Chapter Six: A Single Indulgence


Aragorn's pipe smoke had turned sour by the time the hobbits returned to the great room. He pulled out a small pouch, keeping his movements slight. He meant to keep blending into the wall, a task easy enough task for him, and keep his observations hidden to all but Maren. She was not as luck as him in that regard and was forced to pull her hood up and tie it tight around her neck, hiding her hair and ears.

The effect was minimal, at best, and the others in the room still shot her curious glances when they passed their table. It was enough to keep the hobbits attention on each other, so she was pleased with the outcome and was able to settle down next to Aragorn in relative anonymity.

A bottle of shared wine sat between them, dusty from years of neglect.

It was too rich for this sort of crowd and she wondered if, blending in was their truest intent, that they shouldn't order a few tankards of ale instead.

"They are young," Maren observed, voice barely a whisper in the crowded room.

Hobbits always appeared young, of course, by nature and by appearance, but these four were particularly so. She could only see the faces of the two facing her – the portly one with the pleasing smattering of freckles across his face, and the pale one with intensely blue eyes.

"They are," Aragorn said, taking a long pull from his pipe. The smoke cocooned his face. "But adults by their races standards." He leaned forward, out of the smoke, and looked at the only part of her face that was showing. His stubbled mouth was turned up in a smile around his pipe.

So rare of a sight, she reveled in it while she had it and leaned forward as well.

"I suppose, to some. To others, you are still so young."

"There is a certain irony to that, as I am sure you are aware."

Centuries and centuries of life she might have lived, a few dozen lifetimes for a man, but she was still so young to others of her race. The last elf born west of the Misty Mountains, she had lived her life in a world that was older than she could fathom and at the end of its life just as she was starting hers. Perhaps that was why she craved places like this – places filled with so much life and warmth.

Places so unlike the sterile world she had been born into.

Places that still felt part of Middle Earth in the way Mithlond had once been and would never be again.

"You should not frown," Aragorn said, smiling even more around his pipe before he drew in another deep drag and let it puff out around them. "You will wrinkle."

"And so the irony continues."

She thought, if they were not meant to be keeping an inconspicuous profile, he might reach out and rub the smooth skin between her eyes. Perhaps he imagined a wrinkle growing there, to match the one that now sat permanently between his brows. Perhaps he imagined her growing and changing right alongside him.

As a friend should.

Instead, she would remain as she was and he would continue on until he was nothing but dust.

"Truthfully, Mare, when Gandalf bid me meet them, I had not thought to find a group so young."

"He did not tell you?"

"No."

He offered nothing else and she did not try to dig for it. It pained her, to be certain, but she respected him enough to understand when she was allowed to pry and when she was not. Instead, she pulled back and turned to look at the hobbits once again.

"The pleasant looking one is watching us," Maren said.

Aragorn followed her gaze, subtle in his observations in ways she was not capable. She could certainly move with more grace- hide herself more effectively and leave no trace she had ever been somewhere – but she never been able to hide her fascination with the other races of Middle Earth though she had always tried. If she had been braver, she had thought for a time that she might like to travel the whole of the known lands, just to see what sorts of wonderful people and things she could find. But the thought never became more than that and her travels were always dependent on Elladan and Elrohir and where they wanted to go.

"Pleasant?" Aragorn asked, glancing at her for a brief moment before he looked back to the hobbits again.

"Round face, freckles, seems the sort to enjoy smiling. Pleasant."

She could tell he was rolling his eyes even without visual confirmation.

"I suppose we should not be so surprised to have been noticed," Aragorn said after a long moment, shifting in place so that he might look at the two hobbits that now made their way towards the busy bar. They bobbed and weaved through the crowd, invisible to most of the ale-drunk patrons save for those that were already on their way down to the floor. "Hobbits are distrustful by their very nature, doubly so for outsiders."

"And yet, they have found themselves here."

"You may pry all you wish, Mare," Aragorn said, amusement clear in his voice though he rebuffed her lackluster attempts to needle just a little bit more information from him. Not entirely disappointed and certainly not surprised, she took another sip of her wine and sank back against the hard wood of the seat just a little bit more. If these hobbits were a credit to their race and the reputation that proceeded them, she assumed they would be in for a long night of watching and drinking and drinking and watching. She might as well be as comfortable as possible, though her seat was painfully hard and the wine was wretchedly weak.

She shifted again.

"They have noticed us because you are sitting up too straight and your clothes are too fine for such a place," Aragorn finally said after a long moment. She could tell her was looking at her sidelong, eyes moving up and down her form.

She tried to slump.

"Is this preferable?" She asked, hunching over.

It was a miserable posture and it made her back ache just from the effort of looking terribly common.

Aragorn snorted, though he kept the sound quiet enough that only she would hear.

"It is an admirable attempt." She felt his hand reach over and tap her knee. At first, she thought it might be a comforting gesture, but then he tapped more insistently, the rough edges of his sword-scarred fingers catching on the threads of her travel leggings. She looked down for a brief moment, taking note of the quick rhythm, before she followed his gaze across the crowded room.

The most cheerful of the four hobbits – with the delightful russety curls and mischievous smile – was holding court at the bar. He had shinnied his way up, looking very much like a child surrounded by so many grown men and women, and held a frothing pint in his hands. It looked comically large, meant for someone double his size and with twice his stomach capacity, but he still managed to down half of it in a single long gulp.

Maren did not have time to focus on what he was saying before one of the other hobbits pulled him back, his expression shocked.

The russet one pushed back, surprised for a moment before he realized it was his friend that had grabbed him. The other one stumbled back, tripping over his own overly large feet. His back slammed into the ground and his hands flew up. Something flashed.

And then he was gone.

Aragorn was on his feet in an instant.

He pushed her to the side – gentle and urgent and insistent all at once – and crossed the small space to their stairs, heading in the exact opposite of the growing chaos at the bar.

"Watch the others," Aragorn said as a parting shot, putting his back to her as he disappeared into the stairwell.

Maren stood in place.

The seeing stone sat heavy in the pack still strapped to her back. It had been easy to forget about, if only for a brief moment, as the happiness of time spent with Aragorn replaced her worry. But it pulled on her then. It's weight reminding her of where she was meant to go. She should not linger - she should not indulge in her own desires and her own curiosities. Not when she had already denied Galdor of seeing his duty through to the end and not when there seemed to be something so sinister building with each moment that passed without answer and without action.

But she could not leave Aragorn alone.

And her curiosity could not let her walk away.

But her indecision still rooted her in place. Like a frozen statute in a room now filled with moving art.

Though that was all for show. She had made her decision the moment she stayed in Bree instead of joining Galdor in his journey towards Imladris.

It was all very sudden and her insatiable curiosity for what it all meant and what it all meant for Aragorn seemed to have won out and so she would do as she was bade. At least for a moment. At least until she got enough answers to satisfy her painful need to know. And there were certainly more difficult things to do than watching three little hobbits.

Elusive little creatures on their best days, they practically melted into the room like furniture.

But Maren already knew where they were likely going and she simply stepped back from the entrance to the back stairs to allow them to follow after their inappreciable friend. The shortest one went first, followed quickly by the other two. They dashed up the stairs, pausing only long enough to grab something that might resemble a weapon in the hands of someone more intimidating. Keeping her hood drawn down over her ears, Maren allowed them a brief head start before she followed, relieved to put the chaotic bar to her back.

She was also appreciative of the sort of excitement that now seemed to bubble, though she would not dare so say aloud to Aragorn, should he ask. For just as much excitement now seemed to build, a grimness grew in equal measure. Hobbits were wily but in all her reading and watching and brief interactions, she had never known them to be invisible.

"Let him go!" Maren stepped to the side, surprised at the anger and threat in the hobbits voice. "Or I'll have you longshanks."

Maren stayed in the hall, content to watch Aragorn slide his sword back into its sheath.

"You have a stout heart, little hobbit." Aragorn regarded the one in front carefully, eyes dancing over his face and down to his raised fists, before he fully stood up from his defensive stance. He looked to her next, mouth twisting down into a frown. "I thought I told you to watch them."

"I am." Maren pulled her hood back, shaking out her hair and letting out a relieved sigh now that it was not all bunched up against her neck. It had been awfully wet and sticky, though she would not dare complain about such a thing. Not when Aragorn was regarding her with such a stern expression and not when four little hobbits now stared at her. "They never left my sight."

"Indeed."

She smiled at him, ignoring the way he rolled his eyes – so very much like he used to – as she stepped around the closest of the hobbits to stand next to him.

"I also rather thought it might be intriguing to see what happened."

"And was it to your expectations?" Aragorn put his back to her, ushering the hobbits further into the room before he closed the door and bolted it shut. The sound clanged through the silence, setting the four littlest in the room one edge and raising their shoulders all the way up to their ears out of surprise. All save for the one with the blue eyes – the one with the penchant for disappearing.

The one with the air of grimness to him.

Maren could only look at him for so long before the feeling started to spread to her.

Like a spider burrowing into her skin.

Or a cold hand wrapping itself around the base of her skull.

So she turned to the other three and tried her best to smile in what could be described as non-threatening in a desperate attempt to not notice that something was so very off with him.

"Tell me, what made you decide to grab a candelabra?" Maren asked, peering down at the hobbit clutching it to his chest. His eyes widened considerably and he opened his mouth like he might respond before he closed it again. "Oh! Forive me, I have no given you my name. How terribly rude of me. Now, how is it that hobbits say hello? I know I have read it somewhere…" She trailed off, mostly speaking to herself as she mentally flicked through all the greetings – polite and otherwise – of the peoples of Middle Earth. She had read too much and spoken far too few to know for sure.

"We just say hello."

Maren folded her hands behind her back and inclined her head, thankful that at least one of them was brave enough to try and ease into conversation. If for nothing else, than to save her form cycling endlessly through all her useless, useless knowledge.

"I am Marenya, of the Grey Havens. I am very pleased to make your acquaintance."

They each gave their names – Merry, Pippin, Sam, Frodo – and she was happy that the tension that seemed to fill the room was finally starting to lessen, if only a little. If only enough to get them to listen when Aragorn bade them return to their rooms, gather their belongings, and come back as quickly as possible.

"Aragorn-"

"One of them carries the One Ring."

Maren froze, three steps into moving to join him by the window that overlooked the main througfare through Bree. She would not do herself or him the disservice of assuming she misheard him and instead waiting for him to elaborate further. When he did, she simply touched his arm and gave it a squeeze.

And the slight grimness that had settled over the room quickly turned into full-blown dread.

Dread the like she had never felt before.

Dread she could scarcely put into words.

So she did not dare try.

They turned away from the window in tandem and looked at each other, eyes searching, minds racing with more questions than they had answers for.

But neither of them spoke them aloud.

"We must make for Imladris at first light."

"On foot?"

"Hobbits are not known for their horsemanship and we cannot each bare two of them."

"That is no easy journey. The roads have grown treacherous, as you well know." Maren tried not to scowl at him when he folded his arms across his chest and shook his head. Just as he had done when he was a child. Just as he always did when he would no longer hear pip nor squawk contrary to what he had decided. She hated when he did that. Almost as much as she hated when he kept secrets. "There is something you are not telling me, Estel."

"They are being hunted."

The door banged open again and the four hobbits streamed in, one after the other. Merry and Pippin immediately dropped their packs onto Aragorn's bed, unconcerned with waiting for an invitation. Sam was far more cautious, though he followed suit only after Frodo stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

"Get some rest. I will return shortly." Aragorn pulled his hood back over his head, pausing only long enough to give her a significant look, before he ducked out of the room.

"Stay here," Maren said, understanding that look well enough. "And lock the door."

Aragorn was waiting for her just outside the door, hand balancing on the hilt of his sword and posture tense. "How comfortable are you breaking a promise to Galdor?"

She had done so a hundred times.

As was her nature, though she desperately wished that were not the case.

"That depends," Maren said, though she understood his meaning well enough without him needing to say it. She sighed, reaching down to make sure she still had her knife strapped to her belt. "How long should I keep watch?"

"Only long enough for me to build a decoy," Aragorn said, shoulders relaxing when it became clear she was not going to argue too much with him. "I do not wish to ask this of you…"

"And yet you must and I will trust you do not do so needlessly."

"You are not a warrior," Aragorn continued, speaking as if he meant to convince himself rather than her. Though she could not say he was off to a smashing start. Her stomach squirmed with anxiety. It had been building since she left Mithlond and now it seemed like to swallow her whole. Where had her pleasant evening with an old friend gone? Where had her playful questions landed, if not in the sort of horror she had never learned to fathom properly?

Her books did not prepare her for this.

All her days spent in the water, learning and growing and living, seemed to dry up in the very heat of the sun.

She was not a warrior, but neither were the four hobbits, and she had skill enough of her own to make sure they lived into the bright clarity of morning.

Perhaps by then she would not be so afraid.

"I will stay out of sight," She said, pulling her hood up over her hair. "And the rain has started. The water will help my sight just as much as the sun helps yours."

"Galdor left you in my care."

"Galdor left me in my own care. You simply happened to be present."

"It was implied."

"Not nearly enough, by my measure." Maren grabbed the wrist not balanced on the hilt of his sword. "Go. We waste time squibbling with each other. Go."

Aragorn's nostril's flared, but he acquiesced – as she knew he would.

She felt the warmth from his lips on her forehead even when she stepped back outside into the pouring rain.

The glow of the Prancing Pony faded as she disappeared into the dark, but it was not replaced by smaller lights and lower burning fires. Bree had been full of life not even an hour past, but that all seemed washed away with the sudden, violent rain. Or something else. Something she could not identify.

Something dark.

She held her palm up towards the sky, closing her eyes as she water pooled in the middle.

Rain was not nearly as informative as a river or the ocean, but it had its uses and she would take its kinship over the silence of hard soil or an outcropping of trees. But she still felt so very blind and even letting the rain guide her hand she found herself looking back and forth down the abandoned street in search of something.

Anything.

Any sign of life.

Any sign of what had scared the people of Bree back into their homes and drove them to dampen all the lights.

Maren tucked her hand back under her cloak. She would not dare leave Bree, not without first telling Aragorn, but there was nothing this side of town to see. She did not dare return so soon, however, so she began to pick her way through town, sidestepping large puddles and avoiding the nastier of the messes left behind by the humans. They were dirtier than the Rangers – a feat, she thought, all things considered – and left behind all manner of terrible things. It had always made the town smell distinctly alive, but tonight, when she needed all her senses the most, she resented the mortals and their mess.

She circled the town three times.

And three times she found nothing.

But that nothing was far more telling than if there had been anything.

Aragorn opened the door for her when she returned, barely allowing enough of a crack to let her squeeze inside.

"Were you followed?"

Maren pulled off her soaked cloak and set it over the metal grate in front of the low burning fire. He had built it like he was still out in the wilds, only allowing enough for light and to fight off the bone chill. It was not enough for the hobbits and they had huddled themselves together under the covers on the large, human sized bed.

"Are they sleeping?" Maren asked, feeling her heart swelling just a bit as she looked over at them.

"Yes. Or making a play at it. Were you followed?" He asked again, moving to stand closer to her. He pulled the back from her shoulders and set it down next to his, tilting his head to the side when it thunked.

"I was not. But it was so strange," She said, pulling his attention back to her before he could ask too many questions about the loud sound from her pack. "The village is empty."

"And you saw nothing?"

"Nothing. Whatever is hunting them, moves with the steps of a ghost, if there is anything here at all."

"A ghost."

Aragorn fell silent for a moment, dark eyebrows knitting together as his thoughts began to race. She could see the indecision and the panic flash briefly on his face – such a foreign sight on a man normally so sure of himself and his decisions – before he managed to get it back under control.

If not for her sake, then for the four little hobbits that now seemed wholly in their care.

"Then we will have no choice but to wait and see what the night brings."

"I had hoped you might have something more."

"I had hoped to not find ourselves in such a place at all. How does one find a ghost? How does one fight a ghost?"

A loud screech reverberated through the small room, starting them both and sending them over to the window in tandem. Aragorn wrapped his hand around her wrist, pulling her to the side to keep her from putting her bright, pale face directly in the line of sight. He held a finger up to his lips, shaking his head when she opened her mouth.

Though she was not really sure what she wanted to say.

A ghost.

A specter.

A wraith.

All the words in all the books in all of Middle Earth could not come close to describing the horror that those beasts brought with them. The sound was like a serrated knife cutting through the softest parts of her skin, burying in deep and turning left and right.

"How long have they been following them?"

"Gandalf did not say. Only that they have been pursued relentlessly since they left the Shire." Maren sank towards the ground, trying to shut out the sound of the Nazgûl. They continued to cry, the sounds moving closer and closer to the Prancing Pony. Aragorn glanced away from the window only briefly enough to look at her before he looked back. "They are bold to hunt so openly."

"You spoke of omens earlier, of predators."

"I did try to warn you."

"Not in so many words," Maren said, smiling at the slightly guilty look he gave her.

But her humor – brief and gallows as it was – was short lived. She heard the sound of the Nazgûl on the stairs, their footfalls only loud enough for her to hear. Aragorn did not and he only sat up straighter when she reached sideways and pinched the side of his leg. When she moved to stand, he held her in place with his hand on her shoulder, eyes firmly fixed on something on the other side of the room.

"What are they?"

Maren would leave Aragorn to that explanation.

It was more his story to tell, after all, for she was here only by mere coincidence and the stone in her pack was still just as heavy as when she left Forochel earlier that day. That was meant to be her concern. That was meant to be her purpose. But she found herself forgetting about it again – the forgetfulness brought on by happiness now replaced by the forgetfulness brought about by fear. Connections fought to form in her mind, knitting together in places that she was sure were meant to touch.

Maren clenched her hands together above her knees, stomach churning and turning into a mess of knots.

She pulled herself to her feet after a moment, setting her sights on the remaining three hobbits, all of them awake now as the Nazgûl continued their hunt into the bowels of the inn. They looked so terribly, awfully, painfully young. Their pink cheeks now drained of color, their curls now flattened from a night spent tossing and turning in fear.

Her heart ached for them.

The stone could wait until she saw them to Imladris. She just needed one more favor from Galdor. One more indulgence. Two, three, as many as he would give her, she would take.

But she just needed one.

And then there would be no more distractions. No more trips to the north, no more wine and secrets shared between friends. Just one and she could see the hobbits safely on their way. Just one and she could return to her purpose.

They just needed a little more of her time.

They just needed this one single indulgence.

And then she would be able to give it all to her brother and the task she had been given.