AN: Dude, Scylla's revenge, thank you so much for all your reviews! I'm sorry you also got harassed but the LotR community is a strong one and we'll get through it. Also the bad wine is a fun reference to Middle Earth being written as sort of a pastoral England, and their wine has historically been terrible except for the Medieval Warm Period, when it was good enough to be imported to France. Therefore, nearly undrinkable wine.
Chapter 25: The Prancing Pony
One night I was sure I saw a few hobbits scurry across the road, but considering that I'm nearsighted it could've been a herd of hares. That was the most exciting thing to happen for days.
We made it about a week between the fork in the road and picking up a hanger on. For an hour I wasn't sure what made me uneasy, even wondering briefly if the locals were right about the South Downs being haunted before I shook off the ludicrous thought. Then I glanced up and saw a blur of a moving face in the treetops, a ranger purposefully showing himself to assure me. Having a friend near was comforting despite that I didn't know which one; I relaxed in the saddle.
Meanwhile Boromir stayed uneasy, a foreigner in a deserted land who knew he was being watched. "I thought that bandits would have tried us before now," he said in a low voice.
The worry was understandable so I smiled and patted his hand. "They know Gander, Damascus, and me very well, and while you're obviously rich, you're also very well armed," I told him, reminiscing fondly on my various scrapes over the years, "And besides, we have a friend with us."
It only made Boromir look more worried. Looking back at my phrasing, I nearly smacked myself for sounding like a child in a horror movie. "Don't worry. Just know that we have our own rangers, and our own evils that they fight," I told him, "They're friends to us in Tharbad. Kali married a ranger."
I was forcibly reminded of Faramir when a figure jumped down from a tree ahead of us, face shadowed by a deep hood and clothing too stained to be identifiable by anyone unfamiliar. He was heavily armed with a bow, quiver, sword, and at least two daggers, a real threat if he chose to attack. For a long moment he simply stood where he had dropped near our stopped steeds.
Boromir automatically went for his sword but thankfully didn't draw.
"Hey hey," I called with a lazy grin, "You've been out here a bit longer than planned, haven't you?" I grinned at his uncomfortable squirm.
He flipped his hood down. "There has been ever greater need of hands and swords as days grow dark," Beornraed replied with a sardonic smile, "Always calling a man away from that which gives him most joy. How are Kali and the baby?"
"They're excellent, Garia is already getting into everything," I told him happily, "They miss you, of course, but they get it." Kali more than most understood what the rangers did; our midwifery work took us to places that only rangers kept reasonably safe. Garia would learn when it was time. Their patience with Beornraed's long absences frankly astounded me so of course I added, "Better get back soon or Garia might grow up speaking English. Or Hindi."
Like that was a fate worse than death, Beornraed shuddered dramatically. "I was thankfully on my way south anyway when you passed through bandit territory that has been unusually active. Kali would be more angry if I left you in bandit territory than if I were a day late home, so I've been escorting you," he explained quite accurately, "Might I ask of your companion?" He nodded respectfully to Boromir.
The gesture was returned much more cautiously. "I am Boromir of Gondor. Cass's husband," he introduced.
With an examining glance, the quirk of a brow, a curl of the lip, Beornraed essentially said wordlessly, "Not a bad choice." His actual words were more like, "Well met, Boromir! What brings you so far, even past Tharbad?"
I trusted Beornraed and we might need his help, but some things are best kept to ourselves. "He has an errand from his father, the Steward, to Imladris and I'm basically his guide to Bree, then along for the ride. Kali will tell you more at home. Is there anything on the road ahead?" I asked.
He shook his head. "In three or four hours you will be out of any trouble from bandits, and beyond that the road is fuller of wolves and things that prowl in the night than I ever remember. Yet you should be safe; they do not go for those who are armed and horsed, yet." The last word said as much as the rest of his sentence; the journey would only grow more dangerous as we went.
I glanced at Boromir to see that he very much got the message. His brow was pinched and eyes thoughtful as he considered the new information.
"Is anybody in Bree who might be able to show us the rest of the way?" I then questioned hopefully. If anyone knew the apparently long lost road, it would be the rangers.
For a long moment Beornraed thought. "Perhaps the one you call Strider will be there, but I can not say for sure. His mood has been strange and dark as of late," he warned, "There is something afoot yet I do not know what. Be careful." His eyes slid quickly from Boromir to me and he quirked a brow.
I gave him an impish smile and waggled brows that I didn't feel to reassure him. We quickly said our goodbyes and parted ways, him disappearing seamlessly into the foliage beside us. Boromir and I trotted onward.
"If Strider is worried, there's definitely something to worry about," I told Boromir with pursed lips, suddenly much more aware of our surroundings, "He's been out here for decades and seen everything."
"Is he another ranger?" Boromir asked quietly.
"Mhm. The first besides your brother that I ever met," I confirmed.
That was more than enough to cement Strider's skill as a warrior in Boromir's mind; he nodded thoughtfully. "Rangers know many hidden ways. Hopefully he will know the one we seek," he said.
There was no trouble with bandits. We weren't carrying much and were well armed, and they most definitely remembered Damascus's hooves. Or perhaps they were being terrorized by the things that howled in the night just as much as innocent travelers were.
Whatever was going on, all that bothered us was a fox that scratched up my bag trying to get into it one night. We made the gates of Bree on a crisp morning in late September.
"Good time. It would've taken another week with the wagons," I told Boromir as I waved cheerily to the scowling gatekeeper, just to annoy the man.
My dear husband eyed the small half timbered and stone buildings curiously, the people with interest. When several small children ran across the road in front of us, shouting about imaginary villains, he smiled broadly at them. "Some things are the same everywhere, aren't they?" he asked and resumed our slow trek through the main street.
"The nature of children is one thing that never changes," I promised him. Rosie and Aaron were proof, millions of years later but still playing the same games even back in the States.
A brief pang of homesickness went through me.
I drove it out by pointing out the Prancing Pony. "The best known inn north of Tharbad and west of the mountains," I declared.
At first Boromir was agreeable to staying there, even paying the fee for stable space. I didn't trust Damascus to accept a relative stranger handling her so I took her in and made her comfortable in her stall myself. In the next stall over Boromir cared for Dasher, having left his previous horse for the caravan to return to Rohan. With them stayed Gander since he was banned from the establishment after he bit a man who grabbed my ass last year, settling down with Damascus and a whine.
Thankfully not much ever happened in the Prancing Pony before noon, so it was quiet when we finally entered with our bags. "Hello Barliman," I told the yawning barkeep, "Do you have a twin room we can have for the night?"
He blinked slowly at me, then up at Boromir. His eyes went wide as they darted from Boromir's face to gold thread on his expensive scarlet tunic to the rim of the large shield that peeked over his right shoulder. "A twin room?" he repeated.
"Mhm, a room with two beds," I confirmed, a touch condescending, "Do you have one we can rent for the night?"
Suddenly he got his usual bustle back. "That we do, Miss Cass. Are you staying one night, or the usual three? Does your family need rooms also?" he asked in rapid succession as he checked the ledger.
"This time it's just us, and perhaps tomorrow too but no more than that," I answered quickly, "Has Strider been in?"
As always, a fearful cast went over Barliman's face before he rallied. "I don't see why you keep up with those rangers always skulking about, up to no good, but I suppose that's your business and not mine," he said frankly, ever unaware and unappreciative.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Boromir go tense.
Before anything could be said that would require too much information to be given, I replied to Barliman, "That's right, it is my business alone. Now, has he been around or not?" I smiled expectantly at him.
"Been skulking around for a fortnight now, not every night but close to it," Barliman answered with a quick glance at the door as if talking about Strider would summon him, "I don't doubt he'll be in tonight as well, making some corner all dark and cheerless with his foul mood lately. Been snappish and curt- more than usual at any rate- and it's been making the guests nervous. Can you do anything about it?"
The mere idea made me scoff loud enough to hurt my throat. "I dunno what's going on, but I'll find out. Now how much do I owe you for the room?" I questioned, steering us back onto business.
It was the same room as Electra and I used the last time we were in Bree so we didn't have to wait for Barliman to plod over; we slipped up the stairs while he was dealing with the ledger. It was a small room as they all were, decently comfortable but nothing to write home about.
"Why is there such disrespect for their own protectors?" Boromir demanded once we had some kind of privacy, "Anyone in Gondor who spoke thus would be in the stocks for an hour!"
I dropped my bag onto the chair near the window. "They don't know what the rangers do for them, and the rangers prefer it that way. Hopefully they'll never have to know," I said with a shrug, "These are simple people. In places like this, Gondor is a name on a map and Mordor is a tale to frighten children into behaving well."
The concept made Boromir stop short for a long moment. "How strange," he murmured and began to unpack the necessities. His tone was odd but I didn't press; we were both tired and looking forward to the benefits of civilization.
A memory flashed through my mind, his wonder and longing at my ignorance of the world he grew up in. Now he knew that it wasn't only my strange family who were clueless about the real evils of the world. "It's a totally different world up here," I said bracingly, "Don't worry, we'll find this Imladris place. Even if we've gotta follow the river the whole way."
It got me a shadow of a smile. "That, I never had doubt in," he told me.
For a few hours we napped and managed to get up just in time for lunch, today a good venison stew with lots of garden produce and potatoes. The common room began to get lively and several polite questions were asked of us, mostly about Boromir since no one had ever seen him before. Once he mentioned Minas Tirith and Gondor, that was simply too far away for most people to care about and only the very curious were left talking with us at the end of our meal.
All the while I was on a lookout for the weather-stained cloaks of the rangers, but saw none. I was admittedly a bit disappointed when we went out to purchase provisions and found only Breelanders.
That changed close to dinnertime when I spotted a familiar figure, cloaked and with his hood up, looking very suspicious and rascally indeed in his dark corner. His pipe sometimes lit up his eyes when it flared and created an unattractive cloud of smoke around his head. When I tilted my chin up in greeting, he nodded his head.
"There in the corner is the bloke we need directions from," I told Boromir, who had been watching as always in this new place.
Shortly Boromir also nodded in greeting, receiving the same. "He looks like trouble," he murmured into my hair.
"He's good trouble," I assured him, meeting Strider's eyes and then flickering mine up to the ceiling and back.
While Strider made no sign, he very deliberately kept eye contact for a few seconds before going for a drink from his tankard.
It was less than five minutes between getting to our room and Strider knocking. "You wished to see me privately?" he asked in that soft voice, hood still up.
"If anyone would be able to give us directions to this place called Imladris, it would be you. Can you?" I asked bluntly.
It was subtle, but Strider went a bit stiff. "Imladris?" he breathed.
"Mhm. This is Boromir," I introduced with all accompanying gestures, "He's on an errand there from Minas Tirith."
For a long moment, Strider thought. "This is a very long way to travel for an errand of any kind," he said pointedly; he wanted to know why we were headed there.
So I repeated part of the dream we had: "Seek the sword that was broken: in Imladris it dwells; There shall be councils taken stronger than Morgul-spells." The rest I intended to keep to myself, just in case. No reason to alarm a dude if I didn't need to.
"It was part of a dream that my brother, wife, and I have all had. I need to know the meaning of it," Boromir explained, very quickly glancing at me upon mention.
Again, a lengthy pause. Under his hood I barely saw Strider scrutinize Boromir, then me, closely. "I have a mission of my own that may lead me there soon, if neither of you has seen Gandalf on the way here," he said heavily, "I may need assistance."
Gandalf? The grandfatherly, Dumbledore-ish old man that passed through Tharbad occasionally? "I haven't seen him in months, since he headed south in a hurry," I answered.
"It has been several years since I have seen Mithrandir," Boromir replied, "I doubt that we can make up for a wizard's absence, yet if you can bring us to Imladris then we will do what we can to aid you."
In my head, I scoffed at the idea of that nice, clever old man being a wizard. Magic isn't real.
Right?
Quickly Strider checked that no one was lingering outside before he whispered, "If fortune is with us, there will be a hobbit-" for Boromir's benefit he added, "a halfling," before continuing, " who will come from the Shire in the next few days. He will go by the name Underhill. He needs to be brought to Imladris with all haste, in all secrecy. Can you assist me?"
A sharp pang went through my head. The halfling forth shall stand, I repeated mentally.
Yes, this was exactly where we needed to be. "I think that can be arranged," I told Strider breezily, "You stay in your corner and we'll mingle?"
Agreement made, Strider left like a wisp of shadow.
"Are you certain that he is trustworthy?" Boromir asked now that we were alone, one eye on the door.
"Oh yes. God only knows how many times he's saved my ass in one way or another," I assured him and let myself creep an arm around his waist above his sword belt, "Nobody knows these lands like the rangers and he's the best of all of them."
"Even Matthew?" Boromir questioned, a teasing glimmer in his eye.
As much as I hated to admit it… "Here and now, yes," I said, to his visible surprise, "Besides, Matt's in the Eastfold these days, not a ranger."
I got a good whiff of Boromir when he lifted an arm to put it around my shoulders and my nose wrinkled. "I call first bath," I told him despite making no move to escape the travel-funk.
"Then I'll have dinner and look for this mysterious halfling of your friend's," Boromir replied, "Unless you need a door warden?"
Thankfully the washroom had a lock on the door, so I was able to shake my head. "Nah, I'll be fine. Let me know if anything happens." I squeezed Boromir against my side quickly before I began to gather my clothes.
"Do you think that this halfling is the one our dream was about?" Boromir asked while I was trying to locate my soap.
Lord, I hoped not. Doom would be a bit closer at hand than I was comfortable with, in that case. At the same time… "That would be a mighty coincidence. But perhaps that's all it is," I answered with an ambiguous shrug, "See you in a bit."
The bathtub itself I trusted as much as a Times Square toilet seat on New Year's Eve, so I stuck with my usual sponge bath while I pondered on this absurd quest I had gotten caught up in. If I somehow had the same exact dream as Boromir and his brother, then maybe there was something to this psychic bullshit. Or a higher power, which I liked much less.
And if this stuff was real, then maybe… Maybe, so was-
I jerked my thoughts away from that horrible dream and scrubbed a little harder. No, that wasn't real. It couldn't be. I'd go off my fucking trolley.
And now a hobbit, who may or may not bring doom. Of all the species on this green earth, they were the last I would've suspected. Now we had more confirmation in Strider's urgent request.
The further I got into this pile of weirdness, the less I liked it.
A sudden storm made the whole thing even more ominous, driving rain sending everyone inside. Especially into the pub, I noted when I finally finished cleaning up. The corners were filled with the usual unsavory characters, the tables with locals, and the booths with travelers; among them Butterbur and Bob scuttled every which way with trays and tankards.
I nodded to Strider in his especially dark and ominous corner.
He dipped his hooded head.
"Your turn for a bath," I told Boromir upon finding the booth he had taken up near the fire, "I can hold down the fort." I made a shooing motion at him and sat on the other side of the booth.
"If you insist," Boromir replied with a sort of fond exasperation.
"I do," I replied immediately and stole his tankard. On his way past he brushed his fingertips against my shoulder and when his pinky grazed my neck, I shivered. It's been way too long since I've been touched sensually.
Things were going well here, I thought optimistically. This trip was probably the longest time we had spent together; we were getting to know each other again and I liked what I was seeing: stubborn, chivalrous, brave. He was a bit of a meathead and wouldn't tell me any of the rude jokes but I could live with that easily.
A familiar group of dwarves passed the table and I lifted my stolen pint.
"You're a few weeks early. Is trading going well?" Magni asked politely as he and his fellow dwarves stopped to talk.
"It's going plenty well, even with all the trouble on the roads. And your own works?" I replied, remembering the haul of rare hardwoods we had brought north last time and how quickly it had been bought out.
His expression went dark. "It grows ever more difficult to find quality materials in these parts! If not for your caravan, I would think of moving east to the Lonely Mountain!" he complained. His fellows muttered agreements under their breath.
"Glad to hear that we're being helpful. There should be a caravan coming on time with more hardwood and spices," I informed them, "I didn't bring anything with me except the husband, sorry." I shrugged and grinned a little sheepishly at them.
At that moment I heard the name Underhill, just barely, from the bar. "Excuse me, please," I told the dwarves, distracted from their expressions of surprised acceptance, as I left the booth. In a bid to look casual I downed the last of Boromir's ale while I walked over to the bar not far from where Barliman was handling four soaked hobbits.
While I waited to order an unwanted refill, I listened in on Mr Underhill asking for Gandalf only to be told that he hasn't been seen here in months. The hobbits conferred amongst themselves and I gave Strider a long look to catch his attention, then glanced at the four hobbits and back.
With a barely visible nod, Strider settled further into his corner to watch.
The moment Barliman was free I pestered him for another ale purely because I was terrified of the water quality around here, always with one eye on the hobbits as they claimed a table. For good measure I also ordered a beer for Boromir and dinner for both of us; if there was shit going down, we should at least be well fed for it.
When Boromir returned, fully scrubbed, I slid his ale over to him. "We've got the hobbits we're looking for. Now we just need to follow Strider's lead," I told him in a low voice.
"Hobbits?" Boromir asked, emphasis on the last letter, "More than one?" Subtly he glanced around the room under the guise of dealing with his wet hair.
"Four of them. Next row over, third table from the left," I murmured.
Dinner came, a perfectly acceptable bit of nutria with applesauce and potatoes. I was about halfway through when one of the hobbits went for a pint that made him look small by comparison. As soon as he brought it back, one of his friends marched to the bar and climbed up onto a seat to order.
"It's those hobbits who keep rearranging our stuff!" I hissed, eyeing the one at the bar and the one who had gotten his pint, "Annoying little buggers." Oh, I really hoped that they were staying on the road with their friends… A little payback was in order.
Of course I had to explain what I meant, and that really there was no harm done, but reaching for the hardtack and finding portable soup is a mite irritating. Just a mite. (More than a mite.)
At one point the hobbits noticed Strider staring at them and asked Barliman, whose testimony only made them appear warier as they clutched their half-pints. Was Strider trying to frighten them? He knew how to be stealthier than this!
There was a whisper not into my ear but into my mind somehow: "Baggins…" Irritated, I told the voice to fuck off, just like I did for those months after the grenades when I was slowly losing it.
Then the hobbit at the bar got loud enough for the whole tavern to hear: "Baggins? Sure I know a Baggins! That's Frodo Baggins!" He then pointed at his friends and began extrapolating how they were related.
Like there was some terrible secret in his name, the delicate looking hobbit sprang up in a panic and ran through the crowd to the bar. "Pippin!" he shouted.
"Steady on!" the other hobbit, Pippin, reprimanded as he was spun around on his stool and slopped his ale.
I couldn't quite see what happened, but the reactions of those surrounding said more than enough. There was a huge gasp that seemed to come from every mouth at once. Words like "gone" and "disappeared" babbled over each other.
I glanced over at Strider, who had finally moved. His pipe was put away in a trice and he left the booth, crouching down several feet from the hubbub to pick up the same hobbit by his shoulder. A harsh shove against a wall for a few words and then Strider was shoving him up the stairs.
The remaining hobbits rushed from their seats. One even took a stool up the stairs with them, though what that could accomplish I hadn't the foggiest.
Boromir and I exchanged looks. "I think that's who Strider was looking for," I said unnecessarily.
"Should we not follow them?" Boromir asked with clear concern.
Another sip of that awful ale. "Strider wouldn't hurt them for real," I said, shrugging, "But if you want to, we can see what's up."
In the hubbub of the magically vanishing hobbit, no one noticed Boromir and me exiting up the stairs. One can do an awful lot under the radar if they simply act like they're not doing anything odd.
"You have a stout heart, young hobbit. But that will not save you. They are coming," Strider was saying from an open door a few down from ours, tone dark.
I took the opportunity to poke my head in. "Hello, all," I greeted the room at large, especially the startled hobbits just inches inside, "Can I be nosy and ask what the hell's going on?" I aimed my bright, glittering smile at Strider.
A small sigh, and then he waved me in with a slightly dirty hand. His stance went a bit more rigid when he saw Boromir, just as the hobbits had done.
Carefully I made sure no one was snooping in the hallway before I closed the door. I didn't know what was happening but it was bound to be a bombshell.
Of course the hobbits were staring but I took no notice. The first sight is always the hardest. "Yes, I am hideous. No, I am not some agent of evil here to whisk you off to some dungeon," I told them with a roll of my eyes, enjoying the embarrassed pink on their faces, "I'm Cass van der Zee, from Tharbad. I believe two of you already know my supplies fairly well?" Pointedly I looked at Pippin and his friend in the yellow vest.
"Sorry. It was just a bit of fun," the other hobbit said sheepishly.
I shrugged it off, then asked Strider pointedly, "What the hell is going on here?"
Despite this being half a world away and much less fun, I was strongly reminded of when Boromir told me about Mordor. Was my face as pale as the hobbits'? Did I seem nearly so afraid as they were upon finding out what "Uncle Bilbo's magic ring" really was?
Occasionally my eyes would dart over to Boromir, who looked as shocked as I felt. When the phrase Isildur's Bane came up in my dream I had thought that it was the ring- what else could it logically be? Confirmation was something else.
As it was, the Doom soundtrack started playing in my head. Because we were that damn doomed. "So Mr Baggins has Sauron's ring, which corrupts everything and everyone around it, and the six of us need to get him through the wilds, past Sauron's most powerful servants who have an internal compass pointed directly at it, and to Rivendell-slash-Imladris," I summarized bluntly.
"Yes," Strider confirmed from his seat by the window.
"Fuck," I said eloquently.
Maybe I should've just stayed home after all.