Busy week at school, grandparents came from out of town…crazy week for me. Sorry this took so long. It is a longer chapter, so I hope that makes up for my delay. Thanks so much for your patience; it means a lot to me! As usual, don't forget to comment, and I hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 2: Rumors

"How much farther?" Pippin yawned. "My feet ache, and I'm tired. Can't we stop?" Though only Pippin voiced his discomfort, none of the Hobbits could deny being exhausted. They'd left the Old Forest two days ago, and today had left before the sun rose, and traveled all day long, stopping only for their frequent meals. Now as the sun sank drowsily behind the trees, they could hardly take one step more.

"All right," Frodo replied, "let's camp away from the road."

They found a little wooded dimple in the earth several yards from the darkening road, far enough—Frodo hoped—to avoid the strong noses of the Black Riders. Merry and Pippin dropped their packs carelessly and collapsed in a melodramatic heap of sighs and grumbles. Sam kept a wary eye on the road as the Hobbits settled down.

"Come on, Sam! Come and eat; you're making me nervous, watching like that." Merry waved a hand at his friend and dug into a loaf of bread. At a gentle word from his master, Sam finally joined the group. The darkness made them all uneasy, especially since their last near-encounter with one of those foul Black Riders. Frodo remembered the incident as though it were yesterday; the chill in the air, the intensity of the silence, broken only by the blood-chilling sound of sniffing…sniffing for Frodo, for the Ring…

"Mr. Frodo?" Frodo suddenly wobbled side to side. "Mr. Frodo, you're doing it again."

Frodo glanced at the firm hand on his shoulder and followed Sam's eyes to his own hands. There was the accursed circle of gold, a hair's breadth from his finger. He quickly stuffed it into his pocket. Sam looked sympathetically into his friend's bloodshot eyes.

"Get some rest, Mr. Frodo. I'll take the first watch."

With a shiver, Frodo lifted his head. He'd fallen asleep again. Dear old Sam decided not to wake Frodo for his watch, and received a scolding from the latter when his nightmare woke him. Now he felt guilty. And cold. It wasn't this chilly earlier, was it?

Frodo's heart skipped a beat. No, it wasn't this chilly. Neither was it this quiet. Or dark.

The sound of horse-hooves in the grass made Frodo's face pale. His heart thundered so violently he was sure the Rider could hear it. The chill pressed closer, suffocating him. He ducked into the pit and held his breath, waiting, listening. There were two horses. No, three. His fingers wandered to the ring in his pocket, stroking it, feeling its energy. His eyes darted to the road, and his heart froze again.

Three silhouettes stood black against the moon.

Frodo found himself standing, staring at the riders. One turned to look at him. The moonlight caught a red gem hidden in the hood, piercing his eye with a shard of hypnotic red light. Time blurred almost to a stop; Frodo felt his thoughts turn hazy and his energy seep through his skin. The red gleam came closer…closer…

And the Rider turned and rode off.

Frodo sighed as his knees gave way. The Riders were gone. They hadn't seen him—they really hadn't. Still, it was too close. They needed to leave as soon as possible—those Riders might return at any point that night. Any minute…they could be…right…around the corner…

Frodo's head dropped as sleep consumed him.

"Oh, finally!" Pippin sighed as the troupe approached a forbidding-looking wooden gate. "I'm soaked to the skin. I sure hope Gandalf reserved a room for us at that Prancing Pony place."

Frodo pushed worried thoughts of his dear wizard friend from his mind as he pounded on the gate. A small panel instantly slid open to reveal a sour-looking old man.

"What do you want?" Frodo stated that they came to meet someone. The man looked closer. "Hobbits. Four Hobbits. And from the Shire, by your talk." With some further chatter about having to be careful, as there were strange riders about, he let the group slip through the door. The village of Bree was a rather flimsy one, though stubbornly resilient. The grey buildings were weathered and quiet, and the road was unpaved dirt—mud now, on account of the vicious rain. Light splayed across the mud-puddles from an open door through which also came sounds of drunken revelry. The four made their way to the inn, where Frodo, or "Mr. Underhill," asked the innkeeper about Gandalf, and his three companions found a table. Frodo returned looking troubled, needing to exchange no words. Merry soon rose to get a drink, successfully arousing jealousy in his cousin at the fair pint-sized mug in his hand. Pippin rose in a hurry to secure a pint for himself, and as Sam chided him for his ale consumption, his eyes fell upon a hooded newcomer. "Mr. Frodo," Sam whispered nervously. Frodo's eyes shifted to the figure, and his stomach suddenly turned a knot for no good reason. Sam's wary attention returned to the other hooded lurker who had been watching them since their arrival. "I don't like this," he muttered. "What with that fellow watchin' us and the other fellow sallyin' on in here decked out with knives and what not, I've got a feeling something bad's going to happen." Frodo said nothing. He didn't like it either, but he wasn't sure why exactly.

Mordollwen glanced sidelong at the drunk beside her. "So I sez ta thish-yer ruffian, I sez…boy, you ain't seen nuthin' yet!" The man's eyes lit up with animation as he swung his fists, reenacting some brawl or another. Drunken idiot. Where is that innkeeper?

As if on cue, Barliman Butterbur returned from a table of small folk, a troubled look on his face. Noticing Mordollwen, he muttered under his breath; "…all these mysterious travelin' folk gonna scare away my boarders." He approached her. "Can I get you something, s…miss…?" He raised an eyebrow at her shadowed face. She looked up at him, and he blushed. "Yes, as a matter of fact, you can." Her voice was smooth and feminine, but had enough lead and poison you could almost taste it. Barliman shuttered. "I seek information of a King," she continued quietly, leaning on the counter; "he would be nearly ninety years old by now. The heir of Isíldur…Aragorn, I believe?" Barliman nodded. "Nobody knows much about him," he said, "but I've heard tell that he died when he was just a babe. Killed in some raid or another. Some folks say, though"—here he leaned closer to her—"that he's still alive. Taken to the Elves as a child and raised there…oh, where was it? Something with an R, I think…"

"Rivendell?" The name was acrid on her tongue.

"That sounds about right." He gripped a rag and shoved his fist into a mug. "Not sure what's happened to him since then, but if I were really curious, I'd want to go and ask the Elves about him." Rivendell, Mordollwen thought, is not that where... "Oh, and while we're at rumors…" irritated at her thoughts being interrupted, she turned back to Barliman with a mild glare. He looked down. "I was just goin' to say that word on the street is there's Black Riders about, roamin' like a guard troupe or somethin'…and that their captain is the princess of the Black Lands herself. That's what I was tellin' those Hobbits just now." She had to contain her surprise. She was famous? Infamous, even? "How does anybody know of there being a princess of Mordor?"

"Well," his eyes gleamed like a child's who is sharing secrets; "someone said that as they was comin' in, they saw a Black Rider a little smaller than the others, and it had a silver crown with a ruby eye in it. Sounds awful suspicious to me."

"Indeed."

"…Frodo Baggins! My second cousin once removed on his mother's side!" One of the little men broadcasted to the room, very pleased with himself. Eyes wide, Mordollwen turned to the other Halfling who had risen and come rushing to his loud-mouthed cousin. Whispers arose in her memory.

Shire. Baggins.

Author's Notes:

Uh-oh! Looks bad for Frodo! Wonder what Strider will do? *wink wink* stay tuned for chapter the next one!

Yes, I know my writing is a little too dramatic. I'm working on it. See, it's so difficult for me to be descriptive without being overdescriptive. Any tips?