, Lord of Rivendell.
Where does he get off telling me to be careful? Before the attack he'd never thought twice about my ability to protect myself. I was the daughter of a general for Gods' sakes! I've sparred with Aragorn, fought side by side with Aragorn…
"On your left!" Before she had time to react, a broad shoulder connected with hers and knocked her off balance. Regaining her footing, she winced and flattened her palm against her chest to stay the pain flaring there. She wanted to curse the man, but it wasn't his fault he'd run into her. He wanted to get out of the rain as much as anyone else. He couldn't have known she was injured.
It also grieved her that she hadn't seen him sooner, or maybe she had. Learning to navigate by nightfall after her left eye had been blinded had taken time, much more than she'd care to admit. Aragorn had been patient with her though; teaching her to rely on sound and even smell when it was harder for her to see. The elves in Rivendell did the same; reminding her of the Elvish blood in her veins. The elves' senses were quite keen; their bodies naturally in tune with the world around them, their ears pricking at the slightest difference in the wind or snap of a twig.
It would have been easier to rely on the Elvish side of her had she not been born and raised away from the elves. Growing up as the only half-elf in the realm of Gondor, she followed one rule: don't be seen, don't be heard. This often meant ignoring her Elvish blood completely. Men, particularly Gondorian men, didn't care for the elves. Men don't like what they can't understand; and the elves for them were a marvel like no other. Eternal life, rumors of communicating with trees, magic…no, they did not take kindly to these sorts of things. Her father would've lost his rank, faced banishment, or even death.
It wasn't long before her twenty third birthday that her father did face the latter. Treason they said it was. She scoffed, both at the memory and the locked door to the hobbit lodgings. Cursing under her breath, she pulled a pin from her hair and swiped aside the brown lock of hair that fell across her face. It only took a moment after pushing the pin into the lock for her to jimmy the door open.
A wraith would've kicked this door down in an instant, she thought. The hobbits would never stand a chance against them.
It didn't take long to gather the hobbits' belongings. Aside from their overcoats and scarves, there had only been one bag between the four of them. A large backpack, full up to the brim with gods knows what, clanked loudly as she slung it over her shoulder. She couldn't believe the number of pots and pans hanging off the back. They could not travel like this. All that racket would undoubtedly attract unwanted visitors.
They might as well as hung a sign over their necks reading: I'm here, wraiths! Take me to Sauron!
She closed the door and hurried across the road, keeping her head down as the rain beat against her back. Her and Aragorn's lodging weren't too far off from where the hobbits were meant to be staying. They'd stay with them tonight, sleeping, while her and Aragorn took turns taking watch. Tomorrow they'd begin the two-week long trek to Rivendell.
Allannia shivered slightly as she unlocked the door and entered the room her and Aragorn had been renting. Luckily, while her and Aragorn had been out, an attendant had been in to light a fire in the hearth. Shadows danced in the orange glow of the fire as she crossed the room. She set the pack down and removed the sword and knives hanging off of her hips, breathing a sigh of relief as the excess weight rolled off her body.
It was early evening. The hobbits would be dining, drinking, and smoking for ages per their customs. Aragorn would keep watch. She decided then to call an attendant to bring hot water for a bath. Gods knows it would be her only opportunity before they reached Rivendell.
While she waited, she shed her rain drenched cloak and boots. Stretching out in a chair before the fireplace, she watched as the flames blazed and curled around one another in a hypnotic dance of oranges and yellows.
"Housekeeping!" an aged voice called from beyond the wooden door.
Allannia quietly pulled a knife from the belt she'd shed minutes earlier before standing to open the door. One could never be too careful these days. A kind, old housekeeper could very well be an enemy in disguise. A similar scenario had nearly cost her her life; and she wouldn't make the same mistake twice.
Keeping a majority of her body behind the door, she opened it slowly. A rickety cart pushed through the entryway, followed by the tiniest old lady teetering behind it. Allannia grew less rigid, but still proceeded with caution as she moved from behind the door.
The old lady paid her little mind as she went about filling the copper bathtub. She hummed quietly as she poured bucket after bucket of steaming water into the large basin.
"Would you like any help with that?" Allannia asked as she crossed into the bathroom, making sure to hide the knife from sight so as not to frighten the housekeeper.
The old woman waved her off as she poured a variety of oils and flower petals into the water. "No, no dear. It's quite alright."
Allannia smiled as she watched her work. "I've never received this sort of treatment from innkeepers. It's usually lukewarm water and a bar of soap if I'm lucky. I've never seen them add oils and perfumes to the water."
The old woman's eyes twinkled in the firelight as she smiled warmly at the girl, "We don't see a lot of women through Bree, save the ones that work here. I've seen the rugged sir you're traveling with." She laughed, causing the wrinkles in her tan skin to deepen and inclined her head toward the bath. "I can tell you need this, my dear."
Allannia laughed softly and withdrew several coins from a pouch on her belt. "Here," she said as she pressed them into the woman's hand. "Thank you. Your kindness has meant more than you know."
The woman thanked her and pocketed the change. As she made to leave, she paused at the door. "Do be careful my dear," she said softly. As she pushed her cart through the threshold, her head hung low. As the door slowly swung shut, Allannia heard her somber parting words. "We're losing too many young folks now a days."
After making sure the door was locked, Allannia crossed the room to the bathtub. The scent of lavender and pine wafted through the air, enveloping her in a warm, steamy embrace. Almost giddily, she stripped off her vest, tunic, and trousers. Undoing the bandages around her chest and shoulder, she cast aside the sullied strips of fabric and sank deep into the hot water. She moaned languidly as the tension in her muscle released in waves down her body. The still healing stab wound on her chest stung from the heat of the water, but for once she didn't mind.
Sinking below the water's surface, she held her breath as she ran her fingers through her hair, untangling the knots from weeks in the wilderness. As she came up for air, she smiled. Pink lips turned upward, parting slightly as she breathed in the sweet-scented world around her.
The houseworker had left several decanters on the lip of bathtub. Allannia unscrewed the toppers and inhaled the different scents: rose water, orange blossom, wildflower. After pouring a bit of the orange scented soap into her hands, she lathered it into her shoulder length tresses.
Her smile faded as her fingers slid over the tips of her ears, or rather, the scar tissue where the tips of her ears had once been. She had been too young remember the procedure, but once she reached her twenty third year, her father told her the truth about her lineage.
"You told me they were a birth defect." Allannia stared at the ground, refusing to meet her father's gaze. How could he have hidden something so vital from her for her entire life?
"I had to. I didn't know what else to do! If you were in my position-"
Allannia leapt to her feet, knocking the chair over in the process. It hit the floor with a loud bang, cracking one of the wooden arm rests. "I wouldn't have mutilated my own child!"
"Allannia, please." Her father's voice cracked. "Your mother had just died, and I couldn't tell a soul. It was just you and me and you were so small, and I was so afraid of losing you too. I couldn't let them take you from me."
"Who?" she questioned. "Who would do that?"
Her father breathed out shakily, "The Steward, or at the very least his guard."
Her brow furrowed, "And are you not a part of his guard?"
Her father's tired and sad expressions suddenly filled with anger, "For gods' sakes Allannia, how do you think I knew about all of this! The Steward never cared for other races, especially the elves. Gods know what he would've done if he'd found out one of his trusted guards had fallen in love with one, let alone bore a child unto her! I made my choice! I do not regret it."
Allannia stood silent for a moment. Her father's words hung heavily in the space between them. "I'm friends with the Steward's sons," she finally said. "Surely, I would have known about the prejudice their father held against other people. They've never said anything to make me believe they'd been raised like mindedly."
Her father scoffed, "I would not be so quick to judge those men as innocents. I know you've been friends with Lord Denethor's sons for quite some time but trust me when I say that their whole line is tainted with greed and a desire for power." He gazed out the window where a group of soldiers were on patrol, his eyes gleaming with disdain. His voice was low when he spoke again. "They'll betray you the first chance they get."
Allannia laughed bitterly, "You have a lot of nerve discussing who is likely to betray me."
A fist pounded against the door to their chambers, startling them both. "Captain Braylyn! Open this door!" the lock rattled as someone tried to force their way in.
Panic seized her. "Father, what's happening?"
He rushed to her sides and grabbed her forearms tightly. "Allannia, promise me you'll never tell anyone what I've told you here tonight."
Someone threw their body against the door. Allannia flinched as her father's grip tightened around her arms.
"I don't understand. What's going on?" the grays of her eyes desperately searched his face for answers.
"There's no time!" He released her and pressed something into her hand.
"What's this?" she asked.
The door swung open, slamming into the wall behind it.
He grabbed her face in his hands, "Allannia, promise me!"
"I promise!" she yelled. Water splashed over the sides of the wash basin as she abruptly sat up and gathered her bearings. Realizing she'd dozed off and endured yet another nightmare, she let out a long sigh and let her head fall back on the lip of the tub with a dull thud.
000000
Allannia doesn't flinch when the door flung open and a small person tumbled onto the ground. She could hear him protesting Strider's grip on him from outside.
"Scream a bit louder," she bit, not looking up from the fire. "Let every wraith know your whereabouts." In the peripherals of her good eye, she watched the hobbit stand and dust off his waist coat.
"Who are you people?" he asked warily. "Where is Gandalf?"
"He's not coming," Allannia answered, finally meeting his wide terrified eyes. "We're to deliver you to Rivendell."
His mouth fell open. "Rivendell?"
Aragorn peered out the window. After deciding they were not being followed, he let the curtain fall back into place against the glass. He turned around and sniffed the air. Paying no mind to the halfling's questions, his steely gaze turned quizzical. "Have you had a bath?" he asked Allannia.
Half of her mouth twitched upward into a smile. "I have." She inclined her head toward him and then the tub, "I know someone else that could use one."
He smirked, "Yes, well. While you were here pampering yourself, I was collecting this fool." He glared at the hobbit.
Allannia focused her attention on the trembling halfling. "Mr. Baggins," she rose from the chair she'd been sitting in and waved him over. "Come have a seat and dry off by the fire."
He didn't move. He remained frozen in place, trembling like a leaf in a windstorm.
Her features softened. There was no point in becoming cross with him. He had no idea why he was here or what was chasing him. Up until now, the most dangerous thing he'd probably encountered was a spider in the spice cabinet.
"We're not going to hurt you." She inclined her head toward him. "I can tell by the way you're looking at this scar on my face that you're wondering about what fight I must have gotten in to earn such a mark. I've had my fair share of fights Mr. Baggins, but believe me when I say I've never, nor do I intend to kill a hobbit."
The halfling blushed knowing Allannia had seen him staring. It was not in a hobbit's nature to be so rude, but he'd never seen a big woman before; and she was unlike any of the women he'd read about in his uncle's books. Reluctantly, he crossed the room and took a seat near the hearth. The fire did feel nice on the soles of his aching feet.
His eyes flitted between her and Aragorn. "Who are you?"
"I am…" Her ears pricked at the sound of at least two pairs of feet, large feet, by the sound of their thumping, approached from outside. She raised a finger "One moment."
She crossed the room and listened carefully to the sound of scuffling feet and hushed voices just beyond the door. Alright, they're nearly here. Three, two…she twisted the doorknob and threw the door open, catching the other three halflings by surprise.
"We were just about to do introductions. Please," she said calmly and stepped away from the threshold, "come in."
The three halflings hesitantly lowered their fists. They stared up at her with the same doe-eyed look that Frodo had when he first saw her.
"Sam!" Frodo called from within.
"Mr. Frodo!" exclaimed a particularly chunky hobbit. He ducked under Allannia's arm and rushed to his friend's side. "Did these people hurt you?"
"No, Sam. I'm fine." He glanced at the strange woman and watched as she shut and locked the door behind his other companions.
"Supposedly, they're friends of Gandalf."
Sam scoffed and folded his arms across his chest, "Yeah, right, and I'm the King of Gondor."
Allannia exchanged the briefest of looks with Aragorn before approaching the stout hobbit. He held her gray stare despite his waning courage.
"Funny," she said, "I thought you'd be taller."
The two halflings by the door covered their mouth in a poor attempt to stifle their laughter. Obviously, they were not as afraid as their friend.
She gestured to Aragorn. "You've already met Strider. My name is Allannia. Gandalf is our friend. If you don't believe me," she reached into her pocket, fished out the weather note, and passed it along to Frodo. "here."
The hobbits huddled together and quickly poured over the wizard's scrawl. Frodo's eyes widened as they rose above the parchment to meet hers. "It's true!"
"Of course, it's true," Aragorn grumbled from his place by the window.
Allannia shot him a look and then smiled warmly at the hobbits. "Trust us to keep you safe. We're quite skilled in the wild and will deliver you safely to Rivendell.
"Rivendell?" Sam's stern expression quickly shifted to one of wonder and awe. "We're going to see the elves?"
Allannia laughed musically, "My kin."
The hobbits exchanged bewildered looks with one another. Allannia could tell they had a million questions, but now was not the time for that. "There will be plenty of time for questions later," she assured them. "For now, you all need to rest and get some sleep. We will deliver you safely to Rivendell, but the road is long. You will need all of your strength."
Not half an hour passed before all four hobbits were squeezed together in the one bed, sound asleep and snoring softly. Allannia blew out the candles on the bedside table and rejoined Aragorn in the chairs by the window.
"Let's have a look then," he said once she'd sat down.
"It's no different than it was yesterday," Allannia huffed.
Aragorn glared at her. "Allannia," he said sternly.
This was a fight she wouldn't win. Begrudgingly, the young woman fingered the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head. She hadn't even bothered to rebandage the wound upon finishing her bath. Shifting forward in her seat, she leaned toward the ranger.
A thin band of fabric tied around her chest kept her breasts covered. Picking up the candle nearest to him, he held it close to her chest to see exactly what kind of damage he was dealing with.
His brow furrowed as he tilted his head this way and that way. "I don't like the redness that's developing at the edges."
Aragorn continued to gently probe the newly formed scar tissue to see if the wound produced any sign of infection and as he suspected, yellow-white puss emerged from the fleshy parts of tissue not yet scabbed over.
The ranger bit his tongue to keep from shouting at her. All that separated them from the four sleeping hobbits was a wooden divider. He sighed exasperatedly, "You haven't been treating this."
Allannia felt a twinge of guilt as his eyes flashed with anger, but it was short lived. She did not care for her friend's tone. "Tell me," she began, "between trudging through swamplands and tracking the wraiths, when was I meant to be playing the part of nurse?"
The ranger neared her face and spoke in a low whisper, "You promised me that if I convinced Lord Elrond to allow you to take part in this task that you would take care of yourself!"
"Last I checked," Allannia said, matching his tone, "neither you, nor Lord Elrond are my father. With or without his permission I would be here. You know that!"
"But at what cost?" In one quick motion he reached across the space between them and pressed his thumb into the half-healed wound.
Allannia hissed and grabbed his wrist, having half a mind to break it. "You forget your place," she snapped, her eyes darkening. "I am your friend, not your charge." She pushed his hand away and stood, snatching the vials of medicine and roll of bandages from the small table beside them, hoping he didn't notice her shaking hands. "Best be taking care of myself, now, shouldn't I?"
"Stop," he said, his expression softening, "allow me to tend to it."
Allannia glared at him for a moment. For the first time since they'd left Rivendell, she noticed how tired he looked, sad even. Much to her chagrin, she relented and sat back down.
Aragorn took the small bottles and bandages from her shaking hands. He wanted to say something to ease her troubled mind, but stayed silent, uncorking the vials instead and dumping a small amount of each herb into his palm. He scanned the floor for his canteen to mix water into the herbs.
"Here," Allannia said, holding it up in the air.
"Just a splash," he instructed.
The pungent odor stung her nostrils as she poured the water into his hand. Using the forefinger on his opposite hand, he combined the mixture and scooped half of it into the crook of his finger.
She welcomed the familiar sting of the medicine as Aragorn packed it onto the wound. Gods, how she'd flinched at the burning sensation the first time it had been applied.
Once Aragorn finished packing the wound, he wiped his hands on his tunic. Allannia offered him the roll of bandages, which he accepted. After cutting a short length and applying it directly to the wound, he took the remainder and began wrapping it around her chest and shoulder, securing the bandage in place with a knot at her left shoulder.
He retrieved her tunic from the floor and offered it to her.
"Thank you," she said, accepting it and pulling it over her head.
"Aragorn I—"
"Allannia I—"
They both chuckled softly. "Go ahead," Allannia said, giving him the floor to speak.
Aragorn smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said, taking her hand in his. "What I did was wrong, and I should not have treated you that way."
She squeezed his hand tenderly in return, "You were right, though. I was being careless."
Her friend's eyes glistened with tears. "Aragorn?" she asked, her brow knit together in confusion. "Aragorn, what's the matter?"
He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand and sighed. He smiled that same half smile in a poor attempt to mask his grief. "Nothing. I'm alright."
Liar. There was something he wasn't telling her. Her eyes widened suddenly as it struck her.
"When did you find out?" she asked. "Did Lord Elrond tell you?"
Aragorn knew better than to lie to her.
"I'd heard you'd woken up after three days of being unconscious. I ran as fast as I could to the healing wing. When I entered, I saw Elrond at your bedside. He looked deeply troubled, so I stepped back into the corridor. I did not intend to eavesdrop, but as it would happen, I overheard the news."
Allannia closed her eyes. She'd intended to tell him when they'd returned to Rivendell. When the hobbits were safe, and they had time to speak in private. She opened her eyes and spoke in a voice just above a whisper.
"So, you know I am dying then?"
Even though he knew, the words, especially coming from her, pierced his heart as if they were a thousand knives. He could hardly stay the trembling of his lips. All this time he'd wanted to be so angry with her, to scream at her for being so careless with her life. He'd also been angry with himself. Perhaps if he hadn't pushed her so hard to get past the loss of her father, she wouldn't be so willing to put herself in harm's way. To die to protect the ones you love is an honorable thing, he'd said to her. And so, she nearly did. The poisoned blade that pierced her flesh had been meant for him.
He fixed his eyes on the dying embers of the fire. It was a cowardly thing to do, but he could not look his dearest friend in the eyes as he answered, "Yes."
"I do not regret what I did."
Aragorn clenched his fist around the arm of the chair, causing the silver ring on his forefinger to bite into his skin. Fitting, he thought bitterly as he eyed the silver snake biting its twin.
"There is no prophecy to my name," she continued. "The world will fair no better or worse without me in it."
He closed his eyes and set his mouth in a tight line. He drew in a deep breath and as he exhaled, opened his eyes to finally meet hers.
"My life," he whispered. "My life will be far worse without you in it; prophecies be damned."
His companion's lips twitched into something of a smile.
"Aragorn, you of all people know that there is no escaping our fates. We may cheat them for a little while, but eventually, they find us."
Her eyes fixated on a spot on the floor just past his feet, appearing as though she could see nothing at all until a quiet sound akin to laughter escaped her lips and they refocused.
"I've cheated death long enough." Her eyes darkened as they met his. "You and I both know what's to come Aragorn. The world as we know it is about to change. For good or ill, I cannot yet say, but I do know this. I will die trying to make it a better one for you and for them."
Thick, hot tears brimmed upon her lower eyelids, "They are but children. I know they're older than I am, but the horrors of war and death do not touch their lives in The Shire. All they know is cheer and laughter, light and love. They do not deserve to have such a burden befall them."
"Neither do you, Allannia." He leaned forward in his chair, closing the short gap between them. "You've done your part, for now," he added. "but for my sake, leave by the main road tomorrow and go back to Rivendell. It'll take half as long as it would if you were to travel back through the marshlands with me and the hobbits."
Allannia opened her mouth to argue but Aragorn raised a hand, silencing her before she even had the chance to get a word in edge wise.
"You're already showing signs of infection. You may be dying, but I will not hasten Death's hold over you."
As much as she hated to admit, he was right. "I'll leave at first light."