Title: At the Prancing Pony
Genre: General
Rating: G
Summary: Merry's experience of the events at the Prancing Pony. Book verse.
"At that moment they heard a door slam; then feet came running along the passage. Merry came in with a rush followed by Nob. He shut the door hastily, and leaned against it. He was out of breath. They stared at him in alarm before he gasped: ' I have seen them, Frodo! I have seen them! Black Riders!'" (Tolkien, Lotr: fotr, p.228)
Merry Brandybuck sat back in his chair, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, gazing contemplatively into the flames that flickered and crackled, dancing in the hearth before him. Wisps of curling smoke rose from the pipe at his mouth, hovering in the quiet and darkened room. Faint voices, song and laughter could be heard from the common room of the inn, just paces away.
So much had happened. So much that none of them, that not even he, had counted on happening. So much in such a short time, in such a short distance. So much and they were only leagues away from the Shire. The Black Riders. The Old Forest. Old Man Willow. Tom Bombadil and the fair lady Goldberry. The Barrow Wights. Yet, they had made it this far, and for the most part unscathed. Much more careful and cautious they would have to be, and swifter too. They were no longer in the comfort and safety of the Shire.
Merry wondered where Gandalf could be. Was he not to have met them on their journey already? Perhaps he would arrive soon. Merry hoped that it would be soon, for outside the Shire and past Bree, Merry's knowledge of the lands around was scarce, and not much of use to Frodo. Gandalf would turn up. In the mean time, they would have to ask for direction and continue. They would be alright. He would come.
As Merry drew himself away from his deep thought, he became aware that not only was he smoking his pipe, but gnawing at the end of the slender handle as well. Taking the pipe from his mouth, Merry examined the tooth marks embedded within the polished wood, a wry grin forming on his lips. It had always been a habit of his, chewing on whatever was at hand, ever since childhood. He could vividly recall Esmeralda Brandybuck scolding him for gnawing at various pieces of furniture. Of course, he had long stopped chewing on furniture as he had as a young lad, but the habit would still make its appearance whenever he was occupied in deep thought. If he was not careful, Merry was sure he would gnaw away until naught of his pipe remained. He had better stop, and get up. He did not fancy having to ask to borrow one of Peregrin's pipes, as Pippin was quite a bit fussy on lending over his beloved pipes, even to Merry.
Stretching, Merry stood up, flipping his pipe around and laying it on the table. Perhaps now would be a good time for a walk. Merry peered out the window. The moon was now up high. It did not look as if Frodo, Sam and Pippin would be back any time soon. Buttoning his cloak, Merry left the parlor, sliding out the passage, out a side door, into the streets of Bree.
To be continued…