Disclaimer: J.R.R. Tolkien owns Aragorn, the four hobbits, Bree, and Weathertop. I own the Tour Guides of the North.
A/N: Here it is—the second chapter! Most of my stories get a bit of a slow start, but the second chapter usually picks up a little. I'm trying to decide whether I'm going to continue with the misspellings of Merry and Pippin for the rest of the story—if so, I'll definitely have to repeat them. Not that that's a bad thing, because some of them are really annoying me. If you actually have to stop and think about who "Pirrin" is, that detracts from the story itself. So...anyway, enough rambling.
Lhachel: Yeah, "unusual" is the word for this, isn't it? Sorry again about the title—totally accidental. Update yours soon too! And that story, "This is Just Wrong"—that looked really funny.
Two Bored Idiots: Thanks! I'm working on updates, I promise.
Salysha: Thank you! I've never read "Bored of the Rings" but my mom told me about it. Apparently I'm not allowed to read it until I'm a little older. Sigh.
Yilantri: Thanks! Hope you like this chapter too.
Clayin: Nope, Aragorn has no clue how dangerous this tour may turn out to be. Besides Nazgûl and Elves, there's the added danger of Merry and Pippin...
Christina: The characterizations are interesting, aren't they? I've always wanted to write a story where Aragorn isn't quite as noble as he is in the books...and I'm happy to say that I've managed to do that quite well in this story. Now, whether the story's any good is another question...
Ophelia Glace: Thank you! I hope you don't die laughing, but maybe falling off your chair...*hopeful look*
Lady Lye: I'm not sure what Aragorn thought he was doing getting himself mixed up in this, but personally I think he'll be lucky to get out alive. Mwa ha ha...I do enjoy a nice bit of character twisting.
Tour de Force
"Right," said Aragorn son of Arathorn to himself, rubbing his hands briskly to warm them. Sometime during the night the fire had gone out, and the room was freezing. Oh, well...things could always be worse. They could, for instance, all have been killed by Nazgûl during the night...
Forcing his mind away from such terrible thoughts, the Tour Guide surveyed the room, which was still dark in the pre-dawn light. The four tourists—or fresh meat, as he preferred to think of them—were still fast asleep. Typical hobbit behavior, he thought with a trace of scorn. They probably took great pleasure, somewhere in their little hobbit dreams, in knowing that he would have to go to the trouble of waking them up.
"They're against me," Aragorn muttered as he stomped over to his new traveling companions. "They're all against me. They're just waiting for me to let my guard down and then they'll throttle me in my sleep..." He broke off as he realized that he was beginning to sound eerily like Samwise Gamgee.
[You see?] part of his mind argued. [They're already affecting you! If you let them, they'll take over completely!] Aragorn shook his head hard, determined to ignore this new development. Time enough to deal with his mental problems after they had all gotten out of the Prancing Pony alive.
Pippy turned over in his sleep, taking his thumb out of his mouth long enough to murmur, "Stupid Strider." Aragorn ground his teeth, but restrained his urge to kill. After all, it wasn't the hobbit's fault that he talked in his sleep! However, he had a nasty feeling—or was it a premonition?—that the tour would not be at all pleasant if this habit persisted. But this was not the time to be thinking of the horrors the future might hold...
"Okay." His face set in grim lines, Aragorn reached for the nearest bundle of blankets and began shaking it gently. "Come on," he cajoled in what he fervently hoped were cheerful tones—he was notoriously out of practice with those. "Time to get up now." Merrin rolled over, turning his back to Aragorn, and kept sleeping.
Aragorn gritted his teeth in frustration. Honestly, if it wasn't for that psychotic Gamgee fellow, he'd leave right now and let them take their chances with the Ringwraiths! But he got the very strong impression that good old Samwise would have his revenge if he abandoned the hobbits, and that said revenge would not be pretty.
"Come on, you stupid halfling," he grunted, shaking the hobbit's shoulder a little harder. There was no response. He tried again and this time got a reaction—in the form of a hard kick to the stomach.
By the time he had recovered, the object of his exertions was already fast asleep again and apparently oblivious to his efforts. "Right," Aragorn said again, much more loudly than he had intended to. Turning to the room at large, he announced in his best calm voice, "If you don't get up, I'm going to murder someone."
"There isn't going to be any murderin' around here if I have anything to say about it!" said a voice that he recognized immediately as that of Samwise Gamgee the four-foot tyrant. "Especially not of Mr. Frodo," the hobbit added, glaring protectively at Aragorn. "Nobody murders Mr. Frodo without my consent."
"Tha's righ', Sam," Frodo muttered sleepily. "You tell 'im." Aragorn stared at Sam for a long moment, trying to make the hobbit blink. It didn't work.
At last he squared his shoulders, turned to the two remaining hobbits, who were still blissfully asleep, and prepared to try once more. "Oy, hobbits! Wake up, already!" he yelled, forgetting for the moment that there might be unfriendly folk about who could hear him.
Nothing happened. Aragorn took several deep breaths through his nose, fixing the sleeping hobbits with his most frightening glare. "What...is...wrong...with...you?" he asked them, forcing the words out slowly and calmly. It took a great effort of will not to go into screaming hysterics—he had never met anyone who could sleep through his most frightening glare.
Sam shrugged. "Them? Oh, nothing much. Just have to know how to go about it." Turning to face the comatose Merryn and Pippi, he began talking to Frodo in a conversational tone. "Think we might have some breakfast, Mr. Frodo?"
"Oh, yes," said Frodo with a faint grin. "I think some eggs and sausages might do nicely for me. How about you, Sam?"
Nodding in agreement, Sam continued. "And to think we might have missed it if we'd slept any longer. No breakfast left over for lazy folk, isn't that right, Strider?" He nodded fiercely at Aragorn.
Taking his cue, Aragorn muttered, "Oh...er...yes. No breakfast, quite right." Sam rolled his eyes at this pathetic response, but their little dialogue had the desired effect.
"What about breakfast?" Mirry asked brightly, sitting bolt upright.
"Yes," said Peppin eagerly. "We haven't missed it, have we?"
"No, you haven't," Sam said tolerantly, smiling like a benevolent parent. "Plenty of breakfast to go 'round."
Aragorn felt he had to correct this mistaken impression. "There will be no breakfast," he announced sternly.
All movement in the room stopped.
Aragorn knew at once that he had said something very wrong. However, he wasn't about to back down—it was time to show these hobbits who was boss. He waited for the blow.
"What...did...you...say?" As he had expected, the first roar of rage came from Sam. The hobbit marched over to Aragorn and glowered up at him, his teeth bared. "I thought I heard you say there would be no breakfast, Mister Strider. I think I must have misunderstood you," Sam said dangerously. Aragorn could almost see the smoke coming from his ears.
Forcing a polite smile, Aragorn shook his head mock-apologetically. "Actually, no, Mister Gamgee. I did indeed say that there will be no breakfast. Of course I sympathize with your addiction—"
"Now look here!" Sam bellowed angrily, but Aragorn plowed on and ignored him.
"—but we simply don't have time for the elaborate ritual of breakfast. I'm sure you understand that time is of the essence." He smiled and tried not to look too triumphant at this small victory. Sam Gamgee might have won the battle for a free tour, but the war was just beginning...
Sam took a deep breath, then another. "All right," he said. "All right. No breakfast. But we'll have tea!" he snarled, wagging a finger angrily at Aragorn. "We'll have tea if it's the last thing I do, so help me."
"I'm sure we can have tea," Aragorn said pleasantly, bowing a little. Laying the respect on thick couldn't hurt, especially since he knew for a fact that there would be no tea either. In fact, if he had his way there would be no meals at all, but tour groups always insisted on at least a light snack. He would never understand tourists.
Frodo cleared his throat. "Um, Strider? Shouldn't we...leave...or something? Since the Ringwraiths are after us?"
"After you," Aragorn corrected. An irresistible idea struck him, and he quickly continued. "Actually, I could just leave right now and be none the worse for it and considerably safer." He half-rose from his chair, making as if to leave the room as threatened.
"Oh no you don't!" Sam growled, darting to the door and blocking Aragorn's way. Aragorn would never have suspected that someone of Sam's weight could move so fast. "You aren't goin' nowhere, Strider. Not if I can help it."
Aragorn had to suppress a smile. The hobbit was playing right into his hands...Quickly, he crossed the room using his most intimidating stride and towered over Sam, who somehow managed to gulp while glaring up at him defiantly. Then, despite his protests, Samwise Gamgee found himself hoisted into the air, his fat little legs dangling two feet above the ground.
"I am Aragorn son of Arathorn, Tour Guide of the North," Aragorn said to him conversationally. Sam squeaked. "And I will leave if and when I choose. However," he added generously, "if you promise to be on your very best behavior during the course of the entire tour, I may change my mind."
Frodo had gotten to his feet during this exchange, spluttering a little. "Now see here, Strider," he protested. "You can't do this!"
"Oh, can't I?" Aragorn grinned at him, tightening his grip on Sam's collar. Frodo went a little pale.
"Unhand my gardener!" he demanded, rushing to Aragorn's side. Aragorn smiled again.
"I'll name my terms, then." Frodo opened his mouth to say something suitably indignant, but Aragorn glanced meaningfully at Sam and he subsided. "One: there will be no agitating for meals of any kind, including midnight snacks. Especially midnight snacks. Two: you will unquestioningly follow any and all directions I give. Three: weapons are tools, not toys." Frodo gave him an odd look, but this term was serious—Aragorn had learned never to underestimate the stupidity of his customers.
There was silence for a moment. "Well?" Aragorn demanded, shaking Sam a little. "Is it a deal?"
"Deal," Frodo said flatly. Aragorn released Sam, who dropped to the floor with a thud, and hastily wiped his hand on his cloak to get rid of the hobbit cooties. Sam was up in a minute, glaring ferociously at Aragorn and rubbing his backside ruefully. Aragorn ignored him.
"So what now?" Frodo asked Aragorn rather coldly. "Do we leave?"
Aragorn surveyed the room one more time, noting that Mippin and Perry were up at last. Good. "Yes," he told Frodo. "In fact, we're leaving now."
Turning his back on the hobbits, he opened the door, looked both ways to make sure no attack was forthcoming, and strode out into the corridor. Frodo and the others scuttled after him, trying to keep up as he swept out the door of the Prancing Pony. Behind him, Aragorn heard Pirrin ask mournfully, "But what about the mushrooms?"
A/N: Okay, the Merry and Pippin thing is really getting on my nerves so I'm probably either going to stop it entirely or just stick with one set of misspellings. And I promise I'll try to update more quickly in the future. The thing is, I'm one of those people who aren't particularly good at multitasking but love to do it anyway, which means I'm working on about twenty stories at once and I'll actually forget about some of them for long periods of time. This is not a good thing and school doesn't help either. Still, I'll try to catch up on some of my neglected stuff. (I may be more inclined to do so if you review. Hint hint.)