On a cold, rainy night several months later, four young hobbits hurried through the village of Bree. They had clearly been travelling for a while, for their clothes were stained with mud and their hair was damp with rain. The leader of the group, Frodo, scanned the rows of buildings lining the street until one in particular caught his eye. It was very much like the other houses in the village: three storeys high and built out of stone, with a thatched roof and wooden beams. However, this one had two wings with a wide arch between them, leading to a small courtyard. Above the door was a sign showing a fat white pony rearing up on its hind legs. Beneath it were these words:

THE PRANCING PONY INN by BARLIMAN BUTTERBUR

Frodo let out a relieved sigh and led his companions towards the inn. "Come on! We're here!"

The inn looked pleasant enough on the outside, but the way Sam – a plump fellow with shaggy blonde hair – was looking at it, anybody would have thought it was a dungeon.

"We aren't really going to spend the night here, are we, Mister Frodo? If there are hobbit-folk in these parts, why don't we see if some of them would be willing to take us in?" He suggested.

But Frodo shook his head. "Gandalf specifically said we were to meet him at the inn. Besides, it might be alright."

Just then, a woman's voice from inside the inn broke into a merry song. Several cheerful voices joined in with the chorus and gave a roar of applause when it ended. The hobbits listened to the encouraging sound, then rushed inside. They found themselves in a large room lit with candles and a blazing hearth long. All around were tables full of local men and hobbits, loudly applauding a girl who stood in their midst. She bowed and curtsied to them, a huge grin on her face, before skipping over to the bar at the other end of the room. There stood a burly, balding fellow with a good-natured face and a white apron. He smiled at the girl and clapped her on the shoulder, evidently praising her performance. This, of course, was Bridie and Barliman Butterbur, but the hobbits did not yet know it.

"Excuse me?" Frodo called, standing on his toes to try and get their attention.

Barliman leaned over the bar and greeted them kindly. "Good evening, little masters! Welcome to The Prancing Pony. I'm Barliman Butterbur and this is my daughter, Bridie." He gestured to the girl who now stood beside him, eyeing the hobbits curiously.

"What can we do for you, gentlemen?" She asked.

"We're friends of Gandalf the Grey," Frodo explained. "Can you tell him we've arrived?"

"Gandalf?" Bridie repeated. "You mean…Gandalf, the wizard? Elderly chap? Big grey beard and pointy hat?"

Frodo nodded. "Yes, that's him."

Barliman shook his head. "We've not seen him for six months."

The hobbits seemed troubled by this and began talking quietly amongst themselves, debating on what to do next.

"If you want, you're welcome to stay here for the night," Barliman told them. "We've got some nice, cosy hobbit-sized rooms available. Always proud to cater to the little folk, mister…?"

Frodo hesitated. "Underhill. My name is Underhill."

Since the hobbits didn't really have any other option, they booked themselves a room for the night and Barliman and Bridie brought them some supper which they ate quietly by the back wall. Frodo, for his part, kept to himself, not wanting to attract unwanted attention or appear suspicious. This was easier said than done with Sam casting worried looks over his shoulder, fidgeting in his seat and acting in the most suspicious way imaginable. Merry and Pippin – the two younger hobbits – weren't much help either. They had warmed up to the cosy atmosphere very quickly and were making themselves at home. Pippin's eyes widened in awe as Merry sat down next to him, carrying a tall tankard brimming with foam.

"I'm getting one!" The hobbit jumped up from his seat and rushed over to the bar as if his life depended on it. Hopping up onto a stool, he signalled to Bridie. "One pint of ale, please!"

"Coming right up!" Bridie said cheerfully.

"Many thanks!" Pippin said as the girl slid a large, frothy pint towards him and took several gulps. Bridie stifled a laugh as he removed the cup from his mouth, revealing his nose and upper lip covered in thick white foam. "What's funny?" The hobbit questioned, noticing her amused face.

"You've got a little…" she pointed to his mouth.

Pippin put a hand to his face and laughed. "Oh! So I have!" He wiped his face with the back of his hand and grinned up at Bridie. "By the way, was that you we heard singing earlier?"

Bridie nodded. "Yes. Did you like it?"

"It was very good. It reminds me of my days at The Green Dragon."

Bridie raised an eyebrow. "The Green Dragon?"

"A tavern in the Shire," Pippin explained. "My friend, Merry, and I would sometimes sing there, especially when we'd had one drink too many."

A rather comical image suddenly came into Bridie's head: two hobbits stood on a table in a crowded tavern. Each of them had a mug of ale, most of which had been spilt onto the floor. They danced and sang drunkenly, muddling their words and knocking over the other drinkers' mugs and plates. She giggled.

"Well, I'm glad to have met a fellow singer! What's your name?"

"Peregrin Took, at your service. But everybody calls me Pippin."

Just then, Barliman called to Bridie. "Will you go and make up the fires in the hobbit rooms?"

"Of course, Papa." She turned to Pippin. "It was nice speaking with you." Then, taking the coal bucket Barliman handed to her, she trotted up the stairs.

The first room she went to had been reserved for Pippin and his friends. Bridie lit the candles, then set to work on the fire. She had just puffed up the embers and thrown on a few lumps of coal when the door burst open. Bridie screamed and jumped to her feet. In walked Strider dragging poor Frodo with him. Bridie caught the hobbit as Strider shoved him into the room, closing the door behind him.

Bridie gasped at the sight of the ranger. "You again! What's going on here?" she demanded, trying to hide her shock behind an irritated tone.

Strider turned to face her and threw back his hood, revealing a shaggy head of dark hair and a rugged face. His keen, grey eyes shone in the dim firelight. "Pardon the intrusion, Miss Butterbur. But our little friend here has been rather foolish and needs to be taught a lesson in caution."

He started towards them but Bridie quickly jumped in front of him, blocking the ranger's view of the hobbit. "Now, listen here! If it's trouble you want, you can go look for it elsewhere!"

"Now, don't mistake me!" Strider said, raising his hands in defence. "I mean neither you nor Mister Baggins any harm."

Frodo gave a start at the use of his proper name. "My name is Underhill," he insisted.

Strider sneered at the hobbit. "After what happened tonight, it won't matter what you call yourself. Your pursuers have many friends in Bree. They will know where you are soon enough if they don't know already, and-" he cut himself off and looked back at the door as if he had heard something.

Bridie and Frodo exchanged confused looks, then jumped as the door was flung open. From his belt, Strider drew a long sword. In charged Sam, his fists up, prepared to fight. Merry and Pippin were on his flank, wielding a chair and a candelabra.

"Let him go!" Sam yelled. "Or I'll have you, Longshanks!"

Seeing what he was up against, Strider sheathed his sword, a look of slight amusement on his face. "You have a stout heart, little hobbit. But that alone will not save you. Not from…them, at any rate."

"Who's 'them'?" Bridie asked.

"The Black Riders," Strider replied, almost in a whisper, and shuddered.

"Black Riders?!" Frodo repeated, alarmed, not liking the way Strider had shuddered at the mention of them. They must be truly terrible to make even a ranger afraid. "You mean they have found out where we are?"

"Did I not tell you they have friends here?" Strider said, turning on the poor hobbit. "But they won't be needing their help after that little disappearing act you pulled earlier."

"They might as well have been speaking another language for all Bridie understood, with all their talk of Black Riders and disappearing and mysterious friends. She didn't like the sound of any of it. The girl ventured to ask the ranger, "Sir, begging your pardon but how does the business of these hobbits concern you?"

"Gandalf sent me in his stead," Strider explained. "He asked that I aid them on their journey if he were not here to do so."

"Gandalf?!" Pippin cried, dropping the chair he carried. "Have you seen him? Is he alright?"

If Merry had not been holding flaming candles, he might have clouted the younger hobbit on the head. "Be quiet, you idiot!" he hissed. "He's probably making it up!"

Sam looked the ranger up and down suspiciously. "Why should we believe a word you say? For all we know, you could be a play-acting spy working for the enemy."

Bridie quickly spoke up. "He is no spy. He's a friend of Gandalf. The old wizard told me himself."

Strider shot Bridie a grateful look. "There! You have the word of another to prove it. But now we haven't the time for parley. You gentlemen must make a decision: will you trust me to lead you? I know all the lands between the Shire and the Misty Mountains, for I have wandered over them for many years. I can take you by paths that are seldom trodden. Will you have me?"

After a great deal of hesitation and debate, the hobbits finally agreed reluctantly, and they started preparing for the night ahead. The hobbits' luggage was moved into Strider's room at the opposite end of the inn, then he, Bridie and Frodo went to explain the situation to the innkeeper. The moment Barliman laid eyes on Frodo, he nearly jumped out of his skin, and his shock was only doubled by the news of the upcoming raid on the inn.

"Oh, save us!" Barliman cried. "That is the worst news that has come to Bree in my time! But, at any rate, I'll help you, Master Underhill, in any way I can. No black rider shall get near you or your friends. You'd best go and get some sleep now."

Frodo nodded and hurried upstairs, while Strider stayed with Bridie and Barliman to help secure the inn. They locked all the doors and windows, and doused the fire. This done, they then bade each other goodnight and retired to their respective rooms. Before going upstairs, Bridie went into the kitchen where she picked up the largest, sharpest knife she could find and wrapped it up in her apron. She was not generally a violent person, but if her home was going to be attacked, having some sort of weapon on hand would at least help her to feel somewhat safer. The girl then raced up to her bedroom where she locked and barricaded the door with a chair and drew the curtains. She then changed into her nightgown and climbed into bed, the kitchen knife hidden under her pillow.

Very little rest was had that night. Bridie woke at every little noise, and every time she would run to the door to make sure it was still locked. At some time in the middle of the night, Bridie was torn from her slumber by an ear-shattering screech. The noise rang throughout the inn, vibrating off the walls and rattling the window panes. Several loud bangs and clunks followed, as if somebody was tossing the furniture around. Bridie covered her ears and prayed for the noises to end. When the sounds appeared to grow faint, Bridie pushed aside the covers and tiptoed to the window. Through a gap in the material, she could make out a group of figures cloaked in black, riding away from the inn on black horses. With a gulp, Bridie backed away from the window and sat down on the bed, trembling all over. She curled up under the covers and shut her eyes tightly, hoping it was all just a bad dream. It was not the last time she wished that.