Before thirteen Dwarves had turned up on his front doorstep Bilbo had never so much as patted a pony let alone ridden one. His first time on the back of old Myrtle had been a terrifying experience, complete with allergies and the jeering of the company as he had desperately tried to stay on the creature. However that was nothing like the bone jarring fear that came with sitting before Gandalf on his large grey horse, clinging to the wizard's arms and trying desperately not to scream the whole way to Rivendell.
The man riding at their side, he had learned that his name was Arathorn, was an impressive looking man. He was slender but clearly a great fighter if the way he took down the Orcs at Bag End was an indicator, with shoulder length dark hair and shrewd eyes, Bilbo liked him at once.
"Gandalf," yelled Arathorn, his voice only just reaching them over the wind and the sound of hooves on the ground. "The Halfling doesn't look well."
"Bilbo just isn't accustomed to being on the back of a horse is all." Bilbo heard Gandalf answer.
"I thought you said he had ridden before," said Arathorn.
"On a pony," said Bilbo.
"What?" yelled Arathorn, moving his horse closer to them.
"I said I have only ridden a pony!" Bilbo yelled back, and was shocked when the man suddenly started laughing.
"You are certainly not what I expected to find in the Shire," he laughed, urging his horse to gallop ahead.
"No," whispered Bilbo after him. "You're not the first to say that about me."
They stopped to rest for the night beneath a copse of elms where a little spring trickled through and allowed the horses some water. Arathorn lit a small fire, and before long there was a pot of stew bubbling happily over the flame while Gandalf sat back and puffed on his pipe. It brought back memories of the days on the road with the company of Thorin Oakenshield, where a bunch of rowdy Dwarves would sing songs and tell stories well into the night.
Bilbo couldn't have been asleep for very long when Gandalf shook him awake, his face lit only by moonlight and it was then that he realized that the fire had been extinguished.
"What's going on?" he asked, as Gandalf dragged him to his feet.
"Pack up," he hissed. "We're being hunted."
With his heart thudding against his ribs, Bilbo quickly packed his bed roll and blanket just before he was hefted onto the back of Gandalf's horse, one of the wizard's strong arms wrapping securely round his waist.
It was then that a high pitched scream pierced the silence and made goose bumps raise on Bilbo's skin.
"Nazgul!" yelled Gandalf, tightening his hold on Bilbo. "Ride Arathorn, we make for Rivendell post haste."
Another shriek rose into the air, and as one Arathorn and Gandalf kicked their horses into a gallop, Bilbo clinging to the saddle desperately.
"What do they want?" yelled Bilbo, glancing behind them as the burst from the trees and onto the plateau that led to Rivendell.
"You and your ring," answered Gandalf. "You carry a great evil with you Bilbo Baggins."
Bilbo's heart seemed to freeze as with another scream the Nazgul upon its black war horse galloped out of the copse behind them. To his right Bilbo watched as Arathorn drew his sword.
"Arathorn," called Gandalf. "You can not fight it."
"No," answered Arathorn. "But I can try."
The Nazgul was bearing down on them, its mount faster than their ones. Gandalf's horse was however quick to change its path and evade its pursuer. It was just as Arathorn was turning his horse around, sword raised in defiance, that a horn sounded.
"That is no Elvish horn," said Arathorn.
It was ass if the sound of the horn had worried the Nazgul for it had pulled its horse to a stop.
"No that is a Gondor horn," answered Gandalf.
There was the sound of fast moving hooves behind them, causing Gandalf to wheel his horse around to face the approaching riders. Men in heavy armour were riding fast towards them, they were numbered about fifty and made for a terrifying sight to behold. Three of them were carrying black banners with a white tree upon them.
With a final screech the Nazgul turned and galloped back into the trees, followed by several of the men.
"Men of Gondor," said Arathorn, dismounting and approaching the man at the head of the group. "Your time was impeccable."
Bilbo watched as the man removed his helmet, revealing a handsome face with brown hair which fell to his chin and a short cropped beard.
"Boromir," said Gandalf. "What are you doing this far West?"
Boromir gave the muscular neck of his horse a fond pat. "We have business with Lord Elrond."
"That is something we have in common," said Gandalf. "How did you know we were in danger?"
"We passed through Rohan on the our way to Rivendell and heard talk of a dark rider making for the Shire," answered Boromir. "We were coming to see what had been left of the Halflings."
With that he gave Bilbo a nod of his head.
"The Shire," gasped Bilbo, looking up at Gandalf. "We have to go back!"
"Oh I don't think so my friend," answered the wizard. "Your kin will be quite safe, we however are not."
"Come," said Boromir, gesturing for them to enter his ranks as they turned back towards Rivendell. "Where there is one Nazgul there are bound to be more."