I think this is the last completed chapter I had saved up from not being able to post for a while, but the updates should still continue to flow forth! Thank you kindly to those who commented recently; I got a really nice one saying they stayed up all night reading! I'm so honored! Alright, let's get to it!

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns Tolkien, you own you!

You rise early in the morning to draft an annoyed letter to Thorin. You complain about everything, both to get it off your chest and because he thinks it's cute when you whine. You also mention how much you wish he were here, because the prospect of starting another epic journey without him just feels wrong. You then roam Hobbiton until you locate a raven to carry the letter sealed with your love.

Frodo is awake by the time you return and has breakfast laid out. You're too far in your head to realize that he notices your mood. He asks quietly, "Are you still thinking about it?"

"Huh? What?"

"The ring. You're still thinking about it, aren't you?"

You wrinkle your nose and stare into your tea. "Frodo, I hope I haven't given you the illusion that I'm an individual with everything together, because that's the furthest thing from the truth."

"But how can you not be? You know so many things, and you have friends in every race - "

"I have literally blundered through every adventure I've been on. I've tried to be mature, but I'm still just a scared little girl."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I'm the scared little girl that has your back in all this. Gandalf is being...unreasonable...but I know what his next move would have been."

"Then make whatever preparations you need to, and I will follow your lead."

You blink up at him. "You want to come?"

"I must. The ring passed from Bilbo to me. It is my responsibility."

You sigh. "Are you completely sure, Frodo? This is not a task to be undertaken lightly."

"I'm sure. But I must ask you something about last night."

"Of course."

"You said you'd seen things, you'd seen this happening. Do you have the gift of foresight like other great Elves?"

"I'm far from great, but yes."

"So you know how this journey will end?"

"Perhaps. Like we established last night, if we change too much...we're already pushing it by starting early...but it may be for the best."

"Then with you leading, I will follow."

"I appreciate your trust in me. I will not lead you astray." You glance out the window. The day is wearing on. "Alright, if we're going to do this, we need to get going."

You and Frodo agree to leave the next morning. You put together packs while he rounds up Sam. You trust to fate that you'll pick up Merry and Pippin on the way; it's the least fate can do, to give you this one, considering you're up against the embodiment of all evil.

Dinner is staid. You assume Frodo is mirroring your mood, for he has no idea the true gravity of what's about to begin. You wish you could be more confident, even if it would only be an act, but you can't help but to account for the journey as a whole. Finally you give up on eating and go to sit under the oak tree on the roof. The stars are bright and beautiful as always, though tonight they're a bit mocking, and you wonder if Thorin is watching them as well.

You miss him, plain and simple. You expected as much after being married to him for sixty years. Rarely had you been away from him except to study in Rivendell and to visit Bilbo, and he often accompanied you on the latter. You hope he's holding up well, and that his dislike for the distance hasn't started a war or something. The raven you sent this morning could never have reached Erebor in only a few hours, and yet...

You retire to bed and fall asleep with your locket tightly in your hand.

Frodo, Sam, and you strike out from Bag End with the sunrise. You make an attempt to be more sunny on the walk; no need to stress Frodo more than necessary before he has the fate of Middle Earth dropped on his head. The weather is lovely for travel, and Sam at least is feeling friendly. He carries most of the conversation, which is a borderline interrogation, and it's pleasantly distracting.

"It's a dream come true to talk with you, Miss Aniel," Sam gushes yet again.

"I'm glad I'm Elvish enough for your taste," you return.

"You are a bit different than the stories. I didn't know Elves dress so heavy-like."

You laugh. "Most don't. I'm, uh, not an average Elf."

"Why's that? Where do you come from? If you'll pardon my asking," he adds sheepishly. "I certainly don't mean to pry."

"No, you're welcome to ask anything you like. I live in Erebor with my husband."

"Erebor? Where is that? Is it like Rivendell?"

"Not very. It's the greatest Dwarf kingdom in Middle Earth."

"You live with Dwarves?" Sam gasps. Frodo grins; he's long been aware of your strange life. "I didn't think they were fond of Elves!"

"They're not. I'm kind of the exception. I was with Bilbo on his great adventure. That's how we know each other."

"And you brought your Elf husband along?"

"Not an Elf."

"Another Dwarf!" Sam is overwhelmed at the idea. "Did you meet him on the adventure?"

You smile fondly at the memories. "Yes, he was one of the company. The leader, in fact - Thorin Oakenshield."

"Why did you not bring him with you?"

"It wasn't his place to come. Anyway, he has too much to deal with back home. I miss him, though, terribly."

"I'm sorry. That's romantic, though. What's he like, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Stubborn," you answer immediately. "The most stubborn Dwarf to ever live. But beyond that he's brave and loyal and kind and a great warrior. He's everything I could ever want."

"That's nice," Sam sighs dreamily. "Real love like that is nice. I hope I can find someone to love like that one day."

"Oh, you will," you say before you can help yourself.

Frodo interjects, "She has Elvish foresight."

"Which we probably shouldn't go spreading around," you muse.

But Sam hardly cares about safety now. "You know the future?" he asks excitedly. "You can tell who I'll marry?"

"Yes, I know who you'll marry. Do you want to know?"

"Goodness, yes! If you see fit to tell me, that is."

"Oh, how can I refuse such fine manners? The name of your future wife, Master Samwise, is Rosie Cotton."

You and Frodo both cackle at the expression on Sam's face. "That's a cruel joke, my lady," he mumbles. "I was being serious."

"So was I! Come on, Sam, I wouldn't lie to you. There's a bit of time between now and then, but if all goes as I see it, you and Rosie will live happy and cozy until the end of your days."

"Could it even be? You're not making fun?"

"On my honor, my good hobbit."

Sam falls silent, dazed with the possibilities. It's a taste of foreknowledge you probably shouldn't have given him, because for the next few days he tries to get more tidbits out of you. You finally have to gently but firmly tell him that future knowledge is a very secretive business. He is helpfully distracted by the very sudden appearance of Merry and Pippin.

You sidestep the collision just in time and smile down at the present fate left you. Sam receives an armful of vegetables in response to his chiding. "You've been into Farmer Maggot's crop!" he accuses; the farmer himself can be heard not far behind.

"We should pick a better way," you call as you follow the hobbits through the cornfield. "If we keep going like this, we'll hit a - "

There's no time to finish your sentence before Sam sends the lot of you over the edge. Since you expected the fall, you're able to slide down the incline with a bit more grace. The hobbits land in a pile of groans and snapped carrots.

"Trust a Brandybuck and a Took!" Sam grumbles, righting himself.

"What!" Merry is indignant. "That was just a detour! A shortcut!"

"A shortcut to what?"

"Mushrooms!" Pippin exclaims.

All irritation forgotten, the three rush to claim the unexpected treat. You're more interested in whether or not Frodo will suggest moving off the road. If he does, that means you don't have as much time as expected...

Frodo stares down the wooded path and says, "I think we should get off the road."

"Are you kidding me?!" you shriek. "No way! I specifically left early to - "

"Get off the road! Now!"

The birds stop singing and the temperature drops noticeably as the hobbits dive for cover. Fuming, you press yourself into the trunk of the tree beside them. How could it possibly be that the Nazgul made it here already? Gandalf couldn't have even arrived at Isengard by now. You'd counted on that being the driving force - but perhaps you had your timeline skewed - it'd been so long since you watched the movies -

Your breath catches in your chest. Your pulse races. The panic only fuels your alarm. Not now, not now of all places! You can't afford a panic attack when there's a Nazgul only feet to your left!

Merry finally throws the bag of mushrooms, distracting the Black Rider. You stagger away from the tree, gasping for air. "Run," you pant. "Go! Hurry!"

You cover the rear in case anything else decides to surprise you tonight. Running towards a goal helps you level your breathing and calm your mind. You focus on just getting the hobbits to Bree. It will be enough of a job to occupy your thoughts.

Shrieking gives the Nazgul away before he bursts out of the trees. You throw yourself between it and the hobbits and yell at them to make for Buckleberry Ferry, assuming it hasn't sunk in a freak accident, because that seems to be how your day is going. You exchange a few sword blows with the Nazgul before gaining enough space to run again. You follow the shouts of the hobbits ahead to know your direction.

The sound of babbling water reaches you. The ferry is just ahead, which is great, because another Ringwraith has joined the pursuit behind you.

"Frodo!" Sam calls desperately.

You see them gliding out onto the water sans you or Frodo. With a final burst of energy, you sprint ahead, grab Frodo under your arm, and make a spectacular jump onto the little floating wooden platform. The Ringwraiths screech in fury. You actually enjoy the sound of their crushing defeat.

"How far to the nearest crossing?" Frodo asks.

"The Brandywine Bridge...twenty miles. Is...is she okay?" Merry looks down at you.

You wave away the concern. "Just...out of practice with adventuring," you pant. "Ha...I did the same thing to Bilbo once, Frodo, except I tossed him off a cliff...funny how that works out..."

You close your eyes and let the gentle ebb of the river calm your breathing. The hobbits paddle in silence. They're surely scared, and they're not the only ones. You were so sure that leaving early would give you the advantage. You shouldn't have crossed any Wraiths on the way to Bree! What stupid unforseen force refused to cooperate with your foreknowledge? More importantly, would this be a trend?

"Aniel, we're here," Frodo calls you quietly.

Indeed, the ferry has stopped moving. You step onto solid land and make sure there are no threats nearby.

"What was that?" Merry demands. "That Black Rider, what did it want?"

Frodo gazes down the path towards the town. "I must leave the Shire. We must continue to Bree."

Merry huffs but does not protest. You herd the hobbits in a tight group until you finally see the gate. Never before have you been so happy to arrive anywhere, not even to Rivendell many years prior. You bypass the gateman and duck into the Prancing Pony with overwhelming relief.

"I'm getting too old for this," you mutter into a warming pint of ale.

"You did not know that would happen?" Frodo asks worriedly.

"We left early specifically so it wouldn't!"

"Then can you know what will happen from now on?"

"Fortunately, yes, I can. As long as things stay their course and there are no more surprises, I'll have things well in hand until Rivendell."

But perhaps you wouldn't have to manage it all alone. If the timeline was indeed moved up by some ridiculous, cruel prank of fate, then a certain Ranger should be only a few seats away. You look up hopefully at the secluded corner. Your heart soars when you meet keen eyes illuminated by the embers of a long pipe. It's enough of a relief to let you lay your head on the table. The last thing you say before you drift off is, "Pippin, you do not get a pint."

Pippin, predictably, does not listen to you.

Your dreams warn you of the impending stupidity; you wake violently upon hearing the name Baggins. Before Frodo can make a move, you charge to the counter and bodily grab the hobbit off the stool. "I think it's time for bed," you growl.

"Now? But I haven't finished my pint!" Pippin is too drunk to escape as you carry him up the stairs, motioning for the others to follow.

You ensure that the hobbits are safely in their beds before heading to the washroom for a quick bath. Of course, you never make it there: a hand yanks you into an empty room on the way. You've already reached for your sword before you realize your interceptor.

"An Elf traveling with four hobbits is a strange sight, but even more strange was your eagerness to keep them quiet," he murmurs. "Do you have something to hide?"

"Do you have something against normal introductions?" you return. "I preferred Pippin keep some information to himself, that's all."

"Your method was rather conspicuous."

"You're one to talk, Strider, kidnapping me from a well-earned bath!"

Aragorn's eyes narrow slightly. "You know of me?"

"We're both friends of Gandalf the Grey, though friend is a bit of a generous description of how I feel about him at the moment. My name is Aniel. He may not have mentioned me - "

"He did, as did another friend of mine, which adds to my interest of what you're doing with Frodo Baggins."

"I'm doing exactly what Gandalf himself would, were he not previously occupied." You can't keep a measure of bitterness out of your tone at Gandalf's unwillingness to trust you even after all this time. "Do you know why Frodo is here? Did Gandalf tell you?"

Aragorn nods grimly. "That is why I came."

"And I am sooo glad you did. We've already had a run-in with the Nazgul. I wasn't looking forward to protecting them on my own."

Aragorn seems not to have heard you; he's regarding you thoughtfully. "You do not seem surprised to see me," he comments.

"Indeed, you only let your guard down after you saw me downstairs. Did you know I would be here?"

"Would it make you trust me any more if I say yes?"

"I am not sure. You say you're not on good terms with Gandalf at the moment, which makes me slow to trust you."

"I'm not on good terms with Gandalf because instead of listening to someone who has literally always been right, he left and put himself in needless danger, landing me with protecting Frodo. Not that I *mind* to do it - I sort of signed up for it - but not like this!"

"Foresight," he realizes.

"Precisely."

"But if you truly have the gift, you would have known you would meet the Ringwraiths on the road."

"I was trying to avoid it! We left early for that exact reason! I didn't know they'd already be here!"

Aragorn gazes at you for a long time before lowering his head. "I believe you."

"Really?" You look up hopefully. "Oh, thank goodness! I know I haven't made the best first impression, and I'm sorry, but you kind of caught me at the most stressed I've been in ages. And I was headed for a bath..."

"From which I impeded you." Aragorn holds the door open with something of an expression of kindness. "Go and relax. I will watch over the hobbits."

"Thank you. I knew I was excited to meet you for a reason."