Hehe. Now my favourite ranger comes into ze picture ^^; Thanks muchly for the reviews everyone. Sorry that this chapter was a little late: I've been swamped by coursework.

XXX

It was raining. And it was wet. And some gratuitously wet and dripping hobbits were hiding in the bushes, with their hoods pulled over their faces, checking the coast was clear of rabid fangirls. Oh yeah, and those pesky Nazgûl.

"Come on," said Frodo, before running towards the gate. The others quickly forward.

He knocked on the gate, and after a moment, and a bit of fumbling, a pair of eyes was seen.

A gruff voice said: "What do you want?"

"We're heading for the Prancing Pony," said Frodo.

The gatekeeper came out and lifted his lantern.

"Hobbits!" he said. "Four hobbits!"

"Well done," said Sam, rolling his eyes. "You can count."

The gatekeeper grinned a toothless grin.

"Why thank you! I've been brushing up on my maths lately. So, what business brings you to Bree?"

"We wish to stay at the inn," said Frodo. "Our business is our own."

The gatekeeper tapped his nose.

"Ah, say no more sirs." He opened the gate, and let the hobbits pass. "You'll find what you're looking for just down that side street." He pointed to the left.

So the hobbits followed the gatekeeper's directions, and found themselves outside a brothel. Merry shrugged.

"Ah well. We can meet Gandalf in the morning."

Pippin nodded in agreement, and the two hobbits started towards the door, where many a comely hobbit lass was beckoning them inside. Rolling their eyes, Frodo and Sam grabbed them by the collars and dragged them back up the winding, cobbled road, past slanted houses and strange townsfolk. Everyone was awfully rude and unkempt. One stood chewing thoughtfully on a carrot, and glared at them.

Merry squinted.

"Don't I know you?"

The guy jumped and hid the carrot behind his back.

"Err, no, I'm just a lowly extra!"

Merry continued to stare after him as Sam steered him towards the Prancing Pony inn.

XXX

"Excuse me?" said Frodo, walking up to the front desk of the inn. Someone stood there, and promptly turned around, looked confused for a moment, then looked down.

"Good evening little masters!" The man who spoke was named Barliman Butterbur, and he had a round red face and a kindly smile. "If you're seeking accommodation we've got some nice, cozy, hobbit-sized rooms available. Mr. uh-"

"-Underhill," interjected Frodo. "My name's Underhill."

"Underhill. Hmm. So I take it you live under a hill then?"

Frodo nodded.

"We're friends of Gandalf the Grey. Can you tell him we've arrived?"

Barliman rolled his eyes.

"Why can't you tell him your bloody selves?"

Frodo folded his arms.

"Just tell us he's missing so we can look all angsty."

Barliman scowled.

"Fine then. He's missing."

They all frowned. Butterbur went away, after satisfying himself that they were looking angsty enough.

"What do we do now?" asked Sam.

And so, as in all times of great need, the hobbits turned to drink to solve their problems.

XXX

They all sat about a high table in the common room, nursing jugs of ale. The place was smoky and stifling, and filled with drunken Breelanders. Frodo sat and pouted. He was the designated Ringbearer, and as such could not have any drink. The others were overcompensating in his absence. Pippin was so out of it that he had been caught swimming naked in the ale tanker. Now he sat shivering, and drinking a small jug of strong brew in order to sober up.

Frodo noticed that Sam was upset, and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Sam. He'll be here. He'll come."

The fat hobbit just fainted head-first into his jug. Frodo sighed, and pulled him out before he drowned. Again.

Merry came over from the bar, carrying an overflowing tankard. He set it down on the table.

"What's that?" Pippin asked, in awe.

"This my friend," said Merry, "is a pint."

"It comes in pints?" asked Pippin. "I'm getting one." And he scrambled over to the bar.

"You had a whole half already!" Sam shook his head, then nudged Frodo, and nodded towards the corner.

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

And Frodo raised his eyes cautiously. There in the corner sat a queer-looking man, wearing high boots of leather, his face covered by a hood, despite the heat of the room.

"Excuse me," said Frodo, taking Barliman aside. "That man in the corner, who is he?"

"Why can't you ask him your bloody…?" Frodo scowled. "I-I mean he's one of them rangers. Dangerous folk they are, wandering the wilds. What his right name is I've never heard but around here, he's known as Strider."

"Strider..." repeated Frodo.

"Yes, Strider. Do you want me to write it down for you?"

The aforementioned Strider took a large drag of his pipe, and had a rather spectacular coughing fit, which slightly ruined his façade of evil. And then, to top it all off, he felt a prickly sensation of heat at the back of his neck, and realised his hood was on fire.

Frodo however, was far too distracted by the whisper of the Ring in his hands to notice the ranger running back and forth across the room, with great plumes of smoke issuing from beneath his hood, screaming for water.

"Baggins!" the Ring whispered. He jerked himself back to awareness, and realised that it was Pippin's voice.

"Sure I know a Baggins," said the hobbit, grinning. "He's over there." And he indicated Frodo to them. Sam slapped his forehead. "Frodo Baggins. He's my second cousin once removed on his mother's side." The men surrounding him laughed heartily. "And my third cousin twice removed on his father's side, if you follow me."

Frodo got up and rushed over to the bar, intent on giving young Peregrin a good thrashing.

"Pippin!" Frodo lashed out, but the hobbit ducked his fist.

"Steady on!"

And it was in that moment that Frodo tripped over someone's foot, and fell backwards to the floor, the Ring flying spectacularly into the air and landing in perfect formation on his finger.

And with a gasp, he disappeared.

XXX

A few miles away, the Nazgûl felt the pull of the Ring. They turned around, and headed for Bree. So much for their lunch break.

XXX

There was an unearthly howling in his ears. Everything about him was covered in flame and shadow. The people about him merely spectres in the face of the Great Eye, lidless, and wreathed in flame. The Eye of Sauron. He backed away, terrified.

"You cannot hide!" whispered a voice. "Peek-a-boo!"

And, with a great effort, Frodo wrenched the Ring from his finger, and breathed the free air again.

A hand grabbed his collar.

"Ack!"

"You draw far too much attention to yourself Mr. 'Underhill'!" It was Strider, and he unceremoniously forced Frodo up the stairs and into his room. The hobbit eyed him carefully. He was dripping wet, and smoke rose from beneath his hood.

"What do you want?"

"A little more caution from you. That is no trinket you carry."

"I carry nothing."

"Indeed."

Strider walked over to the window, and reached over to put out the candles there. But he hesitated, and decided to blow them out instead. They stayed alight.

"Err," said Frodo, "need some help?"

"No," he said, huffing and puffing with the effort. "I'll manage."

And in the end there was a huge crash of broken glass, as Strider hurled the still flaming candles out of the window.

"I can avoid being seen if I wish. But to disappear entirely, that is a rare gift."

He pulled down his hood, and revealed a shaggy mane of dark hair, flecked with grey. His silver eyes sparkled with mischief.

"Who are you?" asked Frodo.

He smiled. "Are you frightened?"

The hobbit shrugged. "Not really."

"Awww," Strider pouted, "do I not come across as rascally and evil?"

"No," said Frodo. "You just look extremely hot."

"Damn."

The door burst open, and in rushed Sam, Merry and Pippin, ready for a tussle. Strider drew his sword.

"Let him go!" said Sam, fists at the ready, "or I'll have you Longshanks!" He paused a second. "Isn't your sword meant to be all broken and stuff?"

"Err, no." He sheathed it in a hurry. "Anyways, what the hell do you want? This is a private conversation."

Merry raised a hand.

"We're here for important plot exposition."

"Oh right." Strider pulled up a chair. "Gather around young friends, and, er, Sam, and hear the chilling tale of the Nazgûl!" Lightning flashed outside, and lit up his face eerily. "You can no longer wait for the wizard Frodo. They're coming."

XXX

And come they, er, came. They crashed right through the gates of Bree and crushed the gatekeeper, and terrified Barliman so badly he soiled himself as they made for the hobbit's room.

Stab. Stab. Stab. Stab.

Four little dead hobbits. But then they pulled back the covers, and found four little dead pillows.

Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn.

XXX

Safe in Strider's room, the hobbits sat up in bed, listening to the screams of the Nazgûl in their anger. Strider sat, staring out of the window, looking very angsty.

"What are they?" asked Frodo.

He sighed.

"They were once men. 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 Nazgûl, Ringwraiths, neither living nor dead."

"So they're like zombies?"

"No."

"But-"

"SAMWISE GAMGEE, THEY ARE NOT ZOMBIES!"

"Are they vampires?" asked Merry.

"Or teenage mutant ninja turtles?"

"THEY ARE NOT ZOMBIES, OR VAMPIRES, OR TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES!" Strider screamed. "They are Nazgûl. Say it after me; Nazzzz-gûûûûûûl!" He cleared his throat. "At all times they feel the presence of the Ring. Drawn to the power of the One. They will never stop hunting you."

"So," said Merry, confused, "where are they going now?"

Strider shrugged.

"There's a Starbucks down the road…"

XXX

The next morning, Strider and the four hobbits left Bree. Sam had acquired a pony who he'd named Bill, currently being pulled along by the firm hand of the ranger.

"Where are you taking us?" asked Frodo, struggling to keep up.

"Into the wild," he grunted.

"Care to be a tad more specific?"

"Nah, sorry. Gotta keep up my façade."

The hobbits just rolled their eyes, and trundled on.

"How do we know this Strider is a friend of Gandalf's?" asked Merry.

"Oh, easy," replied Frodo. "I have a letter here from Gandalf…"

"Ixnay on the bookverse-may!"

"I-I mean •ahem• we have no choice but to trust him."

Sam frowned.

"But where is he leading us?"

"To Rivendell Master Gamgee," said Strider, who had clearly been eavesdropping. "To the House of Elrond."

"Did you hear that?" said Sam, delighted. "Rivendell! We're going to see the elves!"

Strider suddenly got a dreamy, far-off look in his eyes.

"Ah, Rivendell," he murmured. "The one place in Middle Earth where my true heart lies. I have a lot of good memories of that place…"

"Care to elaborate?" asked Frodo, suddenly curious.

Strider pouted.

"Do you not get this by now? I speak little, look angsty, and serve as a sex icon until we get to Rivendell, where a certain prissy elf and a Gondorian hottie steal some of my spotlight. Then I tell you my true name and begin to open up. Until then, my impeccable façade is all I have."

He took a step forwards, and fell head-first into a bog.

"Impeccable façade?" sniggered Frodo.

"Oh, shut up," said Strider, spitting up mud. "You're gonna get gutted like a catfish soon anyways."

"Huh?"

XXX

After a lot more travelling, and a lot more silent mystique from this Strider character, the hobbits stopped by a clump of bushes and pulled out their cookware. It was high time for food.

"Gentlemen," called the ranger. "We do not stop till nightfall."

"What about breakfast?" asked Pippin.

He frowned. "We've already had it."

"We've had one yes," said Pippin, grinning. "What about second breakfast?"

Strider just raised an eyebrow, and walked away.

"Don't think he knows about second breakfast, Pip," said Merry.

Pippin was distraught: "What about elevenses? Luncheon? Afternoon tea? Dinner? Supper? He knows about them doesn't he?"

"I wouldn't count on it," said Merry.

Suddenly an apple flew towards them, and Mr. Brandybuck swiftly caught it. He handed it to Pippin with a smile, and continued on. Another dropped and landed on the hobbit's head. He looked towards the sky in bewilderment.

"Pippin!" scowled Merry.

"It's raining apples again. Neat."

And they all backed away from the young hobbit, who had clearing been on the Longbottom leaf again.