Here's the third chapter. I meant to upload it yesterd, but I didn't give myself enough time to type it before bed. So here it is a bit late but, I hope, not a dollar short.

Anything recognizable, and a few things un, belong to Pet Fly and the Big Man

I sent Frodo back to his friends – Gandalf had been right to worry about them, if the display I had just witnessed was near the norm – and turned back to Jim. He looked shocked, not too surprising given the circumstances. It wasn't every day that you saw someone disappear in plain sight. Foolish hobbit! What was surprising, however, was the flash of fear in his eyes. Why was he afraid? Did he know of the evil Frodo carried with him? I could think of no other reason for him to fear – nothing had happened to him, after all. Except that odd coughing fit, of course. Still, if he did know of the object Frodo had in his pocket, I would have to revise my opinions of him. None but a servant of Sauron would recognize the Ring for what it was – at least, not in these settings. Those whose destiny were tied to the Ring also knew it on sight, but I knew of them all – and Jim was not one of them.

Still, I couldn't accuse him until I definite proof whether he was or wasn't. Movement at the corner of my eye attracted my attention, and I turned my head just far enough to see the four hobbits heading up the stairs, presumably going to a room they had rented from Barliman. I returned my full attention Jim, noting that he, too, had been watching the hobbits as they ascended the stairs. "I must follow them. Will be all right, staying here by yourself?" I asked, cautiously. I knew I must sound terribly condescending, but I was genuinely worried – his recent coughing fit had stirred the healer in me, and I did not wish to see him injured or sickened further. He exhaled slowly and nodded, gesturing me to go on. I returned the nod, then slowly an nonchalantly made my way towards the stairs, careful to make sure that I did seem in any hurry and was not, in fact, following the hobbits.

I watched Strider go, still shaken over my experience with the vanishing hobbit. I track him discreetly around the room, and I have to say he does covert maneuvering pretty well. I leaned back and extended my hearing, following him around and up that way as well. No sooner had he started up the stairs, though, when my reverie is interrupted. A couple local toughs decide that with the Ranger out of the way, they could take potshots at the stranger with the strange eyes. I watch them levelly as they come up and start trying to scare me away. I regard them with disinterest – they aren't fooling me. I can hear the way their hearts are going like jackhammers. Finally, they've had enough and try physically dragging me out of the bar.

I stand, still staring at them. "Are you sure you really want to try that?" I say, keeping my voice tightly even. I've three inches on both of them, and at least twenty pounds. Confronted with that, they back down hastily. I glare around the room one more time, in case someone else is feeling rowdy enough to try and tangle with me. Everyone else, including the bartender, are conspicuously not meeting my eyes. I grunt in satisfaction and settle back into my seat. Closing my eyes, I stretched my hearing out again, and just in time – I could hear the soft scrape as the door closes. I sigh, and concentrate on listening without trapping myself in the sounds. I could feel a headache coming on...

I had no trouble locating the room Frodo and his friends were staying in – despite our proximity to the Shire, there were not that many rooms sized for hobbit-folk. Theirs was the only such room with light shining out from under the door. I carefully eased the door open just far enough for me to slip inside, closing it softly behind me as I contemplated the scene that confronted me. Frodo's three friends had armed themselves with skillets, most likely from the cooking gear in their packs, and were brandishing the makeshift weaponry in a manner they clearly thought was threatening, as they had taken up positions between Frodo and I. "What do you want with Master Frodo?" demanded the stout, sandy-haired one – Samwise Gamgee, from Gandalf's descriptions. I ignored him, and addressed Frodo instead. "Your friends do you credit, Master Baggins, but your indiscretion in the common room earlier could spell all your deaths." The two hobbits I didn't recognize fingered their skillets nervously and took a step back. Samwise, conversely, took a step forward, clearly taking my statement as a threat to his "Master Frodo." I was dubious about the other two hobbits, but Frodo seemed to trust them. It would have to suffice for me.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Frodo declared – but I heard the uncertainty in his voice. He knew exactly what I was talking about. "Oh, I rather think you do Master Baggins. Evils roam this land in recent years, on dark horses, searching for the dark taint of their master. Your actions in the common room will draw them here just as surely as moths to a flame." All the hobbits immediately glanced at one another, then looked away and shuddered. If they had seen the Riders before, so much the better; it would make the task of convincing them to let me get them to safety that much easier. "Too many people saw you reserve this room. It would be safest to accompany me to another..." I trailed off as the sound of footsteps became audible, heading up the passageway.

I stepped quietly behind the door, out of the line of sight of anyone who opened it. The footsteps stopped in front of the door, and then their owner knocked. Exchanging a glance with Frodo, I motioned for him to go ahead. "Who is it?" he called. "Barliman, if please you, young master," a familiar voice came in reply. "Come in, then," Frodo said with his relief evident in his voice. Samwise and the other two hobbits hastily concealed their makeshift weapons as the door opened to admit the kindly, old innkeeper. "I was worried for you, young sir. I saw that Ranger sneak off this way, and, well," he paused, catching sight of me out of the corner of his eye. "Here now! What are you doing here?" he demanded. "He is here by my permission," Frodo interjected quickly. "I thank you for your concern, but I assure you – I am quite safe." Barliman frowned, but contented himself with muttering about Rangers and hobbits and other goings-on as he turned and left.

Frodo regarded me suspiciously. "He has a point. How do we know we can trust you? We were supposed to meet Gandalf here, not some Ranger." I inclined my head. "Who do you think sent me? I do not pretend to know why he sent me instead of coming himself, but he gave Barliman a letter to confirm my story." Frodo frowned, and drew out a grubby slip of parchment from his belt-pouch. "You are Strider, then?" I bowed. "At your service," I said as I straightened up. Before Frodo could reply, a knock sounded at the door and all five of us froze. We all shared a glance. None of us had heard anything coming down the passage, and while I could of a few beings who moved that quietly, none were on the premises – of that much I was sure. I motioned for the hobbits to pick up their pans even as I drew my sword and eased over behind the door. Frodo pressed back against the wall near the window, while his friends resumed their defensive places in front of him. I counted down silently, then flung the door open, expecting the worst.

My hands were shaking. I gripped the frying pan tighter, disguising that fact. Merry and Sam were having no troubles with their pans, and I couldn't let Frodo down. The Ranger was intimidating, but if Gandalf had sent him, he must have their best interests at heart. If he was nervous about whoever was knocking at the door, then we had better be ready, too. He counted down with his fingers, then flung the door open. I gasped. It was the man with the ice eyes! I could feel my fingers going slack on my pan. I'd never seen anybody with that eye color. It couldn't be natural – he had to be some unnatural creature! And he was staring at me!

I stood in the doorway surveying the room. I couldn't see Strider, but I could hear him breathing behind the door. "It's just me, Strider," I said dryly. All four hobbits looked at me askance, but Strider came around the door and pulled me inside, sheathing his sword and shutting the door as he did so. "What are you doing? How did you move so quietly?" he demanded. I frowned as I got all the way into the room. Even with sense of smell turned way down, I could still smell the fear in the room. All the hobbits' hearts were hammering away like jackhammers, and their faces were pinched. I couldn't quite see why – nothing Strider had said seemed all that scary to me. Still, maybe they knew something I didn't? No matter, I decided. I had set myself a job to do and I was going to do it.

"I overheard you were going to move them to a safer room, so I went ahead and got one. I made sure to get the safest I could find, so don't look at me like that. I'm here to help you get them," I indicated the hobbits with a jerk of my head, "there safely. And I wasn't moving quietly, I made enough noise coming up the hallway to wake the dead." Strider merely shook his head, so I turned my full attention to the hobbits. The black-haired one – the one Strider called "Baggins," I recalled – was pressed up against the far wall by the window, looking between me and Strider in suspicion. A stout, blond-haired hobbit was hovering in front of him, clearly not about to let either of the tallest people in the room past him. The other two hobbits were staring at me.

I frowned again, and examined them both closely. One was shorter and slimmer than the other, though they both had tousled, curly hair and blue eyes – probably related, I supposed, though not closely. The taller one dropped his gaze first, but the shorter one continued to stare at me. The taller one elbowed his companion and hissed "Pippin! It's rude to stare!" The shorter one – Pippin – didn't stop staring though. "Pip! What are you staring at!" whispered his taller compatriot. "His eyes," Pippin answered in a normal tone of voice "Merry, he's got little chips of ice for eyes. See them Merry? What manner of man has ice for eyes, Merry?" I looked between the two of them in concern. Was Pippin all there in the head? The stout blond seemed to be having his doubts as well. "Now you listen here, Peregrine Took! It ain't your place to talk about a man's eyes, and I'm sure he knows what manner of man he is. Now leave him be and go pack our stuff up." "Yes Sam," answered Pippin meekly as he and his taller friend – Merry – went over and started putting away what little they had taken out of the packs. I could feel their covert glances, though, and heard their whispered conversation.

The stout blond – Sam – distracted me from said conversation by stepping forward and addressing Strider. "All right, Mister Strider, we'll go with you. But don't try nothing." The Ranger nodded "I give you my word that neither of us shall harm you." Seemingly satisfied, Sam went over and finished the packing Merry and Pippin had started. They each picked up a pack – even Baggins – and followed me out the door towards the new room.