It was late when the foursome arrived at the inn at Bree.  Frodo, shaken by the relentless pursuit of the Black Riders, was tired and irritable and he just wanted to talk to Gandalf who was, of course, no where to be found.  He sat next to Sam, nursing a beer, pouting, lost in thought.  He stirred only when Sam nudged him.

"That man over there," Sam said to Frodo, "He's been staring at you since we came in."

Frodo looked up in alarm, but then realized it would not be best to give the stranger so obvious a once-over.  He turned slowly, doing his level best to be subtle, and caught sight of a cloaked and dark figure in a corner of the inn, sitting alone smoking a pipe.

Frodo stopped the innkeeper Butterbur when he came near where he and Sam sat.  "Who is he?" Frodo asked, nodding towards the dark figure.

The old innkeeper nodded and said, "Him?  He's a Ranger.  Now I don't know his rightful name, but around here, he's known as Strider."

Frodo looked over towards the man again, rolling the name around on his tongue.  "Strider."  Sam, still close by, looked over at Strider nervously.  Both hobbits were snapped out of their quiet thoughts, however -- and Strider was quite forgotten -- when Sam and Frodo realized that Merry and Pippin had gotten themselves into a bit of a tizzy.  Strange figures, some of them quite dark and menacing-looking, were hovering about the two drinking hobbits, and all at once both Sam and Frodo realized that their companions were about to give away much more information regarding their travels than either meant to.  Neither Merry nor Pippin can hold his drink, Frodo thought sullenly as he aimed for his friends to ward off trouble.

Frodo realized a distraction was in order, and his brainstormed solution involved an intricate tale-song that drew attention away from his friends immediately.  All eyes turned toward Frodo, who stood on a table and sang in a clear, strong voice a tale about an inn that Frodo's uncle Bilbo has made up himself.  Delight lit the friendly faces around the inn, and curiosity covered the malice of those who seemed to be wishing Frodo and his friends harm.  Frodo sang loud and long, and there was much applause when he finished ... until in the blink of an eye, Frodo disappeared.

He had accidentally put on the ring.

Utterly embarrassed by what had happened, Frodo crawled away from the scene of his departure, and found himself, when he slipped the ring off, at the feet of Strider.

From under the hood of his cloak, Strider pierced the hobbit with icy blue eyes, and before Frodo could even take a breath, Strider picked him up and hauled him up a rickety staircase.

Frodo knew better than to protest, though his heart was beating nearly out of control.  At the top of the stairs Strider set Frodo on his feet.  Then he pulled the hobbit along down the dark corridors of the Prancing Pony before finally depositing Frodo in a room lit with candles -- which Strider quickly put out.

Strider turned to Frodo, who stood in the center of the now cold and dark room, eyeing the strange man with unhidden fear.  Frodo said nothing until Strider asked him, "Are you frightened?"

"Yes," Frodo whispered, blue eyes wide.

"Not nearly frightened enough," came Strider's harsh reply.  He raked his cold blue eyes over Frodo's face, then stood, still staring at the hobbit, and Frodo felt as if he were being seen right through, like he was invisible again.

Unable to bear Strider's gaze any longer, Frodo moved his hand almost unconsciously, aiming for his pocket and intending to finger the ring, but Strider grabbed his arm before Frodo had moved more than an inch.  "You need to be more careful, little one," Strider admonished, his voice hard, "That is no trinket you carry."

Frodo swallowed hard.  Strider was still staring at him and still holding his arm, so Frodo knew there was no longer any hope of escape.  Fear coursed through the hobbit's veins but something else was spreading through him from the point of contact where the man still gripped his arm.  It was something warm, something inviting, something ... safe.

When Frodo had organized these thoughts, he looked up at Strider again with a softer, questioning look, and Strider dropped his eyes and let the hobbit go.  The man motioned to a chair near the wall, and Frodo sat.

"I know what it is that you carry," Strider said softly, looking not at Frodo but out the window into the moonlight.  The sound of hoofbeats could be heard in the distance.

Frodo fought a shudder and said, "I carry nothing."

"Indeed," Strider said, and Frodo frowned.

"What is it that you want from me?" the hobbit asked, eyes pleading.  The confusion left by the harshness of Strider's words and the warmth of his touch was evident in Frodo's face.

Strider saw the confusion and recognized it immediately.  He hadn't planned on this path when dealing with the hobbits, and especially not the Ring Bearer, but Frodo wasn't responding to the chill in his voice, he was responding to the warmth in his hands.  "Come here, Frodo Baggins," he said, and Frodo did as he was told.

Standing in front of Strider, Frodo was at eye level with the man -- and Strider was seated.  Strider pulled the hobbit closer so that Frodo was standing between his knees.  Speaking in whispers, Strider said, again, "I know what you carry, and if you let me, I will help you."

Frodo trembled at the tenderness he saw in what had been Strider's cold eyes, and he swallowed all his fear.  The hobbit's eyes searched the man's rugged and travel-worn features for some clue as to what to do next.  In Strider's eyes now, Frodo saw something new that made him feel an implicit trust for the man of whom he had so recently been terrified.  In response to Strider's offer of help, Frodo answered, "I will let you ... if you can."

No more was said.  There was something else in the air between them, something electric, something palpable, something related to fear, but not fear.

The ring was safely stowed, so it was not its power that Frodo felt as he found himself leaning in nearer and nearer to the Ranger.  There was something else drawing him to Strider, something ancient yet not forgotten, a deep power of the world.

Desire.

When Frodo recognized it, it flickered in his eyes, unwilling to stay hidden.

Strider did not miss the subtle change that washed over Frodo, and he held the hobbit in his ice-blue gaze, aloof and dangerous and yet subtly warm and inviting all at once, as if he had something that Frodo desperately needed but was not quite able to name.

That was as close to the truth as Frodo could come, so Strider pushed the hobbit the rest of the way himself.  He closed the remaining distance between them and captured Frodo's pink velvet lips in a soft but searing kiss, his tongue daring to lick along Frodo's bottom lip, but no more.

When Frodo broke away, breathless, he stood there panting in shock and blissful wonder at the situation.  When he'd regained some semblance of control, Frodo asked only one thing: "Who are you?"

Strider looked at him with kind eyes and said:

All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.

As Frodo watched, the man before him seemed to transform.  No longer was there a weary Ranger, in his place there stood a tall, kingly man who said to Frodo, "My name is Aragorn, little one, I am son to Arathorn and Isildur's heir."

"Aragorn," Frodo breathed, rolling this new name around on his tongue must as he had done with Aragorn's local moniker.  "Aragorn," he said again, looking up into the man's face with bright eyes.

"Yes, Frodo, I am Aragorn and I will help you on your quest.  As something is obviously quite wrong because Gandalf is not here, we will set off tomorrow for Rivendell, and I will be your guide."

Frodo said nothing, thinking about the ring and then looking at Aragorn with eyes that said, silently, 'I would follow you anywhere.'

Aragorn read this, too, in Frodo's gaze and said, "Anywhere, eh?  Then follow me to bed, for we will need all our strength tomorrow and beyond."

Frodo nodded as Aragorn pulled down the bedclothes on the man-sized featherbed against one wall of the inn room.  As Aragorn motioned Frodo over to the bed, the sound of hoofbeats outside could be heard once more.  When the hobbit quaked, Aragorn touched his face gently as said, "Fear not, Frodo, for tonight you are safe."  Frodo believed him completely, but Aragorn continued, "We've made provisions, a distraction if you will, should the Nazgul come here in search of you.  Your friends will also be quite safe.  The innkeeper Butterbur may look the fool, but he is kind and strong when need be.  He and I have spoken, and all will be well, for tonight at least."

Frodo crawled into bed without undressing, suddenly overly weary, though he did not wish it.  "Will you stay with me, Aragorn son of Arathorn?" he asked sleepily, "Will you keep me safe?"

"By my sword, I will," Aragorn said, tucking the covers up to Frodo's chin.  He kissed the hobbit's forehead, but Frodo was quick to move his mouth and capture Aragorn's lips once more.

Aragorn kissed him back softly, then drew away, but Frodo's eyes opened again and he sat up in bed.  "You said you'd stay with me," he said, "but then you draw back.  Will you not hold me close as I sleep?"

"Is that what you wish?"

Frodo looked down, but answered, "Yes."

Aragorn lifted the hobbit's chin until Frodo's angelic blue eyes were on Aragorn's own.  He kissed Frodo again, gently, sweetly, and said, "I will do as you wish."

Frodo pushed himself back toward the middle of the bed and watched as Aragorn undressed.  His clothing was worn and weather-beaten, but as he revealed more and more of himself to the hobbit, Frodo had no doubt that Aragorn's blood was kingly.  He was incredibly beautiful, sleek and strong, and Frodo marveled that this man would share a bed with him, even if only for sleep.

When at last Aragorn had stripped himself down to the clothes he would sleep in, Frodo tore his eyes away, fighting a blush.  Aragorn smiled and stepped near, then he smoothed down the hobbit's hair and without warning or pretense, began undressing Frodo as he had undressed himself.  Aragorn, too, was impressed with what lay beneath the hobbit's rough garb and was more than happy to gather Frodo into his arms when he was unclothed.

Under the covers, Aragorn curled himself around Frodo who was once again smiling sleepily.  "I will not sleep tonight, Frodo," Aragorn whispered, "for I have vowed to protect you.  I will hold you, and you will sleep, but I will not.  Now, Frodo, to sweet and safe dreams may you fly.  Good night."  Aragorn kissed Frodo's brow one last time, and the hobbit slipped off to sleep safe in Strider's arms.
 

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