Author's Note: I am mixing book canon, movie canon, and my own imagination for this story. This chapter makes some allusions to "A Safe Haven", so there may be some points of confusion.

Answers in Bree

Bree – Hísimë 3018 of the Third Age

"How do they live this way?" Rosie murmured to her father as they made their way down the main street of town. "All these buildings clustered together and…looming over them."

"Different folks, Rosie-lass." Her father smiled and patted her shoulder. "They've had different experiences and different needs. Inn keepers and tavern owners know that better than most. As long as they're doing their best, we shouldn't be judging them." He chuckled. "Might not be the life we would want, but Hobbit's are gardeners at heart. And all the world can't be gardeners or who would do the mining?"

She gave a small laugh. Tolman Cotton was all Hobbit, but he preferred the metal tools fashioned by Dwarves. He would travel more than any Hobbit – save the Tooks and Bilbo Baggins – in order to purchase a high quality metal tool. It might be more expensive, but as he took pains to point out – "Dwarf tools break less and last longer. I'm getting a bargain in the end."

Most of all – he believed in letting people be people with all their differences.

"Ah!" Tolman exclaimed. "There we are – the Inn of the Prancing Pony. We'll get rooms there and then we can see about buying supplies and asking questions."

The two Hobbits made their way across the down the street and entered the quiet building. It seemed to be a moment between rushes, so Rosie stood back and watched as her father approached a short fat man with a bald head and a red face. His white apron held a day's worth of work stains, but only gathered more as he wiped his hands before turning a curious look on the pair of them.

"Well now!" he exclaimed. "Good afternoon, sir, young miss! Welcome to the Pony." His eyes scanned the room before returning to them. "I'm Barliman Butterbur, and what may you be wanting?"

"Lodging for the night," Tolman replied. "Connected rooms if you have them for my daughter and me."

"Oh, of course, of course," the innkeeper nodded, his smile turning bemused. "You're Hobbits from the Shire then?"

"Yes," Tolman frowned. "Is there a problem?"

"Oh no, little master, no! No problems!" Butterbur seemed to think over something as he wrung his hands.

"What is it, Mr. Butterbur?" Rosie asked, a frown flickering over her face at his nerves.

"It's just…odd, it is," he replied, leaning forward a bit in emphasis. "Folks from the Shire don't come often to Bree, and yet in under a month I've seen a good half dozen of you now and that last set! Oh, but they did need looking after!" He shook his head and let his voice drop lower, like a man sharing a confidence. "Four of them there were, and they came looking for…hmm…now bless me, who were they looking for?" His eyes grew a bit distant for a moment and Rosie restrained her desire to shake him. Then he perked back up. "Oh, yes, that's right! They came looking for that wizard chap, Gandalf. Nice enough fellow, if a little too in and out, here and gone again for my tastes."

"And did they find the Wizard?" Rosie prompted.

"Who? Oh, the Hobbits…no, no, we'd seen no signs of the old fellow for months."

Rosie and her father exchanged concerned glances. "Then what did they do?"

"Who?"

"The four Hobbits," Rosie replied, drawing on all of the patience she could scrounge up. If she could handle a tavern full of less than sober Hobbits, she could handle one befuddled Man. "If they didn't find Gandalf, then what did they do?"

"Hmm? Oh, they went off with that Ranger, Strider I think they called him." Butterbur's face wrinkled in a frown. "We call him Longshanks more than anything else around here. He's a questionable sort, like all Rangers, but they wouldn't hear any warnings – off they went down the road."

Another customer walked in and Butterbur stirred himself into motion. "Oh, goodness! Here you are wanting rooms and here I am holding you up. Nob!" He glanced over his shoulder towards the kitchen before looking back at them. "Nob'll take you to your rooms – a nice pair of Hobbit-sized rooms that look out to the back garden. They should suit you quite well." He turned. "Nob!"

It took a few more minutes of confusion and some loud directions, but the Cottons were finally shown to their rooms. They discussed their next actions for a bit before Rosie put her foot down. "No," she told her father in a voice filled with conviction. "We came to find some answers, and I am not leaving without them."

"You always were a stubborn one," he sighed. "Alright then, we shall try to find a Ranger and ask him, but we leave for home in the morning."

"Yes, Da."

The two Hobbits made their way through town, purchasing supplies and arranging for deliveries while keeping an eye out for any of the Rangers. Rosie couldn't quite understand why people looked down on them – the Rangers kept people safe, didn't they realize that? Where would they all be without them?

Her mind flickered back in time, back to when she was still quite young. A hard, cruel winter struck and danger came to the Shire. She, along with seven other children, escaped most of it thanks to the efforts of old Bilbo Baggins. More to the current point of her thoughts, however, she remembered the other person who helped take care of them on the long journey – a Ranger everyone called 'Singer'. She had another name, but Rosie could not bring it to mind at the moment.

The evening mealtime came around and Rosie accompanied her father to the main room. It seemed louder and more raucous than the worst nights at the Dragon. She winced at the noise and sidled closer to her father as she spotted some of the people already in the room. Rough and dangerous they looked – much like the ruffians her maiden aunts would often mutter about.

"Forgive me," a soft voice drew their attention.

Rosie looked around and then looked up. A tall Ranger stood behind them, a small smile softening the hard lines of his face. The concern in his eyes drew a smile to her face.

He nodded at them. "Forgive me," he repeated, "but I thought perhaps you might join me for dinner?" His hand gestured towards an empty table in the back. "You would do me the great favor of sparing me a solitary meal and it would be…" His voice trailed off as he glanced around the room before refocusing on them. "It would likely be less troublesome for a party of three."

Rosie's smile deepened and her father sketched a short bow. "Lead on if you would, sir," Tolman replied. "We would enjoy sharing some company over dinner." He took Rosie's arm. "And less trouble is just as welcome."

The Hobbits followed the Ranger back to the empty table where the two males made sure to tuck Rosie into the corner. She bit back a smile at the overprotective instincts.

"I am Tolman Cotton," her father began. "And this is my daughter Rosie." She gave the Ranger a smile, to which he returned a nod, but she let it pass. The Rangers always did have a somber mien – no reason to get upset about summer being summer as the saying went. "How may we call you?" Tolman continued.

"Around these parts they call me Talvas," the Ranger replied, "but you may call me Halbarad, if you prefer."

"Why 'Talvas'?" she asked, a small frown furrowing her brow over the odd word.

"It means 'shield'," he offered. "I believe they find me too cold for their liking." The barest hint of a smile touched his lips. "Perhaps I am, but then…they are quite the questionable sort."

"Indeed they are," her father chuckled. "Indeed they are."

The barmaid came around and everyone placed their orders. Halbarad waited until she moved away before leaning back and letting his gaze move from Tolman to Rosie and back. "What brings the owner of the Green Dragon to Bree?" Tolman's eyebrows went up in surprise which managed to draw a soft chuckle from the sober-faced Ranger. "I am not unfamiliar with the Shire," he explained. "Though I am more familiar with the North Farthing than anywhere else. And your establishment is known for its ale." The humor in his gaze deepened. "Many a Dwarf caravan has commented on it."

"Ah," Tolman flushed. "Yes, well, the Dragon pulls a good serving or two I suppose."

Rosie suppressed a giggle at her father's expression, trapped between pride and humility. Halbarad glanced at her, one eye closing in a discreet wink, and she had to look down to avoid breaking into laughter. When she pulled herself back under control, she glanced back up to find her father giving her a wry glare. "It was funny," she shrugged. "And the Dwarves do like Dragon ale."

"Especially your Dwarves," he shook his head. He turned back to the Ranger. "To answer your question though, we've come for supplies and to find one of you."

"Is there a problem in the Shire?" Halbarad sat up, humor bleeding out of him and leaving an intensity in his gaze that might have frightened some of the more timid Hobbits. Rosie did not feel frightened, but protected. To know that others felt that kind of concern for her homeland caused a great deal of relief. The Hobbits – a peace-loving and unwarlike people – had friends ready to protect them.

Even when some Hobbits treated them like unwelcome strangers.

"No, no," her father reassured him. "Nothing's wrong."

"We do not believe," Rosie amended.

Halbarad focused on her. "Tell me." He tilted his head and his lips twitched. "If you please, miss?"

"We appreciate the concern," she replied, patting his arm, "so I can overlook a small lapse of manners." Now his lips curved into that ghost of a smile once more. Satisfied, she took a moment to put her thoughts in order. "It's about some friends of mine," she began and then laid out her concern for Sam, Frodo, Merry, and Pippin. It did not take long, but as she spoke she could see recognition sparking in Halbarad's eyes. Her voice trailed off and she stared at him. "You know something," she finished. "I can see that you do."

"I do," he offered a nod in reply. He folded his hands on the table and bowed his head. The table sat in silence for several long minutes before he looked back up. "There are some things I can tell you, but others would be unwise." His eyes scanned the room. "Your friends left Bree with my captain," he continued. "He planned to take them to a place of safety with the Elves."

The two Hobbits smiled and started to relax, but Rosie straightened back up when the Ranger remained still. "And?" she prompted. He lifted a brow at her and she gave him her best barkeep stare. "There's something else."

"You are perceptive," he complimented her.

"I deal with a room full of drunken Hobbits on a regular basis," she informed him. "Not to mention the occasional party of Dwarves who are a bit too fond of ale. I know when a story is missing its pieces."

He leaned forward and dropped his voice. "There are others searching for them," he told the two Hobbits. Rosie's eyes widened and then narrowed, but the Ranger continued before she could speak. "One of them has attracted the attention of unfriendly forces."

Her father frowned. "You mean-,"

"Da," Rosie interrupted in a quiet tone. Her father gave her a curious look and she shook her head. "If a Ranger will not name the one being hunted, then we should not either." Tolman frowned and sat back, a thoughtful look on his face. She looked back towards Halbarad, who gave her a measuring look in returned. One corner of her mouth tilted up in a crooked smile. "I travelled with a Ranger as a child."

Enlightenment entered his countenance. "Ah, you are one of Erebor's Hobbits then," he stated, an actual smile flickering over his face.

"Is that what they call us?" she huffed. Then she shook her head. "I suppose so." The humor died away and she straightened. "Nothing is wrong in the Shire," she repeated, "but Black Riders have been seen there, asking for…certain persons."

His lips thinned. "They should not be back," he told her. "Now that…certain persons have left, they will follow." His brow knotted in concentration. "Still, it would be better for your folk to have more guards and watchful eyes. Their presence will leave a mark, drawing other things to you."

"We've only the Bounders," Tolman began.

"And a link to the Dwarves," Rosie finished.

Her father sighed. "Lass, we can't fix everything," he said. "And even if you send your request, if the Shire's having such problems, do you not think they will be as well?"

"We have to try, Da." Her eyes flashed. "I'll not let our home be in danger if I have a chance to prevent it."

Halbarad gave her an approving look. "Let the Dwarves know of your troubles," he recommended. "It may be that trouble is coming to all lands and an alliance would do you a great deal better than trying to stand alone."

"And what could we offer any alliance?" Tolman demanded.

"Food," Rosie told him. Both of the males turned to her and she shrugged. "We might not have much in the way of weapons or things for war, but we can easily feed an army for a good bit if it can keep the enemy out of the fields."

"You have a feel for this kind of thing, Miss," the Ranger commented.

She ducked her head, a flush rising to her cheeks. "It only makes sense, doesn't it?" she shrugged. "Armies have to eat."

"They do." His thoughtful gaze continued to rest on her face.

"Dwarves," Tolman sighed and shook his head. "It's all due to her taking up with Dwarves." A reluctant smile crept over his face. "Don't know what the world is coming to when good, sensible Hobbits start talking about armies and wars with such ease, but sure enough my girl's got to be right in the middle of it."

Halbarad chuckled, and Rosie felt hope rising up in her. Danger might be rising in the wide world around them, but as long as they could still laugh and find a light in the future, then they could still stand against the darkness. They could make it through the storm gathering on the horizon.

And they could keep home safe for the travelers to return to when all was said and done.