The seven travelers entered the village of Bree.
The village gates were shut behind them.
The rain poured down, relentless, and feet searched for purchase in the thick mud.
The four hobbits looked around wide-eyed at this world of giants they suddenly found themselves in. Men, and horses, and wagons. The hobbits tried their best not to get trampled. More than once one of them had to scramble quickly as men nearly walked over them, hardly even noticing the smaller people were there.
Buffy and Dawn were nearly as wide-eyed. This was so far from home.
Spike stopped them as they had nearly reached the inn.
“Frodo,” said Spike quietly, as he kneeled down in front of the small hobbit. “When we go in here there’s a few things I’d like you to keep in mind. I want you to remember that there are people looking for you. People wanting to take what you have and sod the world along with it. From what the gatekeeper said, and what I’ve understood listening to you and your pals these past few days, four hobbits on the road isn’t bloody common. Given the shitty combination of those two facts chances are there a few people here who already know what you’re up to, and they’ll be precisely the kind of people we wouldn’t want to know. By all rights we shouldn’t be here. We should have skirted by this town, keeping as deep in the forest as we could go, and just kept going. But given that this pub is where Gandalf said he’d meet you that isn’t exactly an option.”
Frodo looked up at the vampire with wide eyes from beneath the hood of his cloak. His damp hair was nearly flattened against his brow and rainwater poured down over is face. One of Frodo’s hands absently fisted at the front of the cloak high up on his chest.
Still kneeling, Spike shifted himself slightly. “So before we go on there’s a few things I’m going to have to insist on. One, forget your name. Sauron is looking for Frodo Baggins. That may not bloody matter. We’re probably screwed either way, but we’re not gonna take any chances.”
“Gandalf told me to travel under the name Underhill,” Frodo told the vampire nervously.
“Okay then,” Spike said a little less harshly. “Your name is Mister Underhill, and it’s never been anything else.” Spike let his glare pass over Sam, Merry and Pippin as well. “That goes for all of you. Be quiet. Be invisible. Say nothing that you don’t have to. And if you do happen to open your mouth and say something . . . you don’t know any Frodo Baggins. You’ve never fuckin’ heard of ‘im. Every single word that comes out of your mouths is a risk to our lives. Remember that. This isn’t a place we wanna be.”
Buffy was standing just behind Spike. She was damp and hugging herself. She smiled encouragingly at the obviously frightened hobbits as rain ran down her face and dripped from her hair. “Spike’s right. Just be careful and you’ll be fine.”
As they entered the Prancing Pony, Frodo pulled back the hood of his cloak. The room was lit by firelight, torches hanging here and there along the walls. Men, laughing over tankards of ale. Dark threatening faces cast in shadows. A man brushed by Frodo on his way to the door, hardly even noticing he was there, masking Frodo feel even smaller.
Buffy sighed and squeezed the rainwater out of her hair. “Oh, God, is it good to be in out of the rain!”
Dawn was beside her, shaking the rainwater from Spike’s coat. “I think there’s goldfish swimming around in my shoes.”
Pippin chuckled to himself and shook his head. Spike gave the two girls an odd look.
Feeling small, Frodo walked up to the counter. The counter was taller than he was. “Excuse me?”
A fat innkeeper at leaned over the counter so he could see Frodo. “Good evening, little masters! If you’re looking for accommodation we’ve got some nice, cozy, hobbit-sized rooms available.” The innkeeper noticed Buffy, Dawn and Spike were standing among the hobbits. “I believe we also have some rooms available that would suit your friends, Mr. uh . . .”
“Underhill,” Frodo said almost a little too quickly. “My name’s Underhill.”
The innkeeper smiled. “Underhill.”
“We’re friends of Gandalf the Gray. Can you tell him we’ve arrived?”
“Gandalf?” A perplexed looked crossed the innkeeper’s face. “Gandalf? Ohhh, yes! I remember, elderly chap, gray beard, big pointy hat.” The innkeeper hesitated and then frowned. “I haven’t seen him in six months.”
Shock passed across Frodo’s face that was mirrored on the faces of Sam, Merry and Pippin as well.
Dawn leaned a little bit closer to Spike. In a soft voice, “What are we going to do now?”
Spike shook his head. Quietly, “I don’t know, Bitlet. I just don’t know.”
Merry and Pippin sat with Dawn at a table in one corner of the torch-lit pub. They were laughing. Small glasses full of amber liquid sat in front of each of them.
A short distance away, Buffy and Spike sat at another table with Frodo and Sam.
Dawn was smiling, but as she looked across the table at Merry and Pippin a hint of worry crept across her face. “What do we do if your wizard friend doesn’t show up?”
Merry frowned at the question. “If Gandalf said he was going to be here he’ll be here.”
Buffy frowned, “I just don’t think Dawn should be drinking.”
“Buffy,” Spike was shaking his head, “this isn’t exactly the kinda place where you could expect to find anything else . . . and I wouldn’t trust it with Dawn if they had. A few drinks ain’t gonna hurt her, as long as we don’t let her go overboard.”
Buffy sighed. “I know.” She ran her fingers back through her damp hair and looked down into the glass in her small hands. “I just worry about her is all. I know I shouldn’t.” She looked at the other table, cocking her head slightly. Firelight reflected off dark, shiny eyes and a faint smile. “She’s remarkable. But she’s still my little sister,” she said, just a little sadly. “Still the little girl who cried in my arms after my mom died. Still the girl who stole all the clothes, so Barbie and Ken had to go to their wedding naked. And she’s still the same girl that I’d find sleeping in your crypt sometimes, ‘cause it was the one place in the world she felt safe.
She lowered her eyes briefly, “Even if she’ll never be that again . . .”
Merry sat back down at the table. He was holding a huge stein of beer, which he sat down on the table and looked at reverently.
Pippin’s eyes widened, “What’s that?”
“This, my friend, is a pint.”
Amazed, “It comes in pints?” Pippin nearly jumped up from his seat, “I’m getting one.”
“You had a whole half already,” Sam called as Pippin ran past the other table.
As Pippin ran off Merry and Dawn shared a silent look and suddenly Dawn was consumed by a fit of uncontrolled giggling. Merry started to look concerned when nearly thirty seconds later she was still going. “I’m . . . sorry . . . I . . .” Dawn was trying to talk around her giggling. “I think . . . I think I had too much.” She was giggling so bad she bent over and nearly fell off her chair. Her forehead hit the table with a loud thud. “Ow!”
Dawn finally sat up. “No more beer for Summers,” gesturing with one hand. “I’m cutting myself off.” She giggled at herself briefly. “Oh my God,” said Dawn, still laughing and wiping at the tears running down her cheeks, “I make Buffy look like a heavyweight.”
Sam looked down into his mug. He looked back up briefly and nudged Frodo beneath the table and gestured quietly at the far corner of the room. There was a figure in the dark there, nearly hidden in the corner where the torchlight didn’t quite reach. The man was wearing a dark cloak. He was smoking a pipe, and his face was nearly invisible beneath the hood. He took a draw off the pipe, the cinders brightening almost enough to reveal the shape of his face.
Sam, “That fellow’s done nothing but stare at us since we arrived.”
Spike sighed. “There isn’t much that can be done about it. All we can do is watch ourselves and be careful.”
Buffy turned and looked as well, her drying blonde hair shifting freely as she turned her head.
Frodo stopped the innkeeper as he was walking by. “Excuse me,” he said. “That man in the corner . . . who is he?”
The innkeeper swallowed. “He’s one of them rangers. Dangerous folk they are . . . wandering the wilds. What his right name is I’ve never heard, but ‘round here . . . the people call ‘im Strider.”
“Strider,” Frodo repeated to himself.
Buffy grinned and nudged the man sitting beside her. “Isn’t much better than Spike, is it?!”
Spike smiled at her briefly. “Shut up.”
Frodo was absently playing with the ring beneath the table, touching it, rolling it between his fingers. The air suddenly began to feel heavy around him.
Baggins. Baggins. Baggins. Baggins. A soft voice whispered the name over and over in his mind.
Spike stopped and looked at Frodo sharply. “Put that away! I don’t want to see that bloody thing out in public again.”
Frodo’s fist tightened around the ring.
Spike turned away, bring one hand up against his forehead, elbow on the table. His thumb was rubbing at his brow as if in the hope of warding off a headache. The room suddenly seemed way too loud. Deep breaths came in and out of him.
“Baggins,” Spike suddenly looked up sharply as his sharp ears caught a name spoken aloud over at the bar. Pippin stood there over beside the bar among a group of men who were looking down at the small hobbit expectantly. Spike grit his teeth.
“I’ve heard the name, of course,” Pippin told the men as he reached up and lifted his stein from the bar. “I don’t know any Baggins personally. There’s some that live up in Hobbiton . . . but I’ve never met them. The Sackville-Baggins are another story, and I wish I could be so fortunate . . .”
Frodo’s eyes were on the bar as well. He started to get up. Spike gripped the hobbit by the shoulder. “Pippin did as well as he bloody could. Better than I would have expected. No use drawing attention to yourself now. It’s already bad enough.”
“And a good evening to you, sirs.” Pippin finally said as he left the bar and made his way back toward his table. He stopped beside Spike and Buffy. A quiet voice, so as not to be overheard, “Some of the men were asking after Frodo at the bar.”
Spike nodded. “I heard. I think it’s time enough we went back to our rooms and figure out what we’re gonna do from there.”
“Whatever it is we better think of it quick,” Buffy said as she got up, her scythe held in one hand at her side. “Spike was right, what he said outside. This isn’t a place we want to be.”
When Spike looked at the corner of the room a few moments later he saw that the man Frodo and Sam had been watching earlier was gone.
Frodo pushed the door open as he walked into the room and threw his cloak aside. The room was dim with flickering torchlight. A noise escaped him as someone stepped out from behind the door and grabbed him from behind.
“You were careful,” a harsh voice said in his ear. The man released him and pushed him further into the room. “But you still draw far too much attention, Mr. Underhill!”
Frodo quickly found his feet and looked up at the man. Strider stood between Frodo and the door.
“What do you want?”
“A little more caution from you. That is no trinket you carry.”
“I carry nothing!”
“Indeed,” Strider raised an eyebrow. “That is not what some of the men down in the tavern are saying. Travelers have been coming in and out of this town the past few days, looking for hobbits strange enough to be out on the road. There are people looking for you.”
Frodo stared up at the man. “Who are you?”
“Are you frightened?”
Frodo answered breathlessly, “Yes.”
“Not nearly frightened enough. I know what hunts you.”
Suddenly Strider was grabbed from behind and thrown against the wall. One of Spike’s arms was pressed against his throat.
Buffy was looking at the man over Spike’s shoulder, her scythe held carelessly in her hands. “Let him go, Spike,” she said quietly.
Pressing Strider back against the wall, Spike’s eyes began to turn an amber color. Strider’s eyes widened the moment before Spike tossed him to the floor. Strider looked up at Frodo. “You let this fell creature close to the ring. Are you mad?”
Frodo looked up at the vampire quietly before looking back at the man as he was getting to his feet. “Spike is bound to me. He and Buffy saved us from a Black Rider that fell upon me and my kinsmen as we left the Shire. It is only because of him that the ring is still in my hands. They killed it and saved our lives.”
Strider shook his head. “No man can kill a Nazgûl. It’s not possible.”
Frodo frowned briefly. “Perhaps not. Maybe Buffy didn’t kill it. I felt something go past me as it died. I don’t know what it was. It was cold. Bitter.” Frodo swallowed. His eyes were distant. “Like the memory a nightmare when you first wake up. And maybe like a bad dream it will eventually rise up in a different form. I don’t know much about such things. Perhaps it’s possible. But make no mistake, she did strike it down.”
Strider looked at Spike and Buffy. Spike looking silently hostile. Buffy was a small girl standing quietly beside him, still carelessly holding her scythe. Back near the door to the room Dawn was there, back against the wall, trying to stay out of the way, with Sam, Merry and Pippin beside her. His eyes finally came back to Frodo. “You have strong companions, little hobbit, and a stout heart, but even that may not save you. You can no longer wait for the wizard, Frodo. They’re coming.”
Buffy slept. Her head was resting in Spike’s lap as he sat awake. The vampire softly brushed his fingers through her silky blonde hair.
They were in the stables. Off to the side Dawn slept like the dead on a bed of hay near Merry and Pippin. Sam and Frodo were off to the other side, sleeping quietly. The ring hung from a chain around Frodo’s neck again, and it was gripped possessively in one of Frodo’s small hands as he slept. Spike watched the sleeping hobbit silently, his eyes always coming back to him.
When Spike finally looked over at Strider he saw Strider silently watching him.
The world was white. White so bright it was blinding if you looked at it too long and it was everywhere. It was like an ethereal white mist.
A noise in the emptiness. Buffy turned, but she didn’t see anything.
Something came at her out of the mist. A white figure in the shape of a man, moving so quickly it was nearly on top of her before she had time to react. The figure was carrying a long, pale, slender sword.
It slashed at her.
Buffy moved, letting the sword slice through empty air.
She was empty handed. She didn't have a weapon to fend with.
Another sword swipe. Buffy snapped back and let it miss.
The figure tried to backslap her with its empty hand on the follow-through.
Buffy simply reached up and caught the wrist as the arm struck out at her. The flesh suddenly turned immaterial beneath her fingers and suddenly she had an empty hand.
Whatever it was it was gone.
Buffy turned, and suddenly the figure appeared out of open air, catching her with a flying kick and knocking her down.
She looked up at the figure standing over her.
The sword struck out quickly and the tip pierced Buffy’s breast, stabbing deep into her heart. A gasp passed Buffy’s lips.
The sword went away.
Buffy looked up and saw the indistinct white haired figure standing over her silently in the bright white light as she lay there bleeding.
A sound in the dark.
A horse snorting.
The old gatekeeper came out of the gatehouse slowly, carrying a lamp before him in the dark, and approached the gates.
The gates suddenly shattered and fell, crushing the man beneath them. Four black horses and four dark riders entered the village of Bree.
The innkeeper was hiding silently behind the door as the four dark figures swept silently into the Prancing Pony. They were like wraiths, vague figures in the dark.
The wraiths went up the stairs and silently swept into one of the rooms.
Sam shifted slightly in his sleep, but did not awake.
Four beds.
Four forms nestled beneath the blankets.
The wraiths stood over each of the beds. Each raised their sword.
Nary a whisper was heard.
Each stabbed down.
The four hobbits’ eyes all snapped open.
Buffy was suddenly awake. She sat up and looked around the stable.
They could all hear the sound of the Black Riders screaming in the near distance. An uncomfortably, familiar noise. Buffy shivered coldly. Spike put his arm around her and she nestled close.
Dawn crawled a little closer to Buffy and Spike. She had one of her tomahawks gripped tight in her fingers.
Strider was sitting silently near a window at one side of the stable, looking at what he could see outside.
Frodo opened his mouth.
“What are they?” Dawn asked the question first.
“They were once men,” Strider told her quietly. “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. Now they are slaves to his will. They are the Nazgûl, Ringwraiths, 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.”
Author's notes: I used the transcripts I found at council-of-elrond.com for this chapter 'cause I was sick of going back to my DVDs. Just giving credit where credit is due.