𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐇: 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ( lotr. )

Chapter One - The Prancing Pony

It was a rainy night, and a lone rider was galloping over the East-West Road, coming from the East. The rider was small, young and immortal — an elf from Rivendell. The heavy raindrops had soaked the rider's garments down to her skin, but though she felt the cold, it did not bother her as much as another matter. Arina's mare had already borne her past the watchtower of Amon Sûl — where she had hidden the daggers from Rivendell — and Midgewater when she heard the Nazgûl. Their high-pitched scream sent a cold shiver down her spine. If they got to Bree and the Ring before her, Aragorn would not be able to fend off the wraiths to keep them from seizing the One. Having a Ranger of the North and a Chieftain of the Dúnedain on top of that was never easy. And though she had only ever met him twice before, the thought of losing the man who was her father was a bitter one.
"Noro lim!" She whispered to her steed and Aquilaen quickened her pace, while she pulled her hood on to cover her head and keep away the rain.

꧁ ───────✧ ☫ ✧─────── ꧂

Making good speed, she could soon see the small village of Bree which was a day's ride away from Rivendell — if your mount was fast — appearing, dismounted and sent Aquilaen home to Imladris. Arina walked the last few feet to the wooden fence which did not offer much protection and knocked onto the door. A grumpy-looking, old man opened a small window, squinting.

"What's your business?" he asked suspiciously.

"I come to stay at the inn. The Prancing Pony."

He looked at her for a few more moments before he closed the small window again, muttering something about elves and hobbits abroad. As she heard the bolt being pushed aside, her mind was racing. If hobbits were abroad, these might just be the ones she was looking for. The door opened, and Arina set foot inside the village, quickly making her way to the inn Elrond had told her to find.

When she entered 'The Prancing Pony', she looked around in the crowded common room, lit by yellowish and warm light. Every table in the common room was occupied, and the laughter and speech of all mingled to one great and loud noise. She let her eyes glide through the room and saw the man she was looking for. A figure clad in the garb of a ranger in the shadows at a table in the corner, smoking a pipe with his hood covering his face. Everything about his gear and behaviour told her that he was one of the Dúnedain.

Aragorn.

She made her way to the table he was sitting at, well aware of the looks everyone was giving her. To them, she might be a ranger, maybe just a traveller — though a short one, in their eyes. However, she was of the half-elven line; the half-elves had a choice between a mortal life and that of the Eldar, but she knew there would be no choice for her. Always an elf, those had been their words. Arina sat down next to the ranger without asking for permission, and she could feel him tense. She sighed; her own father didn't recognise her merely because she was covering her face.

"Av' osto. Im Arina o Imladris ", she calmed him.

The ranger immediately relaxed; she knew that he was ashamed for not recognising his daughter. She let her gaze wander around the common room – and saw a hobbit with dark-brown and curly hair slip and fall to the ground, suddenly disappearing.

Frodo Baggins, Bilbo's nephew.

The Ring.

She felt the ring drawing the Nazgûl to it — she had a talent for feeling the Darkness, she had always had. Very distantly, she caught the screech of the Ringwraiths, more through her head than her ears. They were coming. They had already been at Midgewater when she had ridden past. Quickly, she got up, followed by Aragorn and dragged the hobbit away from the common room the moment he appeared again under a table. Her father grabbed Frodo roughly by the shoulders and pushed him up a stair, with her keeping an eye on the visitors. Just before Aragorn closed the door, she glided inside and took to the shadows, keeping her presence quiet.