Frodo blundered through the dense, opaque gray fog
towards distant voices calling his name: "Frodo, Hoy!
Frodo!"

Suddenly the calls changed to shrill cries of
"Help! Help!". He tried to run towards them,
struggling up the steep slope, frantically shouting
his friends' names until his breath gave out. Then a
high, horrible, unHobbitlike scream froze the blood in
his veins and stopped him in his tracks. It was
followed by a second scream and then a third. And
finally, after a long terrible silence while the fog
darkened around him, another cry of "Frodo!"

"Here! I'm coming!" weak with relief he finished
scrambling up the steep side of the down and staggered
towards the voices.

"Frodo! Mr. Frodo!" Sam materialized out of the
thining fog and they fell into each others arms.

"Sam! Sam, what happened?"

Before he could answer Sam was displaced by Merry
and Pippin, hugging their cousin in passionate relief
and both taking at once.

Merry: "Where did you go?"

Pippin: "All of a sudden you were just gone!"

Merry: "Really Frodo you must be more careful!"

Pippin: "What if you had run into the Barrow Wights
too?"

"Barrow Wights!" Frodo gaped. The fog had thinned
to a few drifting whisps, the stars shone bright
overhead giving enough light for Frodo to see a tall,
cloaked figure looming up behind his friends. He
gasped in horror tried to shove Pippin behind him.

"No, no, it's all right Mr. Frodo." Sam reassured
quickly.

"I am no Wight." the figure said with a note of
amusement in her voice.

"This is Miss Lightfoot," Sam explained, "She
rescued us."

Frodo blinked. What was a Woman of the Big Folk
doing out on the Downs?

"What brings four Hobbits out of the Shire and onto
the Barrow Downs?" she asked almost like an echo of
his thought.

"We..we were making for Bree."

"You would have done better to stay on the road."

"We weren't on the road, we were taking a short
cut." Frodo stammered.

"That was unwise." she said coolly. Her head turned
sharply in response to something the Hobbits could not
hear or sense. "As is staying out on the Downs at
night, even for me." She unslung the bow she carried
over her shoulder and nocked an arrow. "This way."
***

The shelter the Woman brought them to looked
uncomfortably like a barrow, walled with great stones
and roofed with a mound of turf.

She lit a lamp on a stand next to the door, then
crossed the long, stone floored oval room to light a
second on a cupboard at the far end. six cots, three
to a side, stood with their heads to the wall and
piles of neatly folded blankets at their feet. They
looked enormously long, nearly long enough for two
Hobbits lying head to foot. Wood was stacked next to a
raised slab between two stone plinths supporting the
roof with fuel for a fire laid ready upon it.
Lightfoot lit this too and turned to face her guests,
still huddled by the door.

"Come in."

The Hobbits, moving as a clump, took a few
uncertain steps farther into the room. Frodo had seen
only three other Big People in his life; Gandalf, Tom
Bombadil and his wife. But Lightfoot was taller than
any of them and far more beautiful than Goldberry.
Tom's wife had been like one of her pretty lilies this
Woman made Frodo think confusedly of sleander white
trees and stars glittering high above the mists. Her
bright eyes reminded him of Elves.

She put back her hood and took off her long green
cloak revealing black hair plaited and coiled around
her head, a calf length coat of worn dark green
leather laced closed and divided for riding like the
skirt beneath it and a long, narrow sword belted
around her waist. She did that off as well and laid it
with her cloak on one of the cots.

"Is-isn't this a barrow?" Pippin quavered.

"It was meant to be one," she agreed calmly, "but
abandoned unfinished for some reason. My people have
used it as a guard post since the days of the Witch
Wars. Are you hungry?"

A question Hobbits rarely answer with a no and one
well calculated to raise their spirits. There was a
table and several stools between the hearth and the
cupboard, as oversized as the cots and clearly made
for very Big People indeed. The food was rather
disappointing; rolls of dried meat, flat hard bread,
and dried apples and pears. But there was also a
cordial Lighfoot poured from a leather flask, gold
colored and tasting of honey and apricot that filled
the Hobbits with warmth from top to toe and wiped away
their fears.

Frodo even felt brave enough to ask about the
Barrow Wights. "In the Shire it is said they are the
ghosts of the ancient folk buried in the mounds."

The Woman's eyes flashed alarmingly but her voice
was clear and calm as she answered. "That is not true.
These are the graves of my ancestors. Some are from
the time of the Kings but others are far older, from
the Elder Days before Men entered Beleriand to join
the High Elves in their war against the Great Enemy.
The Souls of those buried in them have long since
passed into the West and beyond the Circles of the
World.

"The Wights are evil spirits out of the Witch
Kingdom who cloth themselves in the bones and garments
of the ancient dead. My kinsmen and I avenge that
descecration when we may, but there are many other
dangers in the Wild these days now Sauron has
returned."

Frodo swallowed. "So we have heard. We were warned
to stay off the road."

"No doubt your advisor had good reason for his
words, but friends as well as enemies watch the roads
out of the Shire. In any case I doubt he meant for you
to try to cross the Barrow Downs so close to
nightfall."

All four Hobbits blushed. "We fell asleep," Merry
admitted shamefacedly, "when we stopped for lunch, and
didn't wake til near sundown."

Lightfoot nodded as if that was to be expected. "It
is best not to stop or rest in the Downs unless in
some protected place like this. Even in daylight they
are not truly safe."

"If I might ask, ma'am, what were *you* doing out
here all alone if it's so dangerous?" Sam reddened to
the ears as the bright eyes turned his way but met
them stoutly.

"The Downs lie on my path homeward." she answered
mildly, apparently unoffended. "And I am armed and on
my guard against Wightish spells." she stood up. "Try
to get some sleep. As I said this place is defended,
the Wights cannot enter here."

"Like Tom Bombadil's house." said Merry.

Lightfoot shook her head. "Not so strongly
protected as that - but sufficient for Wights and
their like." (1) she turned towards the lamp on the
cupboard.

"Don't blow it out!" Merry, Pippin and Sam cried
all together.

She smiled at them, quite gently. "I wasn't going
to." her eyes turned to Frodo. "Light and fire are the
best defense against wraiths."

Like Black Riders? Suddenly he was sure Lightfoot
knew more about them than she was letting on - maybe
even everything. His hand went involuntarily to the
pocket holding the Ring but he felt no desire to bring
it out - quite the opposit. Almost as if the Ring
didn't want Lightfoot to see it.
***********************************************

1. The 'protection' on the Ranger Shelter needs a stong
and practiced will behind it to be most effective,
just as defensive walls need warriors behind them to
repel foes. If the Hobbits were alone they would not
be safe even in the shelter.

Frodo woke on the too large cot to find the fire
had gone out but the lamps were still burning though
the door now stood open with the pale morning sunlight
spilling in.

Disintangling himself from a cocoon of blankets he
padded to the door and looked outside. Lightfoot was
sitting on a fallen megalith combing her long black
hair.

"Good morning."

"Good morning." he glanced upward at the grey
clouds scudding across the sky. "Looks like rain."

"Not till later." the Woman answered. "You may be
able to make Bree first." pointed. "The road is about
five miles that way and Bree some twelve miles beyond
that." glanced sidelong at the Hobbit. "I know you
were told to stay off the road but I wouldn't advise
wandering far from it. The Wild holds many dangers but
the road is guarded."

By whom? Frodo wondered.
***

A couple of hours walk from the shelter brought
them to the narrow valley where the Hobbits had been
ambushed by Wights. The only trace of the night's
struggle was three mounds of bone and shredded white
cloth, each transfixed by a black arrow.

Lightfoot calmly collected her arrows then knelt down
to cut a large square in the turf with her knife and
peel back the grass. She gathered up the bones
and piled them on the bare earth. Then took a
large glass or crystal from her coak and used it to
focus the sun's rays and set the bones and their cloth
tinder alight.

"Sunfire cleanses." she explained to the watching
Hobbits. Then staring into the leaping flames, pale
and translucent in the daylight, she softly chanted
a few staves in a language Frodo recognized - though
he could understand no more than a word or two.

Bilbo had taught him the common Elvish and a few
phrases of High Elvish. The latter tongue was seldom
spoken on this side of the sundering sea yet it was
the language of Lightfoot's song, Frodo was sure of
it. What kind of Woman was this? certainly no wife or
maiden of Bree!

Turning away from the fire she led them almost due
north and would allow no halt until they had passed
through a dike and hedge defining the limits of the
Downs. Only then did she let the weary and footsore
Hobbits light a fire and cook themselves a combined
lunch and tea.

"Are the dike and hedge to keep the Barrow Wights
in?" Merry asked through a mouthful of bread and
sausage.

"No. Long ago they marked the border between the
Kingdoms of Cardolan and Arthedain." Lightfoot smiled
grimly. "Wights cannot be contained by so simple a
means."

The Hobbits shivered and asked no more questions.
***

The sun was invisible behind a veil of rain heavy
clouds but Frodo guessed it was well after noon by the
time they reached the road.

"Well, here we are at last." he said. "I don't suppose
we can have lost any more than a day or two by my
'shortcut'!"

"It may have served to put your pursuers off the
trail." Lightfoot pointed out and Frodo looked at her
sharply.

They been careful to say nothing about the Black
Riders but clearly she knew about them. And how much
else?

"The trees alongside the road will give you cover."
she continued. "Better hurry while the light lasts."

"You're not going to Bree?" Pippin asked.

"No. My home lies farther east and north of here."

Frodo bowed. "We thank you, Lady, for all your
help."

"You are very welcome." she replied briskly. "Now
be off with you! some one in Bree may be anxious."

Yes, Gandalf. Frodo couldn't wait to see him. He'd
know what to do next - and maybe even who or what
Lightfoot was.

The Woman watched the four Hobbits slip silently
away through the trees screening the road. They did
not look back and so did not see the tall Man, cloaked
and hooded in green, materialize seemingly out of
nowhere, to stand beside her.

"Where did you find them?"

"In the Downs, about to be captured by Wights." she
gave him a slanting, sidelong glance. "It was
fortunate I happened upon them in time."

His return look held both tightly leashed annoyance
and resignation. As if she'd scored a point in some
long standing argument.

"Any word of Gandalf?" Lightfoot asked, concern
showing.

Her companion shook his head grimly. "No. I will
take them to Rivendell, our Uncle will know what to
do."

"The Nine are abroad. Be wary, Aragorn."

"I will. Go home to your children, Aranel." He
melted back into the shadows under the trees,
following the Hobbits.

Turning Lightfoot crossed the road and struck
northeast into the Wilds on the other side.

 Merry didn't think much of Frodo's decision to
trust this Strider, even if he had saved them from
the Riders. "Just because he says he's a friend
of Gandalf's and wears the same kind of clothes as
Lightfoot doesn't mean it's safe to trust him!" his
cousin had pointed out acerbicly.

But to Frodo's eye the likeness went deeper than
the worn green leathers. Under the tangled hair and
scruffy beard were the same elegant bones, and eyes
bright with that same Elvish light. Frodo thought he
knew what, if not who, this strange Man and Woman had
to be. And if he was right not only was Strider to be
trusted, but with Gandalf gone he was the best
protector they could have. In any case they had no
choice.

They saw no trace of the Black Riders after leaving
Bree, apparently Strider had succeeded in shaking them
off, though the punishing pace he demanded was
begining to tell on all four Hobbits.

Once through the Midgewater Marshes the Man turned
north, following a small stream into stony highlands
he called the Weather Hills. It was growing dark when
the winding ravine they were following suddenly
widened into a valley surounded by high hills and half
filled by a shallow lake of grey water.

Floating upon the mere was a rambling house built
of fieldstone and half-timbering with yellow
candlelight showing at its many windows, reached from
the shore by a bridge of wood and rope. At once a
homely and astonishing sight here in the Wild.

"That's never Rivendell!" Pippin blurted.

Strider, for the first time in their experience of
him, laughed out loud. "No, Master Took, this is a
Ranger Holding belonging to some kinfolk of mine. We
will rest under a safe roof tonight."

He led them briskly across the swaying bridge, the
Hobbits holding tightly to the rope railings. The
great wooden door opened opened for them without a
knock.

They found themselves in a windowless, cobble
floored room with a ladderlike stair in one corner and
a second massive wooden door standing open, opposite
the first. Turning Frodo saw the outer door being
closed by a Man as tall and dark as Strider and
dressed in the same travel worn green, then followed
their guide into a torchlit courtyard.

A Woman stood at the foot of a flight of steps
wearing a soft grey gown, long black hair fluttering
in the evening breeze.

"Lightfoot!" Frodo exclaimed, somehow not entirely
surprised.

She smiled slightly. "Welcome to Greymere, Frodo
Baggins.

Lightfoot led them up the stair and through an
anteroom into a spacious chamber its whitewashed walls
hung with tapestries, lit by bronze lamps on wall
brackets and a many candled chandelier suspended from
the high raftered ceiling. Mullioned windows looked
out over the lake, high backed settles bright with
cushions faced each other in front of the large
fireplace and a woman and two children were setting a
long table with earthenware and pewter.

The little girl, a pretty golden haired creature,
gave a delighted cry dropped the spoons she was
holding onto the table and rushed to Strider's arms,
followed more sedately by a serious, dark haired boy,
about as tall as the Hobbits and enough like Strider
to be close kin.

"Here now," the Man said laughing, "where are your
manners? Mind your guests."

"My son Shade and my daughter Laughter." Lightfoot
introduced. Bright eyes, grey and blue, turned to the
Hobbits. "Master Baggins, Master Took, Master
Brandybuck and Master Gamgee."

The boy bowed. "At your service." and his sister
bobbed a curtsy.

"And this is my foster sister Lark." Lightfoot
finished indicating the smiling brown haired woman.

"My you Rangers do have odd names." Pippin
commented and got squelching looks from his three
companions.

But Lightfoot laughed. "We do indeed." (1)
*****************************************

1. Lightfoot is giving the Hobbits the Westron forms of
her family's Sindarin names. Lark is Lirulin; Shade,
Daeron and his sister is Lalaith.

Aragorn left the weary Hobbits to sup in private
with the children and followed Aranel down a winding
stair to the Hall. She stopped suddenly, halfway, and
turned to face him.

"Frodo left just in time." she said quietly. "That
same day the Nine attacked the guard on Sarn Ford.
They held them as long as the light lasted but at
nightfall three managed to break through. Aravorn is
dead."

His eyes closed in pain, it was a moment before he
could ask; "The boys?"

"Safe for now. Ingloron sent them home to Angwen,
but they are unlikely to stay there long, nor will she
try to hold them." (1)

Aragorn's eyes opened, glinting dangerously. "You
did not see fit to tell me this when we met on the
road?"

"You had more urgent concerns, and all that could
be done had been done." she answered calmly.

After a moment he nodded. "That is true.
Very well, I will write to Arahael and remind him of
his duty to his House and his Wardship. I will not
have those boys getting themselves killed doing
something foolish."

"And we both know just how foolish the Isildurioni
can be." she agreed drily.

A small door at the foot of the stair opened onto
the broad dais at the head of the Great Hall of
Greymere. Three banners, black, white and grey, hung
above the fireplace behind the high table; the Black
Sword of the House of Turin between the Star of
Elendil and the New Moon of Isildur.

Several Men were already standing behind the chairs
of the high table and scores of others milled, talking
quietly among themselves in the lower Hall. All fell
silent at Aragorn's appearance, standing until he had
seated himself in the great chair at the center of the
high table.

A page brought the most recent scouts to Aragorn
and they answered his questions as they ate. The news
was not good; the Nine were searching the road and the
land near it with the stubborn, mindless persistance
of wraiths. At least they were scattered. He could
handle three or four of them but no one, Man or Elf or
Half-Elven, could stand against all the Nine at once.
Nor had there been any word at all of Gandalf. Aragorn
was begining to fear the worst - though it was
difficult to believe one so ancient and cunning and
powerful could finally have been overmatched.

Looking down the Hall he saw an unusual number of
Women, boys and old Men at the long tables and glanced
questioningly at Aranel, seated at his right hand.

"From the outlying holdings." She explained
quietly.

"The line is collapsing, Dunadan." a worn, grey
haired Captain put in, "Everything north of Fornost
has fallen and only the One above All knows how long
we will be able to hold the road."

"But it is secure for now." Aranel continued. "You
will have to go back to it, Aragorn, dispite the
danger from the Ringwraiths."

After a moment Aragorn nodded. "I fear you are
right. Aranel, have you any short swords in your
armory? I cannot be everywhere, the Halflings may have
to defend themselves."
***

The Ringbearer was sitting alone in the solar, now
lit only by a candle or two, when Strider came up to
check on his charges.

"Frodo?"

The Hobbit looked at him steadily with those wide
blue eyes, raised a hand and pointed at the square of
tapesty over the fireplace. "That's Turin," he said.
"And the dragon Glaurung that he killed, and his
sister Nienor." turned to the long panel of emboidery
on the wall opposite the windows. "And that is the
Tale of Luthien and Beren."

After a moment Strider's wary, closed expression
softened into something like a smile. "Bilbo taught
you well."

Frodo caught his breath. "You know Bilbo?"

A nod. "He is known to many outside the Shire."

"Especially Elves, and Elf-friends." Frodo slid off
the oversized chair and came a few steps closer to the
Man. "I know who you are," he caught a flicker of
something - alarm? - in Strider's face. "you're the
Kings' People. They didn't all die in the old wars
after all."

The Man did not deny it. "Those wars never ended,
Frodo, this will be the last battle - and I'm afraid
you and your friends are caught right in the middle of
it." he knelt down so the Hobbit could look him in the
eye without craning. "My people tell me the Wild has
grown too perilous we must chance the road."

"But - what about the Black Riders?"

"That is a risk we must take. With care and good
fortune we may elude them."

Frodo swallowed. "All right." then. "What is your
real name?"

Strider seemed to hesitate an instant, then
suddenly he smiled. "I am Aragorn son of Arathorn, at
your service, Ringbearer."

"At yours and your family's." Frodo responded
automatically but with the uneasy feeling that Strider
- Aragorn's - words were not just the customary
formula but a vow.
**********************************************

1. Aravorn was Warden of the South Downs a descendant of of the Line of Isildur, through an earlier Chieftain. His wife, Angwen, is a much closer relative to Aragorn being the granddaughter of his Aunt Ellian. Arahael is their elder son, the younger is named Arahad.

Ingloron is Aranel's husband, Warden of the Weather Hills and head of the House of Turin, a lineage even more ancient than that of the Kings.

Aranel herself is not only double first cousin to Aragorn, being the daughter of his father's brother and mother's sister, but his foster daughter. Her parents were killed when she was ten and as next of kin and Chieftain Aragorn became both her guardian and her elder brother's.

 Frodo followed Bilbo rather timidly into the
pillared banquet hall of Rivendell. One side of the
great room was open to the starry sky and scented
breezes. And it was crowded with Elves, tall and fair,
clad in flowing, richly hued robes, who parted with
bows and smiles to make way for the two Hobbits.

Frodo spotted Merry, Pippin and Sam all sitting
together and started towards them only to be
tugged back by Bilbo.

"No, my boy, we belong up there." his uncle pointed
with his cane to the high table on the dais at the
head of the hall.

Oh dear, he was hardly dressed for such company.
Elrond was already seated in his great chair at the
center of the table, a beautiful Elven lady with black
hair rippling over glistening white robes beside him.

To Frodo's confusion the lady started to her feet
with a glad cry and swept around the table to kiss and
embrace him. "I am glad to see you well and sound,
Frodo, you frightened me badly at the end."

"I - uh.." face lambent he could only stammer.

She smiled. "You don't remember me?"

Then it came back to him, fragmentary images out of
troubled dreams. "You're Arwen, you took me on your
horse." his eyes widened with remembered horror. "The
Riders almost caught us!"

"But they did not." She kissed him again, on the
forhead. "All is well now."

"Lady Arwen is Lord Elrond's daughter." Bilbo told
him casually. "And you did look more than three
quarters dead when she brought you in. Frightened me
half out of my wits, my boy."

"Come sit beside me." Arwen invited and he could
hardly refuse though he felt very out of place in the
tall chair at her right hand. He had a golden haired
Elf on his other side and Bilbo in the chair opposite.

But no sooner had he taken his seat than Bilbo was
out of it, delightedly pumping the hand of a heavily
bearded Dwarf. "My dear Gloin! what brings you to
Rivendell?"

"King Dain had messages for Lord Elrond, and I
wasn't about to miss a chance to visit my old
companion." the Dwarf smiled. "How are you Bilbo?"

"Oh, well enough, well enough, feeling my age a bit
but then I've a right to don't I? And who would this
be?" he continued, beaming at a younger Dwarf standing
behind Gloin, "as if I couldn't guess!"

"My son Gimli." Gloin confirmed. "He is very eager
to meet the famous Burglar Baggins."

"At your service, Master Baggins." the younger
Dwarf bowed. "And I mean that. I owe you my father's
life several times over, thank you."

"Oh I'd say we're about even in that department."
Bilbo replied. "Sit down, my friends, sit down." the
two Dwarves took the chairs on either side of the old
Hobbit. "My nephew Frodo," he introduced, "and this
next to him is Legolas, son of our old friend the
Elven King of Mirkwood."

"Friend?" Gloin asked, bushy eyebrows rising.

"Yes friend! Remember the Battle of Five Armies? As
for our earlier misunderstandings - well the fault
wasn't all on his side you know."

The two Dwarves clearly didn't quite agree, but
nodded politely enough to the Elf next to Frodo, who
made them a slight bow in return.

Gloin and Bilbo were soon lost in mutual reminisces
with Gimli listening interestedly. But Frodo was
quickly distracted by the fixed and rather unnerving gaze
of a very tall fair haired Man seated next to Gloin.

Their eyes met and the Man rose and bowed. "Forgive
me, Little Master, my people have fireside tales of
Halflings but I never thought to see one."

"We don't often leave the bounds of our own country."
Frodo replied. "Frodo Baggins of the Shire, at your
service."

"Boromir son of Denethor of Gondor, at yours and
your family's."

"Gondor, eh?" Bilbo peered curiously around Gloin.
"And what brings you so far north, Master Boromir? Or
shouldn't I ask?"

The Man smiled wryly. "A dream brings me." he
shrugged, a little embarrassed. "Normally I do not
heed such things but this was unlike any I've had
before, and it came to my brother as well." He
hesitated, seemingly lost in troubled thought.

"And what was this dream?" Bilbo asked bright eyed
with interest.

"I saw the eastern sky grow dark," Boromir said
softly, "but in the west, a pale light lingered. And a
voice was crying: 'Your doom is at hand; Isildur's
Bane is found!'"

Frodo was suddenly acutely aware of the weight of
the ring, lying cool against his skin under his shirt.

"And that brought you to Rivendell?" Bilbo
prompted.

"Yes. The Lord Elrond is the only one now living
who remembers the Last Battle at the foot of Orodruin.
If anyone can interpret the dream it is he."

"What is this 'Isildur's Bane'?" Gimli wanted to
know.

"The One Ring, the Enemy's chief weapon." Boromir
answered. "Isildur took it as a prize of war but it
betrayed him to his death. It has been lost all this
Age of the World but if Sauron has found it...." the
Man shook his head, eyes haunted. "Then our doom is
indeed at hand."

Gloin was looking at Bilbo, with horror and
surmise. He knew about the Hobbit's magic ring and
Frodo realized he had guessed the truth. "Sauron has
not got it yet," the Dwarf said, "but he is seeking
it. His messengers have come to Dale and the Mountain
asking questions. King Dain and King Brand sent us to
ask Elrond's advice."

"We are troubled in Mirkwood as well" the Elf
Legolas said suddenly. "Sauron sends us no emissaries
but his creatures haunt the forest, Orcs and the Great
Spiders."

Both Gloin and Bilbo shuddered, they remembered the
Spiders.

"It would seem all lands have felt the Dark Hand."
Boromir looked questioningly at Frodo. "Including your
Shire?"

He could only nod and look to Bilbo for help. But
his uncle wouldn't meet his eye, staring past him face
set and grim.

"All lands have been troubled." Elrond said quietly
from his place beyond Arwen, "And by fate or fortune
all have been moved to send emissaries here to
Rivendell. Tomorrow we will meet in council and your
questions will be answered - but tonight let us
forget our troubles and fears, and enjoy the company
of old friends," with a smile at Bilbo and Gloin, "and
new ones."
***

After the meal the assembled company left the
banquet hall, crossing a courtyard to a second, even
larger hall open to the night on all sides with a
bright fire burning on the hearth at the center of the
sunken floor. A number of Elven musicians began to
play and sing.

"I can't believe it," Gloin muttered to Bilbo under
cover of the music. "That little ring of yours that we
handled so carelessly!"

"How do you think *I* feel?" the old Hobbit
answered as softly. "Just popping it on any time I
wanted to hide from unwelcome callers! If I'd only
known -"

"Well you didn't." that was Gandalf, suddenly
appearing behind them. "And there was no reason why
you should have. I on the other hand -" he stopped,
sighed. "Well there's no use repining. Come, Gloin, I
want to hear about these messengers from Mordor."

Wizard and Dwarves moved quietly away leaving Frodo
alone with his uncle. Bilbo shook himself and smiled
determinedly at his nephew. "Gandalf's right as usual,
what's done is done. The Ring's safe here in Rivendell
and all these great folk will know what to do about
it."

Frodo nodded agreement. As Sam'd said, they'd done
their bit. Well almost, he still had to turn over the
Ring to - well whoever was to take charge of it.
Presumably that's what the council tomorrow would
decide.

His eye wandered over the assembly and caught a
familiar/unfamiliar figure standing between two
pillars. Strider, looking astonishingly presentable in
grey velvet glimmering with silver. Frodo nearly stood
up and called but caught himself in time. It wasn't
necessary anyway. Strider had seen him and came down
to join the two Hobbits.

"Where have you been?" Frodo demanded softly, so as
not to interupt the music. "I was begining to think
you'd gone off without even a good-bye."

The Ranger sat cross-legged on the floor next to their
stools and smiled at him. "I had business to attend
to."

Bilbo snorted. "You mean you've been hiding from
that Man Boromir." gave him a stern look. "You're
going to have to face him sometime, Lord Elrond will
see to that."

Strider shook his head. "The Ring must be our chief
concern. This is not the time for side issues."

"Side issues? My dear Estel, you are not a 'side
issue'!"

"Estel?" Frodo interupted, "I thought your name was
Aragorn?"

"So it is." Bilbo answered. "Estel is what they
called him as a boy, which is when I first met him
on my way to the Lonely Mountain. Just a bit of a
lad he was then, no taller than you."

Frodo blinked. Bilbo's great adventure had been
over sixty years ago. If Strider been a boy back then
he must be at least seventy now.

"I'm older than I look." Strider smiled, correctly
interpreting Frodo's startled glance.

"He's Numenorean, my boy." Bilbo explained. "They
live a very long time - and they don't show their age
until near the end - and Estel is still a century or so
away from that."

"Will you be at the council tomorrow?" Frodo asked.

Strider nodded. "I'll be there," glanced sidelong
at Bilbo, "as will Boromir of Gondor, a Man of the
Beornings, another from Dale, your Dwarf friends, my
friend Legolas, and Galdor from the Havens. All the
Free Peoples will be represented, including Hobbits."

"Just Frodo." said Bilbo, adding as his nephew
looked at him in surprise: "I'm sorry, my boy, but I'm
sure to doze off and we wouldn't want that. Not in
front of all those grand people." he struggled to his
feet with the help of his stick and Strider's hand.
"In fact I think I'll be off to bed before I fall
asleep right here."

"I'll go with you." Frodo said quickly.

"No, no, my boy, stay and enjoy yourself."

"Really I'd rather. It's been a long day, Bilbo."

"And his first day up." the Man agreed.

"Oh very well, if that's what you want."

"Good night." said Strider.

Turning to go Bilbo shot a mischievious look over
his shoulder at him. "By the way, Arwen's been trying
to catch your eye for the last five minutes. Don't
keep the lady waiting." and led Frodo off chuckling to
himself.

His nephew didn't quite see the joke. Nor did he
understand when Bilbo sighed and said quietly. "Being
who he is that boy's bound to have a hard life, but
sometimes he seems to go out of his way to make it
harder."

Frodo decided not to ask. He'd had enough of
mysteries and other people's problems for one night.

 Frodo sat in the garden below his room and stared
at the golden circle resting in the open palm of his
hand. 'Why did I do it?' he asked himself. Whatever
had possessed him to volunteer to take the Ring to the
fire?

The answer was simple: He'd done it because he had
to. Everybody'd been shouting, it was clear none of
the great people could trust themselves or each other
with the Ring. It *had* to be somebody small and
unimportant, somebody it couldn't tempt. Him.

So now he was committed, and Sam and Merry and
Pippin too. Well at least they'd have Gandalf to look
after them - and Strider.

Now that had been a shock all right. His lips
quirked wryly, remembering: "He is Aragorn son of
Arathorn, you owe him your allegiance." Legolas had
told Boromir. Which made no sense at all until Boromir'd
said, "This is Isildur's Heir?". Frodo had stared. Not
just one of the King's People but the King himself.

He'd understood Boromir's bitterness perfectly. If
there was still a King why wasn't he *doing*
something? why didn't he make things right? But of
course Aragorn *was* doing something - he'd seen four
feckless Hobbits and the Ring safely to Rivendell and
now he was going to take them into Mordor itself.

"If by my life or death I can protect you I will."
he'd said and then he'd knelt down before Frodo and
pledged his sword to a Hobbit of the Shire. Having
never had anybody, much less a King, swear fealty to
him before Frodo hadn't had the faintest idea what to
say or do. Luckily Aragorn hadn't seemed to expect
anything from him. He'd just smiled and gotten up, to
Frodo's intense relief, and stood beside him with a
reassuring hand on his shoulder. None of the others
had knelt, thank goodness, but now he had Legolas'
Elven Bow, Gimli's Dwarf axe and Boromir's sword to
protect him too - or rather the Ring. Together with
Gandalf's magic that should be enough, at least he
hoped so.

"Frodo?"

He glanced up to see Strider - Aragorn - the King
looking down at him with a small frown of concern
crinkling his brow. Frodo slid off the garden bench
and held out the Ring. "By rights this is yours not
mine."

Aragorn shook his head. "By right it should not
even exist." gently. "Frodo, if I could I would take
this burden from you but I dare not. Isildur was a
great Man yet the Ring overcame him, I would prove no
stronger."

"I know." resignedly Frodo strung the Ring back on
its chain and fastened it around his neck. "It has to
be me." looked up at the Man a little shyly. "I don't
know what to call you."

"Aragorn will do very well. It is my name."
***

"It should be me, not Frodo." Bilbo argued,
stumping restlessly around his nephew's room. "I found
the thing, it's my responsibility. Why did you make me
leave it to him?" he demanded of Gandalf. "I could
have brought it here to Rivendell seven years ago and
saved the boy all this trouble and danger."

"The Ring had already done you great harm." Gandalf
replied patiently. "For your sake it was best it
passed on."

"So it can hurt Frodo too? No! I won't have it."
Bilbo stopped in front of the wizard, glared defiantly
up at him. "If the harm's already done then what more
do I have to fear?"

"Bilbo," Gandalf laid his hands on the outraged old
Hobbit's shoulders. "nobody doubts your courage or
your willingness but this task is beyond your
strength. You must leave it to Frodo."

Bilbo continued to glare into the Wizard's eyes for
a moment, blinked, then finally sighed. "You're right
of course. I'm just a feeble old Hobbit. I'd be lucky
to make it to the Misty Mountains, much less Mordor."

"I'll be all right, Bilbo." Frodo said reassuringly,
"I have Gandalf, and Aragorn and Sam to look after
me don't I?" with a quick smile at the last, ruefully
returned.

Bilbo sat himself down on one of the small chairs
that had been brought down from the old Nursery for
the Hobbits' use. "Yes, but who's going to look after
Merry and Pippin?"

"Boromir?" Aragorn suggested mildly.

Frodo looked at him worriedly. "Is he going to be a
problem? I mean the two of you didn't exactly hit it
off did you?"

"I will talk to him." Aragorn promised.
***

"The Council of Gondor rejected the claims of
Isildur's Heirs," he told Boromir, some hours later.
"I will not contest that judgement. I have no mind for
strife with any but our common Enemy."

He had finally tracked the other Man down in the
upper gallery of Elrond's library, studying the
painted history of Men and Elves lining its
walls.

"My father is Steward of the Line of Anarion,"
Boromir answered defensively. "It is to them that he
and I owe allegiance."

"My House represents that Line too, through Firiel
daughter of Ondoher." Aragorn pointed out drily,
before catching himself up. "But I have no wish to
rehash old arguments. My concern is the Kingdom of the
North, or what is left of it, as Gondor is yours. The
Enemy in the East is our common foe, we have no
quarrel with one another."

"I understand." Boromir said slowly.

Relieved Aragorn changed the subject. "The Hobbits
are brave but inexperienced, they will need watching,
guarding. Especially the two younger ones."

"On such a mission - quest - thing." Boromir
agreed, lips curving in amusement.

Aragorn nodded, also smiling. "Exactly." the smile
faded. "They have no idea what they are facing."

"I gathered as much." Boromir said quietly. "I will
be glad to do what I can for them. Merry and Pippin is
it?"

"So they are called. Meriadoc Brandybuck and
Peregrine Took are their right names. They have not
been trained in arms, unfortunately, such is not
Hobbit custom."

"Then they had better learn. I have some experience
as a teacher."

"Good." Aragorn nodded politely and walked away,
satisfied he and the Man from Gondor understood each
other.

Boromir watched him go troubled by confused
emotions. It would seem the long lost King had no
interest at all in his Southern Kingdom. That should
have pleased Boromir, yet somehow it did not. Instead
he felt like a child abandoned by its parents to live or
die in the Wild.
***

Dwarves have tenacious memories, never forgeting a
wrong or a benefit. And they always pay their debts.
The old Hobbit could say what he liked but Gimli knew
his father, his uncle and his other kinsmen would have
died long before reaching the Lonely Mountain if not
for their Master Burglar. The Dwarves of Erebor owed
their restored Kingdom to Bilbo Baggins. Now his
nephew and heir had taken an even greater quest upon
himself and Gimli son of Gloin intended to go with him
every step of the way, even into the fires of Mordor
itself, to repay the debt owed the uncle.

And for the nephew's sake as well. Gimli liked what
he'd seen of the youngster, he'd obviously inherited
Bilbo's courage as well as his Ring. And thanks to his
father's stories Gimli knew better than to judge the
young Hobbits by their seeming softness. They had old
Bilbo's blood in their veins, his strength and cunning
would be there when they needed it. And in the
meantime their older, more experienced companions
would look out for them.

It was a pity they couldn't leave sooner, the Dwarf
looked disapprovingly at the airy open halls and
terraced gardens around him. Insubstantial, flimsy
sort of place this Rivendell with no proper walls and
trees growing right inside the rooms. Not at all to
Dwarvish tastes. Still he could stand it for a month
or two if he had too.

And he did. The Dunadan was quite right to want
their route thoroughly scouted before they set out. It
seemed the Rangers were as hard pressed as everybody
else, with evils left by Angmar creeping out of their
hiding places to haunt the Wild.

His father Gloin had been quick to remind Aragorn
the Dwarf Halls of the Blue Mountains and Erebor
itself were open to his people should they need
refuge. Long ago the Dunedain had sheltered Durin's
folk, driven from Moria by Durin's Bane, and the
Dwarves did not forget it.

The bell rang for the noon meal and Gimli turned
his wandering steps towards the Great Hall, stumping
stolidly up the winding paths and several flights of
stone steps.

The Wood-elf, Legolas, appeared walking along an
intersecting path also on his way to the Hall. Gimli
was none to enthusiastic about this companion. Still,
that bow of his might be of some use. He gave the Elf
a stiff little nod of greeting.

The Elf nodded back and they continued on in silent
company. It wouldn't be so bad. Gimli assured himself,
he'd be civil as long as the Elf was - and with seven
other companions they needn't have much to do with
each other.
***

If the Dwarf could be civil so could he, Legolas
told himself. Just be distantly polite and keep
conversation to a minimum. That axe of his should
prove useful anyway, Legolas was familiar enough with
the roads east to have some idea of the perils they
would face.

Once again Aragorn had turned away from his
destiny, quixotically offering his sword to the
Ringbearer. Yet Legolas had seen Gandalf and Elrond
exchange a near wink, as if very well pleased by their
protege's decision. The ways of Wizards are subtle and
tortuous, and Elrond's great age and Mortal blood made
him almost as inscrutable.

It was concern for Aragorn, as well as admiration
for the Halfling's courage that moved Legolas to join
their company. If Isildur's Heir was to travel through
the Kingdom that denied him and into the territory of
his bitterest foe he would need a friend at his back.

As for the Ringbearer himself, Legolas' father
Thranduil had been most impressed by Bilbo Baggins. If
Frodo was anything at all like his uncle that
seemingly gentle exterior concealed unsuspected
resources of courage and cunning. He would need those
qualities badly, and all the help his companions could
give him.