Chapter 01: Back at the Prancing Pony (G, Humourous)

(Note: This is just a random, off the cuff fiction, set AFTER the three books. Now, I haven't read the three books and quite obviously haven't seen the next two movies, so I don't know if all of the characters are still around by this time. Either way, please read and enjoy, and post a review. Thanks)

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Company was scarce.

A lone candle was all that lit the hollowed room and Frodo sat alone in the corner of it, sipping a half drunken mug of cold beer. He absently stared at the vanishing white froth that lay in a thick blanket on top of the drink, forming snowy, alcohol scented mountains, which, one by one, disappeared as Frodo jiggled the glass, bringing the beer to the surface. He sipped at it, though he was not really thirsty.

In the background, he could see the bartender cleaning tables, and seeing off the other remaining customer that was almost comatose, leaning up the bar muttering curse words that not even the commonest of Hobbits dared use. Frodo's eyes widened and a smile escaped him as he watched the bartender drag the drunk by his thin, scraggly hair out of the door.

'I'm afraid I shall have to ask you to leave aswell, young Master, we're closed now.' chortled the bartender walking up to Frodo's table. One could say however, that it was more of a waddle, as the man was quite stocky in build, quite possibly due to beer. He went on. 'But I shall let you finish up your drink first.'

Frodo nodded up at the tall human and glanced around the room in search of Sam, Merry and Pippin. He had lost sight of them less than an hour after they had arrived at The Prancing Pony; a place where Frodo never thought he would be again.

'Where are they?' Frodo muttered to himself. Gulping down the last of his flat beer, Frodo winced at the taste and shook his head, blinking hard to prevent himself from passing out. The rumours were true about the beer at The Prancing Pony; strongest ale one could ever find, could get you drink in half a pint. Frodo had drunk several pints; he had lost count at around four. Handing his mug back to the bartender, he staggered towards the doorway and stopped. The bartender noticed.

'Something wrong, young Sir?' he enquired. Frodo paused and once again looked around the room. 'Have you lost something?' Frodo looked at the man, thoughtfully through blurred eyes.
'I can't seem to find my friends' slurred Frodo, finally feeling the effects of alcohol now he had stood up. The room swayed and spun about him; he was starting to get somewhat dizzy.

Maintaining balance the best he could, he begun to walk around the room, calling out their names. 'Sam! Pippin! Merry! This is no time to be hiding from me, we must get some rest, for we are leaving early tomorrow! Rivendell might have run off by the time we... the time we...' He could say no more, for he was beginning to feel ill. Slapping one hand loudly over his mouth, he bolted through the entrance to The Prancing Pony out on the street, where he was gladly relieved of all of the beer he had taken in. Inside, the bartender listened, and cringed.

'Dear me! I really should learn to cut Hobbits off after two drinks' he muttered. 'They simply can't handle it.' Then, knowing the business outside was none of his own, he continued to clean the tables and prepare his bar for closure until the next night.

'Frodo? Frodo? Frodo Baggins, where are you?' Pippin chirped, as he Merry and Sam walked back to their rooms at the Inn. 'Where could he be Sam?' Sam shook his head, but did not seem worried, for Frodo was in no danger, not any more, so Sam needed not to be looking out for Frodo as often as he once did.
'I've not a clue, Pippin. Don't you worry, I'm sure that Mr. Frodo's around these parts somewhere. The old man at the gate may be blind, but you can assure he won't let no Hobbit through those gates after dark, on my request.' Pippin and Merry had to laugh.

'You told the man at the gates not to let Frodo out after dark?' he howled, laughing. 'Oh Sam, you are funny! Fancy Mr. Frodo trying to run away from us, after all, was it us who ran away from him. I'll bet he's looking for us right now, and I'll swear my shirt on it that he will be not pleased at all! Oh look, there he is! Frodo!'

All three glanced at Frodo, who, still outside The Prancing Pony, was on his knees with his head in a stray bucket, normally filled with water for dogs to drink from. The water was now disregarded, running down the pathway and into the grassy sides. Foul sounds echoed from the bucket which made Pippin's teeth grind.

Frodo lifted his head. He knew that they were standing before him to put him to bed and give him a good night's sleep. But Frodo did not want to move, he merely wanted to stay put, where the world was not spinning. Sam shook his head, discontented.

'Oh Sam' said Frodo. 'Had I remembered the strength of the ale here...' he got no further, his head was back in the bucket. Pippin made a noise that sounded like a 'ick' sound, but one could not be too sure. Sam crouched down to Frodo and patted him on the back, which did not make matters better. Frodo again emerged from the bucket. 'Please, let me be here, I dare not move, the world spins to much.'

'Come on, Mr. Frodo' said Sam, ignoring his friend's pleads. 'We'd best get you back to your room. We don't want you out here all night in the cold. The weather plays nasty tricks on a Hobbit's health. Merry, help me get Mr. Frodo to his room, and Pippin?' Pippin looked at Sam, eyes wide. He had been glaring at the bucket, wishing to never see what was inside.

'Yes, Sam?'

'Grab the bucket.'

Once Frodo was in bed, his stomach seemed to settle. He had to admit, it was much more comfortable than sleeping on the step of the Inn. Sam tucked him in, but not too tight, as his eyes were grey and dull, and his skin had turned an off shade of white. Once he was done, and he was sure Frodo was drifting to sleep, he sat on a nearby chair, watching worriedly.

'What's the matter, Sam?' enquired Merry, taking a seat on the edge of Frodo's bed. Sam laughed quietly and rubbed his tired eyes. 'Frodo will be all right, he just drunk too much is all. Give him until morning. Then we're off to Rivendell' Merry added with a smile. 'He'll feel much better once he sees the Elves. He has been wanting to meet Legolas again, and from what I hear, Arwen also.' Sam nodded.

'You're right Merry. I am a fool for worry. Come, let us all rest as soundly as Mr. Frodo, a long journey awaits us at dawn.' On that positive note, the three sober Hobbits climbed into their own beds and fell willingly into the land of slumber.