They made their way through and the gatekeeper slammed the door shut behind them as they went toward the small village of Bree. Peter Jackson had done a fantastic job portraying Bree to the moviegoers. The village had unbalanced buildings that loomed over Rowan—making her uneasy—tall people walking alongside shorter people (like dwarves and hobbits) and had a sad, gloomy feeling because of the rain. On the main road running through the middle of Bree, they passed a blacksmith working in his shop, sweating over the forge.

Rowan glanced around as they walked, hoping she could glimpse the legendary director, or at least recognize the spot where Peter Jackson munched on a carrot. It disappointed her that she couldn't see him.

A sign of a white horse reared up on its hind legs hanging on the side of a three-story building caught her attention. It read 'The Prancing Pony by Barliman Butterbur'. Aragorn looked at her, nodded over at it, then headed for the door; Rowan fought down her eagerness as she followed him. He held the door open for her.

She stepped into the warm, boisterous inn. It didn't give off a friendly aura, but the insides were so familiar: men sitting by hobbits or dwarves, eating, drinking ale, or talking and laughing. Sitting on a shelf, a black cat eyed all the customers. A fireplace and a few candles provided the ample light, but smoke from the patrons smoking their pipes hindered sight.

A round man with a balding head, red face, and wearing an apron stood behind the bar cleaning a tankard. After shutting the door behind her, Aragorn walked up to the bar and put his hand on the counter to get the barkeep's attention. A silver ring of two serpents eating the other with emerald eyes shined on his forefinger.

He turned; his welcoming smile faltered, and his eyes widened like the gatekeeper's when he recognized Aragorn. "Strider! Good to see you return! Been a few months since you've last been here, if I remember right. There's quite the crowd here, but there are still some rooms available. I suppose you wish for one and a meal, as you normally do." His eyes finally caught sight of her. "Oh! And should I procure one for the lady as well?"

"Perhaps, but tell me Barliman: what sorts of parties have passed through tonight?" Aragorn asked.

Barliman Butterbur leaned forward. "Strange of you to ask, Strider, but yes; quite a few. There's a party that came up the Greenway from down south last night; then there's a travelin' company of dwarves goin' west come in this evenin'. There's also talk of strange folk abroad, too. Do these descriptions match who you're lookin' for?"

The Ranger looked back at her; not knowing what to say, Rowan just shook her head. She didn't have a clue on what her excuse would be when Aragorn would ask her later. She wasn't an expert on the map of Middle-earth... Maybe she could say she came from Gondor, but where was it located in conjecture to Bree? To the north? Northeast? Somewhat south? The East was referred to as Mordor, right?

It might be best for her to continue with the amnesia story—not remembering anything.

"I suppose not," Aragorn said as he faced the innkeeper again. He placed some gold on the counter. "For the rooms, food, and drink."

With a nod, Barliman slid the money into his hand and headed off to arrange their rooms and told a serving maid their orders. Aragorn gestured to follow him across the full common-room to a table set in the corner. As soon as they sat, the maid appeared, balancing two plates of meat, bread and cheese, a blackberry tart, and two tankards of ale.

Rowan began to slide back her hood since the room had become uncomfortably warm with the fireplace and so many bodies, but Aragorn stopped her.

"Keep your hood about your face," he warned. She couldn't see his eyes, but she sensed they roamed over the room. "I'm not sure about the folks in here; quite a few unfriendly faces."

She couldn't recall this caution from the book or in the movie, but Rowan did as he said. They fell quiet as they focused on eating; even though the food was simple, it surprised her that she was hungry, and it actually had flavor—the ale cold and the food warm. Better than what she's eaten on outdoor sets some days.

Aragorn finished much quicker than her, lit his pipe, leaned back in his chair, and smoked. When she finished, the serving maid came by again and took their empty plates. Rowan knew he was here to meet the hobbits, so she patiently waited, too—looking forward to their arrival. She sipped her ale and enjoyed the song a hobbit began, and most of the patrons joined in on the chorus.

When the song ended with much applause, the front door opened, and four hooded figures appeared. One by one, they removed their hoods and Rowan met the faces of Dominic Monaghan, Billy Boyd, Sean Astin, and Elijah Wood. Their curly hair ranged from blond to brown and they looked to be about the height of Rowan's belly button.

They were so cute standing there in their overlarge, hairy feet, but she was confused: the actors were much taller than the hobbits they portrayed, so how was she seeing them in particular? For far-away shots, little people and a child were their body doubles. This couldn't be a camera trick, for she wasn't looking at them through a screen. Could everything be enlarged to make them appear smaller? When she stood at the counter, it had appeared to be at its normal size...

Frodo talked with Barliman Butterbur; when his face fell, Rowan knew he heard the news that Gandalf wasn't there. He talked some more with the innkeeper, then he left to arrange their room and sent a maid to fetch them food and drink. Frodo turned back to his friends, and they discussed a little before they moved over to a table specifically shorter for hobbits and dwarves.

The maid brought them their food and drink, and they dug in. Merry and Pippin's nervousness faded as the ale they drank set in; Frodo and Sam remained tense. Butterbur happened by and Aragorn asked him who the four hobbits were. Not finding it odd at all, he told him: a Mr. Took, Mr. Brandybuck, Sam Gamgee, and Underhill.

The two trouble-maker hobbits (Merry and Pippin) had moved to the bar drinking their tankards alongside with the others, laughing and sharing stories about the Shire. Frodo constantly cast nervous glances toward Rowan and Aragorn and stopped the innkeeper when he passed by his table. She bet the hobbit asked Butterbur about them.

He wandered off to refill the call for ale; once in full view, Aragorn waved the hobbit over. Even though unsure, Frodo made his way over to them. Rowan gave him a small smile to ease him.

Aragorn introduced them. "I am called Strider, and this is my companion, Lady Rowan. We are honored to meet you, Master–Underhill, if old Butterbur got your name right."

"He did," Frodo said stiffly.

"Well, Master Underhill, if I were you, I should stop your young friends from talking too much." He looked pointedly over at Merry and Pippin. "Drink, fire, and chance-meeting are pleasant enough, but, well—this isn't the Shire. There are queer folk about."

Frodo followed his gaze and fidgeted with something in his pocket as he tried to decide on what to do. Rowan knew that something was the One Ring. She thought about warning him to be careful with the Ring but decided against it—it would raise suspicion if she knew about the Ring. No one got hurt from his accident, and she wanted everything to play out as it was supposed to.

Pippin's voice suddenly rose above all others when he said he knew a 'Baggins'.

"You better do something quick!" Aragorn whispered.

Frodo took his advice and jumped up on a table to pull everyone's attention off Pippin. He plunged into a speech, thanking the innkeeper and Bree for their hospitality, then some hobbit in the crowd asked him for a song. After taking a second to think of one, he sang.

Rowan listened to his song, just as entranced and charmed as everyone else in the room. It had a merry tune and Frodo had a lovely singing voice. This wasn't playing out like the movie, but she knew something happened where the Ring slipped onto his finger.

When he finished, someone in the crowd cried for an encore, and he obliged. As he sang again, three men—dark in appearance and distrustful-looking—left. The young hobbit acted out a few parts in the song for effect, and Rowan now remembered reading in the book that he slipped on some ale and that's how the Ring gets on his finger.

But it never happened. Frodo finished his song with a round of applause and whistling, then hopped off the table.

She looked around in confusion. Frodo didn't put on the Ring and disappear to draw the Ringwraiths to Bree. What was going on? Would this change the storyline?

"That was quite the song, Mr. Underhill," Aragorn said when Frodo headed back for Sam. He stopped to listen to the Ranger. "If you please, Mr. Baggins, I should like a quiet word with you."

Frodo tensed with alarm at his real name. "What about?" he asked.

"A matter of some importance—to us both. You may hear something to your advantage."

The hobbit thought about it for a while, then nodded. "Very well. I'll talk to you later." Frodo briskly walked back to his friends. After further discussion, they headed for their room in the parlor.

Rowan turned to the Ranger. "I'm going with you," she whispered.

Aragorn looked at her. "No. You are not part of my business here."

She scooted closer to him. "Look: I know all about your business here with the hobbits because of Gandalf the Grey. I know about the One Ring and that Underhill—who's Frodo Baggins—carries it. I also know your true name is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, but what I don't know is why that just happened, when it's supposed to occur another way. I want to know why."

He stared at her for a long time, stunned into silence. "How did you learn that?"

Rowan quickly came up with an answer. "I can see the future... in a way."

"Foresight..." he mused. Aragorn remained quiet for a while, and his eyes drilled into her. Finally, he nodded. "Very well; come."

They got up from the table and headed for the hallway leading to the hobbit-rooms on the ground floor. After passing the stairs leading up to the regular rooms, Aragorn pushed her against a wall and held the broken blade of Narsil against her throat.

"Ara—Strider!" She caught herself before letting slip his real name.

"Who are you, really?" he hissed.

"I've already told you!"

"No one forgets who they were traveling with but remembers that they can see into the future. I suspected dark magic when I found no visible tracks around you, but I did not sense you were evil. But you must be a spy for the Enemy, since you know about Frodo."

"I'm not a spy! I don't know how I ended up in those woods, nor do I know how to explain what I do know."

"Explain, or I will slit your throat," he warned.

She told her story of what she was doing prior to waking up—describing the movie being filmed, the fake weapons, and explaining actors were the goblins. Rowan ended by saying she bet that she was still unconscious and dreaming because The Lord of the Rings was a book and a movie.

The broken blade lowered some as Aragorn listened. Her revelation stunned him.

"We aren't... real? This is just a story? And in this other place—what you call the 'real world'—you've seen this story? That's how you know what's going to happen?" he asked.

"Yes, but I want to know why things didn't happen the way they're supposed to. And can you please lower this shard of Narsil?" Rowan asked as she reached for the knife. "It can't hurt me, since this is a dream."

Her hand slid over the blade as she pushed his hand down, but gasped in pain as its sharp edge sliced her hand open. Even though not deep, the cut bled like a stuck pig. Rowan jerked her hand back and stared in shock at the stinging cut.

Aragorn sheathed the dagger and ripped a part of his cloak. "Why did you do that?" He wrapped the cloth around her hand to stop the bleeding.

"Your blade wasn't supposed to hurt me since I'm asleep. How could it hurt me?"

"Since you say this isn't real, I don't know." He knotted the cloth on the back of her hand so it would stay still, then looked at her. "Until we know what is happening, we will keep this quiet. Your foresight story will work."

Rowan nodded in agreement, and they started back for the hobbits' room. Aragorn knocked, held the door open for her and followed.

All four hobbits were gathered inside—Merry and Pippin sat on a bed, Sam at a small round table, and Frodo stood at the fireplace mantel.

Frodo turned to face them. "Who are you two, and what do you want?"

Aragorn removed his hood to show a weathered face, a head of shaggy, neck-length brown hair, and gray eyes. She looked directly at Viggo Mortensen—she had heard he fit the role to a 'T', but he also held the air of royalty. Something hard to act out. Rowan also lowered her hood to further relax the hobbits.

"As I have said: Strider and Lady Rowan," Aragorn said.

"You said I might hear something to my advantage, I believe," Frodo began. "What have you to say?"

"Several things, but foremost, we know what hunts you, and those Black Riders are after that trinket you carry."

Frodo stared at him in disbelief; the other hobbits looked between Aragorn and Rowan in shock, too.

"How—"

"We are friends of Gandalf the Grey," Rowan answered. "He told us to look for a hobbit named Frodo Baggins and to guide him safely to Riven—"

"Weathertop," Aragorn corrected.

"To Weathertop," she finished. Damn differences between the book and the movie—they were going to mess up her foresight story.

Sam scowled. "How can we believe you?"

At that moment, knocks sounded on the door and Mr. Butterbur came in holding a letter.

"Beggin' your pardon, masters... and lady," he added when he saw Rowan. "But I was charged with deliverin' this letter to a Mr. Frodo Baggins, goin' by the name of Underhill, when I saw him. However, when I first saw you, this letter had slipped my mind—I'm a busy man, you see." He handed Frodo the sealed letter and with another apology and a bid of 'goodnight', the landlord backed out of the room.

Frodo skimmed the letter, then handed it to Sam so he could read; he, in turn, gave it to Pippin.

"Gandalf does not mention you, Lady Rowan," Pippin said when he finished and gave it to Merry.

Aragorn stepped up. "I will vouch for her. She has the gift of foresight, which will aid us in our journey."

Nice save, she wanted to tell him, but kept her mouth shut—that modern saying wouldn't fit in with the lingo being used.

"So, what do you suppose we do now?" Frodo asked.

"You will go to my room," Aragorn stated. "I fear the Nazgûl will be told you are here by the three that left during your song. Bill Ferny was one of the three—a swarthy, sneering fellow. Hobbit-rooms are easy to identify."

Rowan nodded. "Yes, they will come. And I know a way we can trick them..."