The Lord of the Rings 2: Judgment Day

Chapter 2

"I'm saying it again, Mister Frodo. I don't like this place."

"Oh come on Sam, what's wrong?"

"What's wrong? This place makes me suspicious. That's what."

"Sam, suspicious or not, this place is much safer than out on the road, and certainly safer than the Shire."

Frodo and Sam, along with their friends Merry and Pippin, were walking down the main street of Bree, heading to the Inn of the Prancing Pony, as Gandalf had directed them. They had come to the village well into the evening, and the citizens of the town were mostly indoors at this time of night. The streets themselves were quiet, though snippets of merry conversation drifted outside from some of the buildings, their inhabitants staying up to enjoy themselves. It had been only a few days' travel from Bag End, but the frights the hobbits had on the road were enough to silence anyone's desire for adventure. After hiding from mysterious riders in black, and nearly being killed in their journey across the downs, the four were eager to meet up with Gandalf at the Inn.

Sam continued. "Well, I'm not going to sleep well tonight. Not after what we've seen. You saw that flash the same as me as we approached this place. That was not anything natural."

"It could've been lightning or something like that" Pippin added.

"Oh, lightning. On a cloudless night? I don't think so. Something is definitely up."

"Well," said Frodo, "would you rather be out on the road?"

"After what we found at the gate? The door smashed inward and the gatekeeper nowhere to be found? Frankly, yes. That was mighty suspicious."

"That it was" Merry added.

"So you would rather deal with the dark riders out there, instead of here where there's cover?" Frodo asked, "Whatever's going on here can't be as bad as out there."

"I guess you're right…" Sam said. "But if Gandalf isn't there, we'll be in a tight spot."

"Well let's get there already," Pippin added. "I'm starving…"

The Inn of the Prancing Pony appeared before them before long. The building reared up at the base of Bree-hill, much larger than anything in the Shire, even though it was only three levels tall. Above it the lights of houses and hobbit holes on the slopes of the hill twinkled through the darkness, but other than that the only indication of the hill's presence was the absence of stars in a large swath of the horizon sky.

"I hope they have some ground level rooms available," commented Merry. "I never much liked heights…"

The entrance arch was tall from the hobbits' perspective, having been made mainly for men. Upon opening the front door, the conversation and noise of the common room wafted out into the street, and warm air washed over the four hobbits. The door opened into one side of the common room, with a desk to the side for registering guests. Frodo walked up to it. "Hello?" he asked, straining to look over the desk. A balding man with a moustache looked over the side. "Good evening, masters. I am Barliman Butterbur, owner of this establishment. I have some hobbit-sized rooms available if you'd like, and of course my kitchen is always open to guests."

Frodo spoke for the group. "Yes, we'll take a room, but first we are looking for a friend, Gandalf the Grey. Is he here?"

"Oh, that one." Butterbur replied. "I remember him. Tall guy, white beard. He's not here. I haven't seen him in six months."

Disappointment sank over Frodo, but he continued. "Oh… Alright, we'll have to just take the room then."

"Good, I'm glad to help. I'll go get it ready. Oh, and what is your name?"

"I'm Frodo… Underhill. My name's Underhill."

Writing the name in a guest book just before he went off, Butterbur mentioned "In the meantime, you may as well sit and enjoy some food."

"Yes, we'll do that."

As the man walked away, Frodo turned back to his friends. "Well, what do we do now?"

"I was afraid this would happen," Sam replied. "I told you something was up."

"Well, no helping it now," Merry said. "Let's just sit down and figure out what to do next. My feet are killing me."

Frodo looked over the crowd in the room. Smoke from pipes wafted through the room, a fireplace burning at the far end. Unfamiliar as it was, it seemed like the best place to be at the moment.

"Alright. Let's find a table."

Across the room, the man with the shotgun had been watching the hobbits ever since they came in. His eyes followed them from their conversation at the front desk to their conversation afterwards, and he continued his observation as they found a table and sat down. Despite an expression that never showed that he thought anything of them, he knew who they were. That one who had spoken at the desk was definitely Frodo Baggins. He could now keep track of them. The hard part would soon come.

After a few minutes, the innkeeper walked up to where the man was sitting. "Excuse me sir, would you like to order a drink?"

The man didn't look at Butterbur, but just said "Negative."

"Well, what about some food?"

"Negative."

"Well, is there anything I can get you?"

"Negative. Go away." The command didn't carry any force. If it were any other words it would have sounded like a statement. The man's air, however, carried something the voice did not. The innkeeper felt as though it would be a bad idea to stay where he was. After easing away a few steps, he turned and trotted off to his other duties.

The man with the shotgun continued watching the hobbits as one of them came back to the table with four drinks. Never averting his gaze from the four companions, he kept sitting there like a statue. There was little left for him to do at the moment. All he had to do was wait…

Frodo was not able to enjoy his drink as Merry and Pippin seemed able to. Sam looked like he felt the same way. This place seemed foreign, even though it was much the same as the Green Dragon back home. And aside from that there was something else. Frodo almost felt as though he could feel some unknown danger coming near. His hand absent-mindedly felt the ring in his pocket. As his fingers passed over it, he felt a sudden urge to put it on and disappear. No! He yanked his hand away. I need to stop doing that. Gandalf said I mustn't. The feeling had faded for the moment; but Frodo still wanted to leave, to find some place else. No. You know this is the safest place for you for now. You have to wait here and hope Gandalf comes. If he comes… As Frodo was mulling over his thoughts, Merry had gotten up a to go get another mug of ale.

Sam leaned over to Frodo and whispered as he pointed towards the corner of the room. "That man's been doing nothing but stare at you since we came in." Frodo tensed when he heard those words, tensed in that way one does when they are trying to not look at something. He leaned on his arm a bit and managed a quick glance at the figure Sam was talking about. In a chair in the corner was a man staring at their table, his gaze steady and firm. Frodo had never seen anyone with such a massive build. The man didn't move a muscle, and Frodo immediately averted his gaze. Who was he? What did he want with them? Why should he want something with us? I'm just being nervous for no reason…

His thoughts were interrupted when Merry came back to the table from the counter. He was carrying back a stout mug of frothy drink. As he sat down, Pippin asked "What's that?". "This, my friend, is a pint" Merry replied. Pippin seemed intrigued. "It comes in pints? I'm getting two." Sam objected that they didn't have the money for it, but Pippin was already off at the bar and out of earshot.

Frodo went back to his drink; but as much as he tried, he couldn't rid his mind of all the danger they were in on their journey. He had no reason to notice the man who was coming through the door at the moment. It was a young man of brown hair, with blue eyes that scanned the room as he halted by the front desk. Upon seeing the table with the hobbits, he started walking again, but now in their direction. As he passed a group of other patrons, one called out to him. "Hey, Hildgrim, what are you doing off work this time of night? …Hildgrim?"

A minute earlier, Butterbur had again approached the man with the shotgun. "Sir, are you going to sit there all night taking up space, or are you going to order something?"

"I will stay as long as I need to." the man replied.

"And just how long is that?"

"The exact length of this phase of my mission is uncertain, but it could be anywhere between fifteen seconds and 8.7 hours." As before, the man never looked at the innkeeper.

"…right. Can't you do your 'mission' somewhere else?"

"Negative, I must remain in this room."

"Well, are you at least going to order something?"

"Negative, I am not carrying any currency with me at the moment."

"Oh, I see. Look here, I've tried to be patient with you. But if you don't leave, I'm going to call the town guard and have you arrested for loitering. And further more…" The innkeeper started going on about how hard working folk were always being troubled by people who wanted to take advantage of them, but the man was not listening. He was instead watching a young man who had just come in and was looking over the room. When the just-entered man saw the hobbits he started walking towards them. The man with the shotgun took notice and immediately rose. Butterbur stopped what he had been saying and said "Oh good, you're leaving. It's about time you- hey!" The man pushed him aside with one hand and grabbed his shotgun off the table with the other, pulling its pump handle as he strode away from his table.

Over at the hobbits' table Frodo was staring into his mug when he heard a voice behind him. "Frodo Baggins?" Frodo tensed up. He hadn't used that name since leaving the Shire. How did this person know his name? Frodo shifted to look behind him when someone in front of him yelled "Get down!" and shoved him to the side. When he looked back up from where he now was on the floor, he saw two things. One, that the man who had yelled "get down" and shoved him was the man from the corner. And second, that there was a blade coming from the arm of the figure who had been behind him and sticking through the space he had just occupied. That was all he was able to comprehend before he heard a thunderous bang.

The man fired his shotgun into the figure with the blade, causing it to reel back as he chambered another round. He fired again, the sound again filling the room. The being staggered back another step, but didn't fall. Again the deafening bang resonated, the figure still staying on its feet. Finally, after the man from the corner had shot the figure for the fourth time, it toppled backwards onto the floor.

Frodo was half-sitting on the floor where the man from the corner had shoved him, wondering exactly one thing: What just happened? He looked over at the thing lying on the floor. Its chest had four large holes in it, but they weren't surrounded by flesh. The inside of each one was coated with some sort of silver substance. That thing tried to kill me. As he stared in disbelief, the holes started getting smaller, as if the figure was somehow healing itself. He didn't stare for long, though. Turning his head, the man from the corner looked right at Frodo and yelled "Run!". The hobbit didn't need much encouragement. He scrambled to his feet along with Sam, who had dove out of the way.

Through the skirmish, the rest of the patrons had jumped up from their tables, toppling most of their chairs. They now stood in a wide arc around the man with the shotgun and the figure on the floor, keeping their distance. The only reason they hadn't bolted already was from sheer confusion as to what was going on. But now that the man on the floor was starting to get up again, the sight of Frodo and his companions running towards the exit prompted them as to what the logical thing to do was. Thus a mad stampede for any way out of the room commenced. Luckily, since the four hobbits had a head start, they managed to reach the exit without getting trampled.

Back in the center of the now emptied room, the man with the shotgun was getting ready to shoot the figure on the floor again when a man whacked him over the head with a hot poker from the common room's fireplace. The newcomer to the fight was wearing leather clothes and looked like he had been on the road for a long time. His scent indicated that he hadn't washed recently, and his neck-length black hair also looked unkempt. The muscled man grabbed the hot end of the poker as the newcomer swung again. The new man stopped in disbelief as the man with the shotgun not only didn't seem to notice that he was holding a burning-hot object in his bare hand, but wrenched it out of his grip with ease, flinging it aside. The man with the shotgun knocked the newcomer unconscious with a blow to the face and sent him flying into the wall.

The man in leather clothes fell to the floor as the man with the shotgun turned to face his main antagonist. However, the figure on the floor had already gotten up, and grabbed at the shotgun before the muscled man could recover his stance. The man butted the figure in the face with his own head, upsetting its balance enough to allow him to wrestle the shotgun free. Now that it was back far enough, he brought the butt of the shotgun up and smashed it into the thing's face. The figure's head snapped back, but it was undeterred, the silver cavity in its face quickly filling in. It in turn grabbed the man by his shoulders and shoved him around into the wall behind it. A deep thud was heard as the impact made a pit in the masonry. The man shoved back, but the figure used the momentum to flip him over its head and bring him crashing down onto one of the tables, destroying it.

The man pushed himself back up just in time to block a punch from the thing with his hand, sending a counter-blow thudding into its midsection. It took that easily, smacking him across the face with its arm. The blow didn't injure him, but it sent him back a step, which was just enough time for the thing to smash into his chest with its shoulder, thrust him upwards, and send him flying through the front windows and into the street.

The patrons who had previously fled the inn had been standing out in front, listening to the sounds of a fight inside, not really sure what to do. Butterbur was wringing his hands, sweating and muttering to himself about how much this fight was going to cost him in repairs, when the muscled man came flying through the windows, sending shattered glass everywhere. Everyone collectively cried out in surprise and jumped back as he fell down on his back. He did not get up again, and as everyone was staring at him the other figure leaped through the broken window. The crowd took a surprised step back at its entrance; but it ignored them, looking up and down the street. It set off up towards the north gate, the people giving it plenty of space as it passed.

Everybody was starting to crowd around the muscled man, asking each other where a doctor was, when the man looked up and then stood as if nothing unusual had happened. Everyone was amazed that he was unhurt, a wave of whispers going through the crowd as he stepped back through the hole in the front windows. Going over to where he had dropped his shotgun, he picked it up and immediately stepped back outside. Staring over the crowd, he asked "Which way did it go?"

The people were slow to answer, almost as if they hadn't heard; but some vaguely gestured up the street towards the north. The man was about to start after the thing, when he saw a man driving a cart pulled by two horses coming from the south. With no hesitation, the man with the shotgun ran up to the cart, grabbing the side and pulling himself up to where the driver was sitting. He looked the driver in the eye with his fierce gaze. "Get out." The driver, who was more than happy to oblige the threatening figure, dove out of the cart, rolling into the street. He got up unhurt, but the muscled man didn't care. He grabbed the reigns, whipping them and making the horses dart northward, quickly out of sight of the thoroughly confused crowd.

...

When the four hobbits burst out of the Prancing Pony, they had no idea what was going on, but they knew that putting distance between them and the Inn would be a good idea. All the patrons who spilled out onto the street were paying attention to the commotion inside, so the hobbits went unnoticed as they ran northward. After a minute they slowed down and stopped in the road to catch their breath. Merry was the first to speak. "What in the Took's name just happened?"

"I knew this place was trouble," Sam said, "If we have any more of these adventures, we're liable to be killed!"

"Ooh, I should never have left the Shire…" Pippin gasped between breaths.

Frodo was eager to keep moving. "That thing knew my name. It's not safe for us to stay in Bree anymore. Come on, we have to get out of here!"

"In the middle of night?" Sam asked, "When we don't have a light to walk by? Maybe we should just hide somewhere."

"You're the one who didn't want to come here! I'm not staying in this place another minute. If we're caught-" Frodo was interrupted by Pippin saying "Look!"

The other three looked back down the street to where Pippin was pointing. A figure was striding towards them, its form dark against the poor lighting. Frodo didn't like the look of it to begin with; but when he saw that it was the figure from the Inn who tried to kill him, he didn't wait around to consult his friends. He bolted towards the gate, and when the other hobbits saw that the thing had started running as well, they followed suit.

Frodo stole glances behind him as he ran. That thing's fast! It's going to catch us and kill us and- his thoughts were interrupted when his eyes were drawn to a cart pulled by two horses racing past the figure and up to the fleeing hobbits. It matched their pace as it reached them, and they all could see that the one driving it was the man from the corner from the Inn. Pulling up on their left, the muscled man leaned towards them and yelled "Get in if you want to live!" Sam certainly didn't think the man was his first choice for being rescued, but he and his companions all jumped into the back of the cart regardless. Merry almost slipped and had to be pulled in by his arms; but they were all in, and the man driving whipped the reins, the horses accelerating.

Looking back, Frodo saw with dismay that the thing hadn't fallen back, but was closing the distance between them. As they all watched, the thing's arms changed shape to form long metal hooks. The hobbits started edging away from the back, but there wasn't much room in the cart to move. When the thing had gotten within feet of their mode of transportation, the man driving the cart told Sam to take the reins and stood up in the driver's seat. As Sam fumbled into the front seat, the man shot at the thing, hitting it, but not deterring its pursuit. As the man chambered another round, the thing lunged forward enough to grab on to the cart with its hooks, pulling it self up onto the back.

The thing immediately swung a hook at Frodo, just missing him as he ducked. At this moment they reached the north gate, which was open as some guards were inspecting two bodies on the outside. They jumped out of the way as the cart went blasting through. As the cart entered the surrounding darkness, two lanterns on the back threw dim light on the chaotic scene. The figure was about to strike for Frodo again when the man who had been driving stepped to the back and smashed the thing in the chest with his shotgun. It didn't fall, but it was thrown off balance, its one arm swinging wildly, its other one still hooked onto the cart. The figure swung its hook into the man's shoulder, but he blocked the next blow as he kicked the thing's other hook, dislodging it from the back of the cart. The figure was now just standing on the back; but it grabbed the man, trying to throw him off into the road. However, the man had time to bring his shotgun up, with which he fired a round into the thing's torso, finally knocking it off the cart. It slammed into the road, rolling with the impact and disappearing from the sight of the lanterns as the cart rushed away from it.

The man looked back for just a moment before lowering his shotgun, confident that for now the thing wasn't going to catch them. He climbed back into the front seat, taking the reins back from Sam. As the hobbits stared back into the blackness behind them, the lights of Bree receding into the distance, Sam broke the silence. "Like I said, Mister Frodo, I don't like this place…"