~The Ring Bearer, the Loyal Friend, and the Puckish Pair~
As Ashala ascended the stairs with adrenaline-fueled vigor, she examined her pale knuckles. They were dusted with blood, most of which was not her own. Ahshlala didn't mean to injure anyone too badly but in her longing for the feeling of a pounding heart and focused mind she had gotten carried away
Unfortunately, It was a short fight, that lasted mere minutes before Butterbur intervened before anyone had truly won. Unlike most establishments farther south, The Prancing Pony was not accustomed to violent patrons throwing food and ripping out hair.
Ahshala cracked a smile as she recalled the bruised rib she had given a short, fat, man who had attempted to smack her with a plate. Quickly she pulled her lips back as a small sting spread across a tenderspot on her bottom lip. Gently she raised a finger and gingerly touched the sore spot. The cut wasn't bleeding heavily, having been split by her teeth after a chair leg whacked her on the head. Not only had a wooden leg walloped her but a metal tankard had been lobed at her forehead while she was distracted by the hobbits sneaking up the stairs.
Ahshala didn't mind the slight throb of her hit head nor the stinging of her split knuckles. The pain was a reminder that she was alive.
Despite her disheveled appearance, she was relatively unharmed compared to other men downstairs. A victim of her vicious fist had a broken nose and a bruised jaw, she had flung a metal tankard at another nailing him in the throat, and the poor chap who ripped out a chunk of her amber locks was missing a few teeth and was curled up bruised in both his pride and his sides.
Having reached the dark wooden door of her room, Ashala entered without knocking, letting the creak of the old hinges be a testimony to her arrival.
It was the young Frodo Baggins that caught her eye first. His arctic eyes were pale and cold, he was frightened, and Ahshala assumed that Strider had told him of the Black Riders and their power. The two other hobbits all wore a similar gloom to their cherub-like faces which tore an ache through Ahshala's heart.
"What did you do?" Strider questioned her, gesturing a hand to her bloodied fist and soaked blouse. He knew already, she could tell by the disapproving downturn of his eyes and the tightlipped frown on his now uncovered and candle-lit face.
"Bar fight." She shrugged, removing her hood which she had put up after the fight, and let loose the mangled marmalade mane many would call hair. Her gaze turned to Frodo who recognized the she-elf before him. His worried brow unfurled, rising high like the joyous cry that echoed from his rosy lips.
"Auntie Ahsha!" he cried in a soft sweet tone, running to the green-clad woman and encasing her in a hobbit-sized hug.
Many would think that due to a hobbit's size, their hugs would be rather dainty and sweet. They would be wrong. If Frodo had been any heavier he would have tackled the redhead with the might of a bear.
Regardless she squeezed him tight lifting his massive feet off the floor and placed her right cheek against his in a typical Esenatain greeting before she set him down and moved her grip to his slim shoulder.
"Just like a Baggins," she exclaimed ruffling his earthy curls, "to find himself on an unexpected adventure."
Frodo smiled grimly before he turned towards his fellow hobbits and gestured to each other respectively as he gave her their names.
"That's Samwise Gamgee, I believe you might have met him before," she nodded, after all, he did look familiar, her gaze shifted along with Frodo's arm to the two troublesome hobbits. "Meriadoc Brandybuck, or Merry, is off somewhere," she assumed Merry was the thinner hobbit who, like Sam, had curly strawberry locks and a cheeky smile plastered on his lips. She briefly wondered where he was. "and this is Peregrin Took,"
Frodo had intended to continue but the sandy-haired boy interjected, sticking out his hand for her to shake.
"Hallo, you can just call me Pippin!" He carried a light and bubbly northern accent that blended his 'you' with a 'ye' just like Ahshala. "It's good to meet you! I've never met an elf before!"
The she-elf was surprised with his immediate friendly introduction but she didn't mind. He reminded her of an old friend from the coast and she couldn't help but run a finger briefly over the topaz hoop in her ear.
Hobbits tended to be very shy and reserved around strangers, although they could throw some wild parties. Ahshala was there for Bilbo Baggin's Hundred and Eleventy first birthday party. Cooked meat and malt beer was served in abundance, gifts were given to every hobbit in and around the shire, there was loud music and dancing, and fireworks. The whole ordeal put some royal regalia to shame.
She turned her focus back to the hobbits in front of her. Hobbits were fairly short creatures, they seldom grew past four feet and were cherub-like in features. These four were no different. They favored bright colors and subtle patterns for their comfortable clothing. Simple wool or cotton undershirts, a vivid statement vest, woolen knickers that buttoned at the ankle, and their large hairy brown feet. Hobbits much like Ahshala did not wear shoes. She had at first assumed it was because their feet were sensitive but was rather surprised to learn it was quite the opposite. Hobbit soles were incredibly leathery and could walk on the sharpest stones without as much as a small scratch.
"Who are you and what do you want?" questioned Pippin brightly when she hadnt spoken to him promptly enough.
"My name is Ahshala Uruican," she gestured to herself. "I am delighted to meet you three. I am at her service" She smiled corduroy and gave the hobbits a deep bow before straightening her spine and turning her head toward her travel companion, "I've heard their call."
She was referring to the Black Riders or Nazgul whose sickening shriek was passed to her ears by the whispering of the leaves outside during her fight. It distracted her long enough to take a tankard to the forehead.
"They'll be here soon."
With a grim nod, he turned to the four hobbits.
"Don't be alarmed!" insisted Strider to the hobbits who were still weary of his presence, "I will tell you what I know and give you some good advice, but I shall want a reward."
"And what might that be pray tell?" encouraged Frodo far too suspicious of the roguish smile upon the ranger's lips. Frodo gave Ahshala a look that clearly said 'This is your choice of company?' She couldn't blame him for thinking Strider was some troublesome rascal who would no sooner empty the hobbits of their goods than provide them with useful information. The ranger was feeding that notion.
"No more than you can afford," smirked the ranger as he sat in the oak chair near the window, not helping break the front he had built, "Just this: you must take me along with you until I wish to leave."
"Oh indeed," replied Frodo, surprised at the request but not comforted. He had quite honestly wanted to reply with something along the lines of 'over my dead body' or 'when pigs fly' but he figured both the ranger and the druid could make either happen.
"Even if I wanted another companion, I should not agree to any such thing, until I knew a good deal more about you, and your business." is what escaped the hobbit's lips, "My aunt's faith in you does not sway me much."
Ahshala wanted to be offended but she couldn't be. Bilbo had undoubtedly gossiped with the hobbit about her various stunts as a vagabond in her younger years. That or Frodo had read some of her journals, and she hoped it was the former.
"Excellent!" acclaimed Strider choosing to ignore the edge in the hobbit's voice. He crossed his legs and sat back comfortably, "You seem to be coming to your senses again, and that is all too good. You have been too careless so far. Very well! I will tell you what I know, and leave the reward to you. You may be glad to grant it when you have heard me."
"Get on with it!" Ahshala told him rolling her eyes as she strode over to the door.
"What do you know?" Pippin questioned curiously standing next to his dark-haired friend.
"Too much; too many dark things." the ranger responded Grimly, "as to your business." He watched as Ahshala peered out of the door and into the hall before shutting it quietly and nodding at her companion across the room. " I have keen ears," he went on lowering his voice, "and though I cannot disappear I have hunted many wild and wary things and I can usually avoid being seen if I wish." he was repeating his earlier statement to add mystery to his words, a common tactic Ahshala had used to gain prestige among lords and ladies who contracted her services. Aragorn would have continued if it had not been for the exasperated sigh of the druid who had plopped down in the chair beside him.
"All very well," commented Frodo pointedly, "but I have still yet to learn why my business interests you, Mr. Strider.
"Well answered," laughed the rouge locking eyes with the elf who had told him much about the smart lad. "But the explanation is simple: I was looking for a Hobbit called Frodo Baggins. I wanted to find him quickly. I had learned what he was carrying out of the Shire, well, a secret that concerned me and my friends."
Frodo glanced at his curly-haired aunt to confirm the man's words and she nodded.
"Now don't mistake me!" cried the man in front of Frodo. Sam jumped up with a scowl. He did not know why Frodo had trusted the curly-haired elf when the two had not seen her for years. "I shall take more care of the secret than you do." the ranger accused.
Sam looked like he could shove his hairy little fist straight into the man's nose but Ahshala stopped him with a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"Watch every shadow," she warned them in a warm whisper, "Black horsemen have passed through Bree like shadows in the dark forest. One came down the Greenway Monday, so they say, and another up from the south."
Eire silence echoed through the room fueled by the anxieties in the chests of the crestfallen hobbits and they began to regret their liberal conversation in the common room below. They should have realized it by the way the Gatekeeper and the Innkeeper seemed to know of something,
"Do you think the innkeeper," Frodo began.
"No, I don't think any harm of old Butterbur," Ahahsala commented removing the doubt from the hobbit's mind.
"Though," added the snarky Strider, "He does not altogether like mysterious vagabonds of my sort." He laughed at the three hobbits puzzled looks. "Well, I have a rather rascally look, have I not?" said the Strider Ahshala knew best, with a curl of his lip and a gleam in his eye. "But I hope we shall get to know one another better."
"You will have to leave the open road after tonight;" Ahshala interrupted as she heard thick footsteps coming up the dense stairs. "No doubt word will have spread of your disappearance, I only managed to distract the drunkest." she rubbed her hand over her bloodied knuckles at the memory of the fight. "Bill Ferny, left." she muttered to the ranger beside her, "I suspect he's a spy." She turned back to the hobbits and continued with the first thought she had, "The horseman will watch the road day and night. You may escape from Bree, and be allowed to go forward while the sun is up but you won't get far. They will corner you in the wild, in some dark place where no one can help you."
The hobbits looked at the two rouges surprised at the furrowed brows of Strider as if the very thought pained him. He had clutched his hands on the arms of the chair, quiet and still.
"You fear them." the druid continued earnestly. "but hardly as much as you should. Will you have us? We have traveled the lands of the Shire to the Misty Mountains for years, far longer than any of you have been alive. Strider and the Vixen can lead you across the East past. Will you have us?"
Frodo was convinced, but Sam was not.
"I'd say no!" he cried, "This Strider, he warns and he says take care; and I say yes to that, and the Vixen says to be cautious, and I agree but they come from the wild! And I never heard no good of such things!"
"Oranges." Ahshala challenged granting a curious gaze from the suspicious hobbit. "And blackberries I suppose. They are often far more delicious when plucked from the wild."
Sam couldn't argue with her. He knew wild oranges and berries were far sweeter than those he grew in his garden, but he also understood what she was trying to say. Though Ahshala and Strider seemed wild and dangerous, their rough appearance could have been hiding something good.
"You will never get to Rivendell on your own," Strider commented quickly having heard the footsteps along with the elf that had begun to near the door. "This is your only chance."
There came a kind knock at the door and a polite, 'Lady Urican' slipped through the door to which the Druid grimmiced curling into herself until another nock echoed and she stood bashfully to open it.
It was Butterbur coming to speak with her about the fight she had eagerly started and won mind you. He had hardly begun to question her about the brawl when he noticed the three of the four hobbits behind her.
"Mr. Underhill," he sighed walking through and shutting the door "I had remembered what I had forgotten," he smiled pulling out a letter from his pocket and passing it to the hobbit. "It is meant for Mr. Baggins from Gandalf the Grey, It seems I had forgotten to send it." As forgetful as the Innkeeper was, he had enough reason to connect Mr. Baggins to the hobbit before him.
The two Rangers pulled the man aside as the Hobbit stared at the letter eagerly. They had been informed that the Black riders had come questioning, looking for a 'Baggins' that very Monday, old news, but not unappreciated. Together the Barkeep and the Rangers had made a plan. Doors would be locked, and windows barred, the Black Riders would not harm the hobbits that night. However, one problem remained.
"Where's the fourth?" Ahshala questioned, remembering the absence of the hobbit, "the Brandybuck?
Frodo's blood ran cold. He had forgotten all about him in the chaos and concern. Butterbur had gone to find him and Ahshala couldn't help but stare at the letter. She wanted to know what it said.
"Well open it." She gestured to the letter and watched as Frodo's fast fingers broke the seal and his icy eyes poured over the pages. He passed it to Sam, and to Pippin who had already been reading it over his shoulder as the two rangers started wondering what Gandalf had written It said, as follows;
THE PRANCING PONY, BREE.
Midyear's Day, Shire Year, 1418.
Dear Frodo,
Bad news has reached me here. I must go off at once. You had better leave Bag End soon and get out of the Shire before the end of July at the latest. I will return as soon as I can, and I will follow you if I find that you are gone. Leave a message for me here, if you pass through Bree. You can trust the landlord (Butterbur). You may meet a friend of mine on the Road: a Man, lean, dark, tall, by some called Strider. He knows our business and will help you. Make for Rivendell. There I hope we may meet again. If I do not come, Elrond will advise you.
Yours in haste
All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes, a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be the blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.
PPPS. I hope Butterbur sends this promptly. A worthy man, but his memory is like a lumber-room: things are always buried. If he forgets, I shall roast him.
"Why didn't you tell me you were Gandalf's friend at once?" he had asked the rugged ranger "It would have saved time."
"Would you believe me?" he asked as he attempted to read the letter over Ahshala's shoulder. "You seemed to be wary of even Ahshala's judgment though you two are well acquainted."
"Well she is rather like the wind, and I feared she had turned." Frodo grinned sheepishly and Ahshala looked up from the letter. He gave her an apologetic look but she only shrugged and turned back to the paper. It seemed like a fair assumption. "I haven't seen her in some time."
It was all true, and it was all a distraction from the words on the paper. She grumbled in frustration as the letters seemed to jumble in her head among the conversation the hobbits and Strider had engaged in over Gandalf's love of the dramatics and the hobbit's flawed view of him. She gave up reading and handed it back to the dark-haired hobbit with a huff just as Merry burst through the wooden door pale and clammy. He shut the door with haste and leaned up against it.
"I have seen them Frodo," he gasped attempting to calm his racing heart with his hand, "I have seen them, Black Riders!"
They were all still, staring at the hobbit as Frodo asked the question on their minds.
"Where?"
"Here! In the village. I went out for a stroll," he fumbled with his words a bit but had calmed down well enough " I was looking at the stars. Suddenly I shivered and felt that something horrible was creeping near: there was a sort of deeper shade among the shadows across the road, just beyond the edge of the lamplight."
"Which way did it go?" Questioned Strider, whom Merry had just noticed the presence of. He was quickly assured that Strider and Vixen were good fellows, thought that remained to be seen in his eyes, and was prompted to continue.
Merry had told them he had followed the riders, bravely but foolishly, he had heard their whispering and no sooner felt their chill when he had fallen. When he came too he rushed to the Prancing Pony to warn the others.
"I do not know what came over me."
"I do," Strider's face was lit only by the light of the firelight letting deep shadows cut across his grim face, "The Black Breath."
The hobbits had been frightened as the two tall figures conversed rapidly in another language with each other about the how where and what. One thing was concluded. The hobbits were under their watch that night.
The trees shuttered as the Nazgul rode closer. Ahshala could feel the hopeless cold fill her lungs weighing her soul down with despair. The two rangers had filled the hobbit's beds with pillows and kept the real boys in their room across from the tavern in an attempt to deceive the Ring Wraiths. The windows were barred and the bed frame pressed against the door.
Strieder had planted himself in a heavy oak chair, his hands resting on his sword, and his gaze affixed out the window towards the Nazgul's approach. Ahshala who sat on a chair across from him heard the Black Knight's near-silent armor-clad feed tread up the Prancing Ponies' stone steps toward the hobbit's room.
Her gaze moved to the three hobbits asleep in a rather comfortable pile near the fireplace. Frodo however had not been able to sleep. He simply sat near his fellows staring anxiously out the rain-covered window.
A cruel cry erupted from the Nazgul alerting the three sleeping hobbits who, now awake, stared at the two silent figures in the Oak chairs.
"What are they?" Frodo asked tentatively as another cry rang through the streets of the tiny town
Strider turned his head to answer, while Ahshala's gaze remained fixed on the Shadowy figures leaving the inn.
"They were once men." his hands remained firm on his sword as he issued the explanation. "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 and now they are slaves to his will."
Strider looked once more out the window following Ahshala's intense gaze on the once great Kings now monsters riding through the streets of Bree. To Ahshala the story of the rings of power was new and filled her stomach with discomfort. She had known a great many of men who had fallen victim to corruption and the memory sickened her.
"They are the Nazgul, Ringwraiths," He continued his grim expression painted by the promenade of the hearth's fading light as he turned once more to the hobbits, " neither living nor dead. At all times they feel the presence of the ring...drawn to the power of the one..they will never stop hunting you."
Ahshala had felt the unease of the young men behind her. Hobbits for centuries had hardly ever left the shire and hadn't seen war in centuries, and now these four young hobbits barely of age were in grave danger. She turned to see the petrified faces of the four brave hobbits.
"Rest," she gently commanded, "I will watch over you til morning's light."
Hesitantly the four hobbits resumed their rest and the two rangers sat guard until the cold bitter air and the splitting cries of the Nazgul faded along with the pounding rain.
Ahshala had felt a shiver rush through her spine as the heat returned to the bedroom. The uncomfortable sensation was accompanied by the heaviness in her lungs that hadnt left, even as the Nazgul rode away.
Stuck in the sheltered inn of Bree was not Ahshala's ideal place for rest. Her mind was too loud when she was still. It was also loud when she was safe behind the confinement of walls or in a bustling city. The night before it had been unbearable but something was different as she stared at the gloomy night.
After the adrenaline from the tavern brawl, Ahshala's limbs felt heavy, as if her thin cotton undershirt had been made of buffalo hide. Each breath was labored as if she had nibbled nightshade and succumbed to its paralyzing poison. Her eyelids hung lower with each exhale, threatening to shut and never open again.
While these were not normal sensations they were not what caused her concern it was the fogginess of her head, as the sound of rain filled her ears. The thunder echoed through it clearly, ringing softly after each flash of light. It was then she noticed. Her mind was quiet.
Memories did not pour over her, thoughts did not flash, and emotions did not echo. She felt nothing but the warmth of the fire and the floor beneath her. She heard nothing but the rain and thunder. It frightened her.
With a flash of lightning and a grumble of thunder Ahshala's spine twitched; each vertebra tugged at her muscles threatening to separate. Her body moved to satiate her spine's desire and her shoulders nocked against Stridrs arm.
He frowned as he glanced at her. Her nose was scrunched and her straight brows screwed in frustration as she squirmed and shifted in an attempt to find a suitable position. The gnawing feeling faded to a bearable ache and her shoulders relaxed at the touch of Ranger who had placed his hand on her knee.
Strider hadn't said a word, and Ahshala preferred it that way. He only offered a small smile before he too shifted, resting his heavy head against the wooden wall. In the darkness, Ahshala could see his lashes flutter slowly as if he fought to keep them open, and his breathing regulated into a soft inhale and a long exhale.
"You should rest too," Ahshala stated plainly to the human male beside her. He nodded and moved towards the blanket he had laid on the ground and drifted to sleep.
Unlike men, dwarves, and hobbits, Elves only required a period of a gentle "meditative state" to refresh their bodies and truly slept only when gravely injured or after a great battle. Ahshala had planned on entering this "meditative state" or light sleep toward the earlier hours of the morning. She wanted to soak as much moonlight from the pale windows as she could even if it was a sliver that slid through the thick clouds. Moonlight always soothed her itch.
~~~~~
Moonlight? Itches? Is she a werewolf?
What do you think?
Question of the Chapter: Oranges or Blackberries?