A Hobbit of Hope · Y/n story by @abeba

The wind had teeth. It came down the slope in sharp little bites, worrying at cloaks and hair and making every branch above them creak like it might snap out of spite.

Pippin Took

This is ridiculous. I was promised adventure, not freezing to death in a ditch.

Merry Brandybuck

You were promised nothing. You invited yourself.

The night pressed in around them, thick and black. To their left, a tangle of roots clawed at the earth. To their right, the land fell away into darkness. The Company moved in single file, boots crunching over frost-bitten leaves.

Aragorn

raised a hand, and they slowed at once.

Even Boromir fell silent. Legolas tilted his head, listening as though he could hear a leaf think.

Frodo Baggins

What is it?

Aragorn moved forward with careful grace—each step deliberate, placed, like he was avoiding a trap. Pippin and Merry exchanged a look. We should not be curious. They crept after him anyway.

Aragorn

crouched low, listening. Alive. Breathing. Barely.

Pippin Took

How is there a hobbit here?

Boromir

hand went to his sword. A trick?

Legolas Greenleaf

murmured. No. She is... exhausted. Beyond that.

Aragorn

nudged the cloak gently. Wake. You are not alone.

Nothing.

Aragorn

Wake.

A mud-caked hand shot out, grabbing Aragorn's wrist with startling strength. Pippin jumped. The figure's eyes flew open—sharp, furious, and painfully awake.