Piercing blue eyes shone in the blackness and a hand shot out, strangling Gerithor and lifting him off the ground. He struggled to breathe as he heard a familiar voice.

   "It's over Lastborn. It is as I have foreseen it. You have seen it too... The Dark Lord will once more rule Middle Earth!"

   The eyes came closer until Gerithor could see the face that they belonged to... Arnakhor, the most dangerous enemy Gerithor had ever crossed blades with.

   "Perhaps I should let you live... With the pain. The agony of losing everyone dear to you." Arnakhor stood for a moment as if pondering, then pulled Gerithor closer. "But I think not. You shall lose even more yet. You are alone in this world ranger. You won't even find a home among your own people now..."

   The Black Numenorean tightened his grip, and the young ranger's vision faded...

===============================

   Gerithor sat straight up in bed, drenched in sweat and his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He was breathing heavily.

   Just another nightmare, he told himself as he slowly lay back down. They were all too common. Mixed with the visions of the future he sometimes had, they gave him cause to rarely sleep. Even in the relative safety of the inn he was not safe from his nightmares it seemed.

   After taking a moment to get his bearings, the ranger stared up at the wooden ceiling, debating in his mind whether to attempt to sleep again or not. After a moment he sat up, convinced that he wouldn't be able to, or that if he did his sleep would be filled with more nightmares. He unconsciously ran a hand through his long auburn hair, then stood and strode over to his knapsack that he had left in the corner of his room.

   After a moment of rummaging through it, he pulled out a weather worn piece of parchment and unfolded it. He lit a candle and reread the letter for the fifth or sixth time:

                 My dear cousin,

                       It has been too long since we last spoke. Much has happened since then, some of                               which we must discuss in person. Meet me at the inn in Archet, on the twenty sixth of                      September. A week from now. I have news that concerns you, as well as a task that I                          need performed. Be ready.

                  Your cousin

                  A.

   Aragorn wasn't one to write letters... So whatever occurred was important, of that Gerithor was certain. He knew that his older cousin had been working closely with the wizard Gandalf, and wondered if maybe this meeting had something to do with that. Wherever the wizard went, trouble followed soon after.... Gerithor knew this from experience.

   But regardless of the reason, Aragorn should have been there by now. It was now the eve of the twenty sixth, and Gerithor knew that Aragorn was almost always early. Perhaps something had went wrong...

   A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. Maybe that was him?

   But it wasn't. Instead it was the stocky barkeep, Ed. He held a plate with biscuits and gravy on it, as well as a bottle of wine.

   "Hoy sir!" He said with a big smile as he entered the room without so much as asking. "I brought ya some dinner, I did. Thought sum biscuits n' gravy'd help drive away the cold!" He set them down on the nightstand and turned to look at the Ranger, his face barely concealing his curiosity. "I couldn't 'elp but wonder why a traveler such as yerself would stop here, instead of going up the road a ways ta Bree..."

   It was clear that he was probing for information, though whether just out of curiosity or for darker reasons Gerithor couldn't tell. Though he seemed harmless enough, Gerithor knew that looks were often deceiving. So instead of responding, he decided just to stare back at the portly man in silence. Ed shifted uncomfortably, and was clearly unsettled.

   "Well sur, I didn't mean ta pry sur. Enjoy yer evening sur!" With that the man hustled quickly to the door.

   "You didn't happen to see a man come through recently... Dressed like me, sword at his hip, dark hair, a scoundrel in appearance?" Though his description sounded unkind, it was accurate. Aragorn, who was significantly older than Gerithor and looked it, was often unkempt and looked more like a vagabond than a Ranger.

   "Dark hair ya say..." Ed stood in thought a moment, rubbing his scraggly chin. "Oi, yer in luck! I saw jus' such a feller less than two days past. Didn't take a room, only some ale. Said he'd return soon."

   "Did you notice any distinguishing features?" Gerithor asked. It wouldn't be surprising if Ed had seen several Rangers in the past couple weeks, he wanted to make sure it was Aragorn for certain.

   "Hmmm... Well, other than the mean lookin' sword he 'ad a fancy lookin' ring on his finger... Other than that, can't roightly say." He scratched his head thoughtfully, attempting to recall more.

   "This ring... What did it look like?" The ranger probed.

   "It was silver, and shaped like two serpent's 'eds. 'ad a shiny stone in between the 'eds too. Roight valuable I reckon. Oi remember thinkin' 'e must've stolen it." Gerithor recognized the description. It was the Ring of Barahir, Aragorn wore it as a sign of his lineage.

   "Thank you for the information. If he arrives tonight, tell him that a friend awaits him in room..." Gerithor glanced at the door, where the room number was engraved in a brass plaque. "...2. Send him right along, I do not care what time it is."

   "Very well sur, glad to be of assistance in what ways oi can. 'ave a good evening sur." With that Ed waddled out of the room, closing the door behind him. Gerithor let out a sigh... It would be a long night.

   Since he realized that he most likely wouldn't be able to sleep, he decided to venture out into the common room. Although he preferred not to interact directly with the locals, they often shared interesting stories or songs that he found entertaining.

   He wandered to the door, retrieving his ashen cloak and draping it about his shoulders. He also pulled the hood over his head, as in his opinion anonymity was a necessity. He knew that there was nothing to fear from most of the inhabitants of Archet... But of late, he had noticed that there were newcomers in both Archet and Bree, strangers that had an ill look about them. They were coming in increasing numbers along the Greenway, and with them came a growing amount of bandits and brigands in the surrounding lands. In the Ranger's mind, these things weren't a mere coincidence. They were here for a reason...

   But that was not his concern at the moment. He had decided that he would very much like a bottle of rum, and the ranger was focused on this task now. He strode into the common room as inconspicuously as possible, however he still drew the gaze of several curious men who noticed his entrance. Two particular men sat in the corner, and both frowned at Gerithor's arrival. They wore black leather armor, and both had long knives on their thick belts.

   The ranger acknowledged their presence as soon as he saw them, knowing that they were trouble. He hoped that they wouldn't cause problems for him inside the inn, though.

   He decided to sit at a table in the opposite corner of the room. In his mind, sitting in a corner was the safest option, so that he could survey all that was going on in the room.

   As he sat down two Bree-men starting singing a lively tune, and the sound of it filled the room:

                         My intention is to die

                        In the tavern drinking

                       Wine must be at hand, for I

                       Want it when I'm sinking

                       Angels when they come shall cry

                       At my frailties winking:

                      "Spare this drunkard, Eru, he's high,

                        Absolutely stinking!"

To the surprise of all, a clear voice rang out from the corner of the room:

                     When we're at the tavern we

                    Care not what this world may be,

                   We play, we drink, tis thus my friends

                   We burn the candle at both ends!

                   Many say that ale's for fools

                  But we care not about their rules!

                 What hundreds, nay, what thousands think!

                 Cheer up, my lads, be glad and drink!

   The fair voice belonged to none other than Gerithor, who had been caught up in the place's cheerful atmosphere. The inn's crowd cheered as Gerithor stood and took a bow. One tipsy hobbit approached him, wearing a big grin.

   "This 'un here may look like a vagabond, but his voice is the voice of a bard! Give the lad a drink on me!" The crowd cheered again as the hobbit lifted his mug into the air and the innkeep Ed brought the ranger one of his own. As he lifted it into the air, he glanced over at the two suspicious men in the other corner. They both wore surprised expressions, but even they seemed to be caught up in the merry mood the inn had taken on.

   "Y'know, you look like one that can hold his liquor," the hobbit said with a laugh, thumping Gerithor on the back. "What say you to a drinking game? The one to down the most ale wins!"

   Gerithor raised an eyebrow challengingly. "And what are the stakes, my friend? Surely you do not expect me to play without a reward?"

   The hobbit laughed louder. "If I win... You'll buy me a cask of Ed's finest brew! If you win... I'll pay for your room and board!"

   "Deal. Drink up!" Gerithor grinned and downed his mug in a single gulp. As he reached for his second, he didn't notice a cloaked man enter the inn and sit down in his old seat. The man watched the drinking game observantly, ordering a hot bowl of stew but nothing else.

   The game continued for some time, before the hobbit finally let out a loud belch and fell to the ground, unconscious. The crowd cheered and Gerithor laughed, raising a fist into the air victoriously.

   "Put it on his tab," he exclaimed to the innkeeper, turning to go back to his seat. He froze when he saw the stranger there.

   "Uh... When did you get here?" He asked as he slid into the seat opposite the man.

   "At the beginning of that... Spectacle," The stranger replied. He lowered his hood, revealing dark unkempt hair and a rugged face. He resembled Gerithor in some ways, but was older and his skin was more weathered. Despite his tone, he was smirking slightly. "I thought it the standard of the rangers to remain in the shadows, though if tonight were ones' only sampling of our folk they'd think us seekers of glory."

   "I did well, did I not cousin?" Gerithor asked with a grin. Despite having consumed six mugs of ale, he seemed to barely be affected.

   "Indeed you did... Though that was the last thing I expected to see you doing," Aragorn replied, smirking even more.

   "Well, you have to loosen up every once in a while, eh?" Gerithor said, smiling widely. "How have you been? It seems like it's been ages since we spoke last!"

   "Indeed it does! I have wanted to meet with you, but I didn't have the opportunity until now." Aragorn returned the smile, grasping his younger cousin's shoulder from across the table.

   "You know, I was worried that you wouldn't show up at all! You're rather late..."

   Aragorn suddenly grew serious. "I was delayed. We must speak in private, much has happened."

   "I rented a room where we can talk," Gerithor said, standing up. "Which, incidentally, he's paying for." He jerked his thumb toward the unconscious hobbit. Several men had carried him to a chair, which he was now sitting on, slumped over on a table.

   "Convenient," Aragorn said, trying unsuccessfully to suppress a smile. Gerithor led him to the room, and he locked the door behind them. When he was sure that they hadn't been followed, he turned to face Aragorn.

   "Before we speak of news, you must know something. There are two men here who I think have been following me for some time now. They haven't confronted me yet, but they have followed me since I came up the Greenway and are in the common room as we speak."

   Aragorn frowned, moving toward the window. "Who are they? Do you know?"

   "I am not certain, but I think they are spies of Sauron. I have seen more like them, in Bree, in the Chetwood. Some have even strayed near the borders of the Shire. My scouts reported that they've made a camp in the South Downs. Folk around here call them common bandits, but I think there's more to it than meets the eye."

   The older ranger nodded. "It makes sense. Especially once you learn of the news I bring." He pulled the curtains over the window, peering out into the darkness before continuing. "The One Ring has been found."

   Gerithor sucked in a deep breath, his eyes widening in surprise. "It has? Where? Does the Enemy know?"

   "It lies under our very noses, in the Shire. A hobbit named Frodo Baggins is in possession of it."

   Gerithor raised his eyebrow skeptically. "...A hobbit has the One Ring, the most powerful weapon known to mankind? A hobbit?? Does he use it to conjure up food? Perhaps to hide from prying relatives?" He immediately lowered his voice, looking nervously toward the door. "How did a halfling of all people acquire it?"

   "I'm sure you know Bilbo Baggins? Or at least, know of him?" Aragorn asked.

   "I know him. The only hobbit that will talk to me, the rest avoid me. But how would he...? Wait..." Gerithor began to piece it together. He had heard the stories of how the hobbit had accompanied Thorin in his quest to reclaim Erebor, and how he seemingly hadn't aged since then. "Was it among the treasure of Erebor? Was it his fourteenth share?"

   "Close. It did not come from Erebor, but he did take possession of it on the journey. There was a strange creature that had it, and Bilbo took it from him."

   "Ah, it makes sense now..." Gerithor replied. "But you haven't answered my second question. Does the Enemy know of it?"

   Aragorn sighed, and put his head in his hands. He looked exhausted.

   "They do. Even now, his servants are nearby. And that is where the ill news comes in."

   Gerithor moved closer to his cousin, sitting down in a chair next to the bed. "What is this news?"

   "The outpost at Sarn Ford was attacked... By the Nazgul." Aragorn looked up, his expression grim. "Few survived, it was a massacre. Eradan, Lenedil, and Halbarad were the only ones to return to me afterward. More may have survived, but as of yet they have not returned."

   Gerithor stood back up and went to the window. "If the Nine have crossed the Ford, they can reach the Shire unhindered. How long ago was this?"

   "Four days past. If they know it is in the Shire, they are already there."

   "Then we must go there with all due haste! If they find this Frodo, they'll slay him and take the Ring!" Gerithor strode to his supplies and began packing, hastily shoving his scant belongings into his pack.

   "There is nothing we can do against them," Aragorn said defeatedly. "But, all is not lost. The hobbit knows that he is being hunted, and he will arrive in Bree soon. I am to meet him at Gandalf's behest and I will take them to safety."

   "Where do you plan to take them?" Gerithor inquired. He had temporarily stopped packing and was sitting against the wall.

   "Rivendell, I imagine. Annuminas would not be safe, the Nine would destroy it as well. But they would not dare enter Rivendell."

   "Wise," Gerithor replied. "Shall we just wait here for them then? Perhaps I can watch the Greenway for signs of their arrival."

   Aragorn frowned. "No, I do not think that would be wise. One ranger is suspicious enough, but two would draw even more suspicion. Plus, you did say you were being followed. So instead I have a task for you that is twofold in its purpose; You must go ahead of us, both to reach Rivendell with word of our plight and to clear the path. I am not expecting you to fight the Nazgul, in fact I would advise that you don't. But there may be orcs on the lookout for the hobbits as well and we cannot risk that."

   Gerithor nodded. "Not to mention, I may be able to lure the Nazgul away. They may think that the hobbits are with me instead."

   "True! But again, do not fight them unless you have no other choice! They are far beyond both of our skills. We would not be able to defeat them together, much less alone." Aragorn pulled his pipe from his belt, and began filling it.

   "I should set out at once then," Gerithor replied.

  Aragorn lit his pipe, grinning with amusement. "Wait until dawn. If you are to be a diversion you must be seen... Wouldn't want those wraiths to miss you, now would we?"

Sorry this update was late! The power was out and I wasn't able to update until now. What do you think so far?