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Author's Note: For any switching of points of view, I'll just have the viewer's name above the section in parentheses. Also, I'll be changing some details of people's pasts, etc.

The Mysterious Ally

Strider sat in a dark corner, waiting for the hobbit he had been sent to protect; however, momentarily, something else was drawing his attention. A cloaked figure entered the Prancing Pony. The newcomer's ragged and grimy appearance reminded the ranger of himself. The innkeeper, Buffer, stopped in front of the person with a nervous smile on his face, eagerly bustling away after a few seconds of conversation. He continued watching the stranger until he found that he was staring straight back from underneath the enveloping cloak, causing Strider to look away in hopes that he had not been utterly noticed. That was when four hobbits entered the inn. From his corner, the ranger could see the halflings rent a room and sit down for a drink, obviously to wait for Gandalf, who was probably not coming at that point.

(Frodo)

The young Baggins was warily watching the woman in the corner just behind him. No one could have deciphered her gender, accept for her slight figure and the long, knotted string of brown hair dangling down past the shadow of her hood. Of course, in these parts, it could have simply been a man with long hair, however unlikely. Then, Sam nudged him with his elbow, motioning towards another figure in the corner in front of them, which was obviously a man, giving more evidence to the fact that the person behind him was a woman.

"That fellow's done nothin' but stare at you since we arrived."

Stopping the innkeeper passing by, Frodo asked,

"Excuse me, that man in the corner, who is he?"

"He's one of them rangers," Buffer cautiously replied. "Dangerous folk they are…wandering the wilds. What his right name is I've never heard, but around here, he's known as Strider."

"And the woman behind me?" Frodo further probed as Sam looked at the woman muttering,

"Should've noticed her."

"Another ranger no one knows the name of," the innkeeper said, this time scratching his head, perplexed. "She's only been in here once…and that was several years ago…actually, she was oddly asking about Strider. Anyway, all I know is that she's called Drifter and that she leaves tips in her room."

"Thank you," Frodo said, letting Buffer continue on by. He looked behind him again, but the woman was gone. Fingering the ring, he whispered, "Strider."

(Drifter)

The woman trotted softly up the stairs and entered the room Buffer had claimed was Strider's. If she knew anything about male rangers, Strider would grab Frodo and confront him in his room. At least she thought she knew male rangers since she had been following this one around for some time. Getting in the way would do her no good. Just like she predicted, a few moments later, Strider burst into the room with the young hobbit in tow. Drifter almost found it humorous that the man and halfling did not notice her, but the entire situation would not allow for it, for she knew that the Nazgul would be after them throughout their entire trek to Imladris.

"What do you want?" Frodo questioned, getting up from the sprawled position Strider had thrown him into while the ranger man removed the hood of his cloak.

"A little more caution from you," was the quick and quiet reply. "That is no trinket you carry."

"I carry nothing!" the hobbit denied.

"Indeed," Strider responded as he put out the candles. "I can avoid being seen if I wish. But to disappear entirely, that is a rare gift."

"Who are you?"

"Are you frightened?"

"Yes."

"Not nearly frightened enough. I know what hunts you."

Their little snappy dialogue was cut short as the other three hobbits forced their way in the door with a few odds and ends in the place of weapons. Strider lowered his drawn sword and Drifter released the grip on the hilt of her own when the leading hobbit cried,

"Let him go! Or I'll have you Longshanks!"

Sheathing his weapon, the man addressed the little one.

"You have a stout heart, little hobbit, but that will not save you. You can no longer wait for the wizard, Frodo. They're coming."

"And you will need my help," Drifter stated, stepping out of the shadows, though her cloak still covered her face. In response, Strider smoothly grabbed a dagger from his belt and put it to the girl's throat, though she did nothing to protect herself. "Le ier il i' ere' er ya aa' esta e' seere no' i' fenda en' du, Estel," (You are not the only one who may rest in peace on the threshold of darkness, Estel.)

"How do you know me?" he gruffly asked.

Removing the hood of her cloak, she replied,

"We have a common friend and a common enemy." Although a trickle of blood had begun to flow from where the dagger at her throat was, she did not flinch. Instead, she stared right back at the tall ranger in front of her.

--

After finally moving the hobbits and their packs to the inn across the street, Drifter sat down in one of the chairs near the window to watch for the Nazgul, while her charges settled down in their beds. When the halflings were all asleep, Strider came to sit in the chair next to her own. Minutes went by, but neither of them spoke. Drifter, meanwhile, studied the features of the man beside her. He had dark, somewhat long hair and light blue eyes. Like herself, he was rugged and dirty, yet there was something noble about him. He was the first one to break the silence.

"How did you know my elvish name?"

Drifter shifted slightly, though being careful to not make her movements appear to be out of nervousness. Though she had been following Strider around for years, this was the first time he had even seen her. Clearing her throat, she calmly answered,

"…Gandalf probably knew that I would need some way to win your trust."

-It is not the truth, but neither is it a lie. Gandalf did most likely wish I had a way of winning this ranger's trust…even though it was not where I learned the name. He reminds me of another ranger I knew -

The duo once again fell into silence.

The fourteen year old girl managed a decent blow, causing the ranger training her to fall over.

"These wooden staves are giving you a good many bruises, old man. Perhaps we should resort to grass," she lightly suggested while helping her leader stand.

Limping to a nearby bench, he replied,

"Actually, I was thinking of giving you a real sword. You've earned it."

"Really?" the girl excitedly asked, however, with a maturity beyond her years.

"Really. There is no more I can teach you that you do not already know. You are better than me with the sword by far, and as good as an elf with your bow and arrows."

"What about these?" she asked with twinkle of mischievousness in her eyes as a dagger suddenly appeared in her hand and she casually threw it into the ranger's already-tattered cloak draped over the bench.

"Yes, alright, those too! You're cockiness is going to get me killed one day," the man cried, jumping up from the seat.

"Oh, don't say things like that! You know that I, of all people, would take a blow for you: the great Arathorn. You have taken care of me yourself since I was ten years old and have done an excellent job, so I owe you at least that."

"You owe me nothing, Minuialwen."

"Please, don't use my elvish name."

"Very well."

Suddenly, a screeching was heard from the Prancing Pony. The Nazgul had clearly discovered that their plans had been temporarily foiled. Frodo and the other hobbits, Sam, Merry, and Pippin, sat up in their beds with a start.

"What are they?" the Baggins queried.

"They were once Men," Strider replied. "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 Nazgul, 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."

As she saw the wraiths gallop away on their black steeds, Drifter announced,

"They have left. We must leave soon if we plan on reaching our destination without them blocking our way too soon. Samwise, I suppose you will need a beast of burden for all of those pots and pans you call necessities. I saw a pony for sale on my way into Bree. It should still be available." Without another word she walked out the door.

--

By daybreak, they had already covered a few miles of ground. However Drifter would have liked going faster, she stayed at the rear of the group, aiding the hobbits when they fell, which was rather often, and making sure that their passing had not left too much of a trail.

"Where are you taking us?" Frodo called out to Strider.

"Into the wild," the girl barely heard the other ranger answer.

"How do we know this Strider is a friend of Gandalf?" Merry whispered to the Ring-bearer. Drifter was glad to be ignored. Being social was never her forte.

"I think a servant of the Enemy would look fairer and feel fouler," was the reply.

"He's foul enough."

"We have no choice but to trust him."

"But where is he leading us?" Sam complained.

"To Rivendell, Master Gamgee," their leader responded without looking back, "to the House of Elrond."

"Did you hear that? Rivendell! We're going to see the Elves!"

A few hours later, the temperature dropped to the point where Drifter could see her breath in the air. She almost ran into the hobbits as they stopped and began taking their cookware out. The woman warily scanned the horizon as Strider questioned the halflings of their actions. Something caused the invisible hairs on her neck to stand straight out. Evil was near and it made her uncomfortable.

"We've had one, yes," Pippin was haggling. "What about second breakfast?" As Strider walked off, Merry put in,

"Don't think he knows about second breakfast, Pip." Shocked, the youngest hobbit questioned,

"What about elevenses? Luncheon? Afternoon tea? Dinner? Supper? He knows about them, doesn't he?"

"I wouldn't count on it."

Drifter breathed a laugh as an apple thrown by Strider hit Pippin in the head from behind a thicket of bushes. By the time evening came, they were in marshland, where Drifter temporarily removed her cloak to put it on the pony for protection against the attacking mosquitoes. When night came and they set up camp for the night, the bugs finally left them alone. While the hobbits slept, the rangers sat next to the fire. Strider began humming an elvish song that Drifter recognized; however Frodo awoke and asked,

"Who is she? This woman you sing of?"

"Tis the Lay of Luthien," the man sadly answered. "The Elf-maiden who gave her love to Beren, a mortal."

"What happened to her?"

"She died. Get some sleep, Frodo." Seeing a hint of tears in Strider's eyes, Drifter decided to risk giving away more than she wanted to for the purpose of comforting him.

"You deserve each other, Estel."

"Again, you call me that," he growled, clearly annoyed. Ignoring the interruption, the woman continued.

"Just because you are a mortal does not mean that you cannot be happy with your Luthien."

"Do you practice being vague?"

Drifter couldn't help but smile.

"A trait I picked up from the ranger who trained me."

They were silent for an hour before Drifter stated,

"You get some sleep. I'll keep watch." When Strider hesitated, she raised her eyebrows. "Don't worry, I will wake you." She smirked as he walked away from the fire to lay down some five feet away.

--

At dawn, Drifter walked over to the still sleeping ranger and touched him on the shoulder. As he bolted upright, she once again found his dagger at her throat.

"Haven't you figured out that I am not your enemy, yet?"

"You did not wake me," Strider hissed.

"I said I would wake you. I did not, however, say that I would wake you for your watch. You looked like you needed the rest last night." At this, she walked away to wake the hobbits so that Sam could prepare breakfast. Strider was staring at the dot of blood on his dagger. As Drifter turned back to face him and find out why he had not arisen, she discovered that he was looking between her and the dagger. Looking down, she noticed the bit of blood drying on her neck. "Oh," she casually said, "I have had far worse in the past."

--

For most of that day, Drifter was silent, except to give advice in their directional strategy. She had passed this way years before, and the memories of it were not enjoyable.

"What are you doing, child? You do not have to cover our trail. We are only scouting the area. Amon Sul was abandoned years ago and is still as empty as a tomb."

"The tomb part is what I am worried about," the seventeen year old muttered, warily looking around. "It was only two days ago that we were nearly ambushed by those orcs because of my carelessness."

"It was my fault as well, but we did not lose any of our men."

"I know, but still…" She was cut off as they heard rustling in the bushes. They were suddenly surrounded and outnumbered: eight rangers to twenty orcs. "…I do not think that they would give up that easily."

As all of the rangers clumped together, drawing their swords, Arathorn commented,

"If we survive this, I promise you that I will never ignore your advice again."

"What are you saying?" the girl whispered back. "We are going to get out of this and we will reach Imladris."

The companions were soon fighting for their lives. After only a minute, three rangers were already dead.

Stopping in his tracks Aragorn motioned to the stone ruins in the field ahead, for they had long left the marsh-lands.

"This was the great watchtower of Amon Sul," he pondered. "We shall rest here tonight."

Drifter automatically looked behind her before following the other ranger and the hobbits into the structure.

"I will go do some scouting. This place makes me uneasy," she stated as Strider was taking out a bundle of what seemed to be daggers for the hobbits. Walking around to the other side of the ruins, she stood next to a large rock and scanned the area for movement.

Hoping to make a stand, the three remaining rangers ran towards the watchtower in the fog.

"We have to keep running!" the young woman called to her leader a few steps ahead of her. "We'll be overrun if we slow down to weave around those stones."

"Very well," Arathorn relented. "We will at least make a stand on the other side. There are fewer rocks there for the enemy to sneak around."

"Very well." The little group finally managed to reach the opposite side of Amun Sul before the ten remaining orcs surrounded them. The rangers lashed out at their foes, downing five of them before falling back to the stones.

"Where is Galish?" Arathorn questioned his remaining companion. The answer was an anguished scream somewhere in the mist.

"Drifter!" Strider called from behind her as he approached. "What do you see?"

Suddenly, the girl's instinct told her what her senses could not.

"Evil is near," she stated, leaving the man still standing and looking out at the field to race up the hill. "Frodo!" she cried as she saw the lead Nazgul stabbing at the ground. He had obviously put the Ring on. There were five enemies. "Ndu nîn, mori ohtar, (Down me, dark warrior)" Drifter challenged. If her goal was to gain the attention of all five wraiths and have the sword in Frodo removed, she achieved it. After battling them for only a few strokes, Strider ran onto the scene with a flaming torch, plus his sword, giving the girl an opportunity to check the ring-bearer. He suddenly appeared in mid scream as she bent down to check his wounded shoulder. Slipping a pinch of dried herbs from the pouch on her belt, Drifter placed the plant onto the wound, causing the hobbit to cry out again.

"Frodo!" Sam cried, rushing to his friend's side while the ranger girl muttered to herself,

"Not half enough to heal him."

"Strider! Help him, Strider!" Sam went on after the man had driven the Nazgul away. While Strider knelt down to Frodo, Drifter walked back to the structure's edge so that the halfling would not be utterly crowded. She could still see their foes fleeing in the distance, but knew that they would soon be back with the rest of their group.

--

The woman ran at the back of the caravan.

"Hurry!" Strider called.

"We're six days from Rivendell," Sam hopelessly shouted. "He'll never make it!'

Before dawn, the hobbits were exhausted and they were forced to stop at a circle of stone trolls. Drifter smiled slightly before stalking off into the trees.

"Where are you going?!" she faintly heard Merry query. Once far enough from their camp to not hear the halflings' conversation, the ranger turned to the slight rustle in the undergrowth.

"An elf has no need to hide from me," she stated, soon finding an elvish sword at her throat. Slowly turning to face the elf-maiden, Drifter smiled. "Do you not remember me, old friend, or does everyone find pleasure in threatening my life before trusting me?"

"Lyn?" the elf asked.

"It is good to see you too, Arwen. I nearly forgot your pet name for me."

At that, the elf princess sheathed her sword and embraced the ranger.

"I thought you were dead, Lyn, the way you disappeared suddenly without warning. Ada had scouts searching for you weeks after your departure."

"I have definitely had a few close calls, but you should go find Aragorn. I will return to the hobbits."

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