I lied. Here's the second chapter, and not a review in sight. Oh well

Everything recognizable belongs to Pet Fly Or whassisname - Tolkein

I was grateful this "Bree-town" place, wherever the hell it was, wasn't too far. We managed to get there by sunset, and no sooner had we arrived then Strider – if that really was his name; I had my doubts, but I figured that I could always hash them out later -had gone immediately into what could only be called an inn. I paused just outside, and looked around. Something was off about this place – the whole town, in fact. Flashes of square buildings with bright neon signs warred with the inn I saw before me. The whole thing started to make my head hurt again, so I gave up trying to reconcile what I saw in my memories with the information my eyes were feeding me and simply followed Strider inside.

As soon as I walked in the door I was assaulted by the mixed scents of unwashed bodies and beer. Dial it down, man. I still couldn't remember who said that to me, even though I was looking for him, so I ignored it and simply pushed the stench to the back of my mind. My pauses, both inside and outside the door had given Strider ample time to claim a table by the fire. Passing by a table I assumed was for the children of the patrons – they were so little, and I'd heard of places that allowed minors to consume alcohol – I went and sat down across from Strider, ignoring the looks the other patrons were giving me. I had followed him this far, though I wasn't quite sure why I followed him – I barely knew the guy. Still, there was something trustworthy about him, something that had my instincts assuring me he was a good guy. Mentally, I shrugged and shelved the subject; I was the physical one of the Guardian Pair. Sentinel, the voice that told me to dial it down said. My brow furrowed in thought. Guardian Pair, sentinel...Guide. That's who I was looking for – my guide!

Relieved by the revelation, I looked at Strider. "Why this place?" I asked bluntly. "This can't be the only game in town, but you went right for it. You must either have business here, or you're waiting for someone." Strider answered guardedly, seeming to weigh every word before he said it "I am here to...look out for some acquaintances of a friend." He nodded toward the table for children. I looked at them, then back at Strider while frowning "Somebody asked you take care of their kids?" It was Strider's turn to look confused "Why would anyone wish me to look after young goats?" he asked. I rolled my eyes. "Children. I meant children. Jeez, can't a guy use slang without someone trying to correct him?" He looked more confused, but seemed like he wasn't going to rise to the bait of my rhetorical question.

"I assure you, those are not children. Those are hobbits." I looked again, scrutinizing them closely. Now that I was really looking, I could see the differences between them and children. They were all around three feet tall, had slightly pointed ears, what seemed to me to be an inordinate amount of hair on the tops of their feet, and they were proportioned like normal human adults. I took a deep breath, sorting through the bouquet of scents before I found some I couldn't recognize. They were earthy scents, dark and warm, and seemed to belong to the group of hobbits. "Those are hobbits?" I asked, not taking my eyes off the little creatures almost as if I was afraid they would vanish if I looked away. I wasn't sure of much yet, but I was adamantly positive that I had never seen anything like them before. "Yes. Stop staring! I would rather they didn't notice our presence yet," he hissed as he fitted word to action, turning his attention to a long pipe he had pulled a pouch at his belt.

I turned away from the hobbits, knowing that Strider was right as I could already hear them whispering about "the icy-eyed man beside the fire." I watched with a vague interest as Strider packed the bowl of the pipe with some sort of tobacco in easy, long-practiced movements. Something niggled at the back of my thoughts – for some reason, I sensed danger in his actions. I tried to remember what could be so dangerous about smoking to a person who wasn't actually smoking as Strider leaned over and lit his pipe from the fireplace. Straightening up, he took a deep puff and held it briefly, clearly savoring the taste, before releasing a cloud of smoke in a long exhale. Only the barest whiff came my direction, and I only inhaled lightly, yet I felt as if it was burning my sinuses from the inside. The burning sensation trailed a painful line down my throat before igniting my lungs. I started coughing uncontrollably, trying desperately to clear the smoke from my lungs. My guide's voice came back to me – Dial it down, man! Slowly, desperately, I imagine a dial and, labeling it "smell," begin turning it down slowly. I can feel, distantly, someone – presumably Strider – pounding me on the back and the voice calling for ale from the barkeep confirmed it. Turning down the dial is hard, the distractions making it slip from my grasp frequently. I persevere, and am rewarded by the burning sensation in my lungs and soft tissues fading. It continued to fade until, when I got the dial down to two, it ceased completely. A few more coughs to make sure it was really gone, then I accepted the mug of ale from the bartender. "You can stop hitting me anytime Strider," I remarked in a dry, hoarse voice. "I've got it under control." He hit me one more time – for good measure, I suppose – then he turned to the bartender and thanked him while he handed him a coin.

After I paid old Barliman and thanked him for bringing the mug over himself, I resumed my seat and eyed Jim warily. "May I continue?" I asked, gesturing with my pipe. "Go ahead. I just wasn't prepared the first time you lit up, is all." I nodded and puffed pensively. What had made Jim start coughing? I hadn't exhaled that much smoke, and certainly not in his direction.

Other actions of his curdled in my mind – he started at flocks of birds several minutes before they took flight, and his eyes seemed to bore an icy hole in all they stared at. Something was odd about Jim, something I couldn't put my finger on...

Still. It did not matter much if he was not under the shadow in the East – and there was something about this "Jim Ellis-son" that suggested he rather fight Sauron to the death before he ever bowed to him. His interest in the hobbits, though – that was extremely worrisome. Perhaps he was being influenced by the Ring? If it was already meddling with his mind, then it would perhaps be best if I discouraged him from following me further.

"I made some inquiries while you were waiting outside," I murmured, barely audibly. "There have been no strangers save those four hobbits and us for more than a week and a half." No ordinary person could have heard me over the racket inside the inn, but Jim nodded and looked disappointed as he settled back into his chair, sweeping the room with his watchful, icy gaze once again. That cemented it, in my mind. Something was extremely odd about Jim, and my instincts were all but shouting at me that he could be useful if he would agree to help. I decided to take him along when I took the hobbits to Rivendell – if Elrond didn't know what to make of him, Gandalf would.

I directed my attention back to the hobbits' table as the noise from that direction increased, just in time to see one of the hobbits – the black haired one – climb onto the table and start singing and dancing. I smirked – clearly, some things were universal across species. The hobbit made a high leap, it apparently being part of the dance, but didn't manage to stick his landing. Wobbling, the hobbit fell off the table – but disappeared halfway to the floor.

I stared. My ears were telling me he was there, and the wind currents in the room flowed across my skin just the same as if he had, in fact, hit the floor. But he had vanished from my sight. I knew he was there – every sense that worked at this distance was screaming at me that he was – but my eyes could not see him. This disturbed me at my very deepest levels – I was a sentinel. Designed by nature to see, hear, smell, taste, and feel what others couldn't. I could hear small footsteps approaching our table and I piggybacked my sight onto my hearing, straining to find the vanished hobbit. The footsteps stopped and then, just as suddenly as he had disappeared, the little black-haired hobbit reappeared right where my ears placed him – right beside Strider's chair.

Strider leaned over and rebuked him softly but harshly. I heard every word, but I couldn't process the exact meaning of each word. I couldn't understand how the hobbit – Baggins? I vaguely remembered Strider calling him – had vanished. There was nothing on Earth that could make person invisible like that. Then I remembered what Strider had said earlier – the name of this place. Eriador. Middle Earth. I got a cold feeling in my gut. Somehow, I didn't think I was in Kansas anymore, and I could hope, could only pray, that my Guide had fallen through the looking glass with me. If he hadn't...

I shuddered and pushed that thought away. He had to be here, somewhere, and a nagging feeling said that if I stuck with the Ranger I'd find him sooner. Since I didn't have a better plan, I decided to go along with that one. As long as he didn't object to my presence, I'd stay with Strider.