The light from the blazing fireplace licked the walls, dancing with
shadows. The innkeeper was talking to a few dwarves and a couple of strange
looking men at that log-fire. Some of the men of Bree and most of the
collection of local hobbits had stopped their chattering to watch the three
hobbits that had just entered. Kathryn looked on curiously.
They introduced themselves to the quickly accumulating crowd as Master Underhill, Pippin Took and Sam Gamgee, and in turn were given the names of most of the people in the room. Underhill seemed the leader in their strange, and wet, party, but also the least talkative. After he had told the hobbits he was writing a book but did not proceed in start writing in right at that moment, he was relatively left alone, to the little place at the side of the room. The other two, Sam and Pippin were chatting gaily about events at their home; a place called the Shire. Kathryn had spent some of the summer last year guarding that place with a few Rangers, and knew that Bree seldom got travellers or news from there, now the Old Road between them was more dangerous.
Suddenly Underhill seemed to notice her attention, and at the same time they both realised that she was not the only one watching him so, a strange weather-beaten man was sitting in the shadows in the opposite corner, also listening intently to the talk. He had a tall tankard in front of him, and was smoking a long stemmed pipe. He was clad much like her - his high boots of leather were also worn and caked in mud, he was also swathed in dark- green weather stained cloth - two eyes gleamed from a shadowed face.
When the hobbit finally got the innkeeper's attention, he whispered something to him furtively but carefully.
"Them?" said Barliman, who could not be as quiet to avoid Kathryn's sharp ears, but doing his best by not turning his head to face them. "I don't rightly know. They both seem to be one of the wandering folk - Rangers we call them. He seldom talks: but she is always ready with a story to please us locals. They both disappear for months, or a year, and then pop up again. He was in and out pretty often last Spring, and I last saw her last Summer. What their real names are I've never heard: but he's known around here as Strider, and she as Fleetfoot. He goes about at a great pace on his long shanks; and she lightly and merrily at the same pace; but neither tells nobody what cause they have to hurry. But here's no accounting for East and West, as we say in Bree, meaning the Rangers and the Shire-folk, begging your pardon. Funny you should ask about him." At that moment Mr Butterbur was called away by a demand for more ale and his last remark remained unexplained to both Kathryn and Mr Underhill.
Strider seemed to also have heard, or at least, guessed all that had been said. By now Kathryn was suspecting that there was something out of the ordinary about Mr Underhill. Alert again, Kathryn saw Strider making a gesture to invite the hobbit over, Kathryn did not want to trust him with Underhill and so called merrily to him, a fairer and more appealing gesture than that of a wave of a hand.
"Hello, Mr Underhill, would you care a while to sit with me? Two is company as they say in Bree." She smiled.
The hobbit smiled faintly back, still a little suspicious, "I suppose but just a few moments." Then she realised her hood was still over her face. She threw it back. Almost immediately after she had done so, the hobbit seemed to relax, maybe it was the elven blood in her.
"I hear I have been introduced to you as the Ranger, Fleetfoot. Did you expect somewhat different to who you see before you?"
The hobbit shuffled uneasily, "If truth be told, yes, I expected someone a little more.ill-favoured in appearance." They both laughed a little, easing the tension. Kathryn pulled her hood back up and leaned back again.
Strider came into view, walking over to their table. "If I may speak with you, 'Fleetfoot'?" He asked with an angry edge to his voice.
Nodding Kathryn stood up, then turned to the hobbit and whispered quickly, "Now, Master Underhill, if I were you I should be careful, and keep an eye on your friends. Drink, fire, and chance-meetings are pleasant enough, but this isn't the Shire. There are queer folk about." She glanced meaningfully at Strider. The hobbit nodded hastily, blue eyes wide with fear, then hunched over his half-pint.
Kathryn sat over at the table Strider had been previously. "So what is it?" She resumed her gruff voice.
"Listen, kinsman, I don't know your business here, but this matter I have to deal with is important, stay away from the hobbit." His gleaming eyes pierced her. They seemed familiar.
"I will do as I like, Ranger. And if it means protecting the hobbit from the likes of you, then so be it!"
Strider snarled, "You do not understand! This is of the uttermost importance - it is imperative that I speak with him!" Kathryn looked at him doubtfully. He seemed to search for something to dissuade her. Then he said quietly, the words themselves working the fear. "The Nine are following him."
She gasped. "The Nine? I knew they were here but why would.?" Strider's attention had wandered from the conversation, and Kathryn followed his eyes until they were both staring at a certain Pippin Took. Due to a successful tale about a fat Mayor of the Michel Delving - and maybe also some drink - he had begun to tell a story about a hobbit called Bilbo's farewell party. "I can hardly see what you are so interested about. It is merely a harmless story." She murmured. But Mr Underhill was also looking alarmed, and annoyed. He was fidgeting, agitated, in his seat, seemingly trying to think of something to stop the tale. Kathryn's curiosity was further aroused.
"He better do something, quick!" Strider said, quietly. The hobbit jumped up and stood on a table, beginning to talk. Some of the hobbits looked at him and laughed and clapped, obviously thinking he had finally taken enough drink to talk to the rest of them. The poor Mr Underhill then blushed, looking embarrassed, and began toying with things in his pocket. He spoke a speech to thank them all, which made him even more flustered. Feeling his discomfiture, the audience began to shout, "A song! A song!" Underhill hit inspiration and began to oblige them.
It was a funny old song, about an inn on top of a hill, a cat that played the fiddle, and a cow jumping over the Man in the Moon. The hobbit was actually quite good at it, excepting his nervousness, but when he started it again - after a loud encore from the audience - something alarming happened. It all went well until the last verse, when the hobbit, drunk from his applause, tried to punctuate the line 'the cow jumped over the moon'. He jumped too far and fell, with an outcry of alarm from the crowd, hitting the ground as nothing. He had simply disappeared. There was silence, as everyone stared in amazement at the floor where he should have landed. Some called for Barliman, who hurried in and looked bewildered too. Everyone shunned Mr Underhill's two companions, Pippin and Sam. Three people left; the gatekeeper and a swarthy Bree-lander and squint-eyed southerner slipped out too.
Then Kathryn heard a shuffling noise beside her; she turned quickly, only to see the disappeared Underhill, reappear and not the least bit happy.
"Well?" said Strider. "Why did you do that? Worse than anything your friends could have said!" Obviously this Strider knew more about the hobbit than he had let on.
"I don't know what you mean!" the hobbit said feebly, Kathryn felt sorry for him.
"Oh yes, you do," answered Strider, "but we had better wait until the uproar has died down. Then, if you please, Mr Baggins, I should like a quiet word with you."
"What about?" said Mr Baggins, trying to ignore the use of what must have been his real name.
"A matter of importance - to us both. You may hear something to your advantage." answered Strider, glancing at Kathryn, annoyed, then looking the hobbit in the eye. "I'll talk to you later."
"And me also." Kathryn cried, but ruffled the small hobbit's curly brown hair comfortingly. "Here now, let's see if we can't clear up this mess you've fallen into." She allowed herself a chuckle.
Many patrons were grumbling about Mr Baggins's disappearance, in a circle round Barliman. "There must be a mistake." Barliman defended the young hobbit. "He must be in here somewhere."
"Well where is he now?" most of them cried.
"Here!" Kathryn called. "My apologies on the behaviour of young Mr Underhill here. But you should know how hobbits are very good at sneaking away at appropriate moments." Some of the men in the room nodded. "- Not that I would call that appropriate." A few of them chuckled. "- But he obviously was embarrassed about his slight mishap of falling off the table."
"Slight?" laughed one of the less dubious people.
"I don't even think even the most skilled hobbit could disappear like that." Shouted another.
"Really? It's quite easy, when people are watching the place they expect you to be, to hide amongst the crowd. Would you like me to demonstrate?" Kathryn asked.
"No!" Mr Butterbur cried. "No more tumbling over my tables tonight, thank you! I don't need anymore of my crockery broken!" At that point almost everyone laughed and it seemed apparent that Kathryn's excuse was mostly accepted.
When they had all resumed what they had been doing before the whole incident, the hobbit that Kathryn had just spoken for thanked her. "You saved a very serious situation, and I deeply thank you." He said, innocent blue eyes shining with gratitude.
"I sensed there was something worse than just tavern capers. Now. I think that you owe me a name at least, Mr 'Underhill'."
The hobbit smiled, "Alright, I'll meet you in the parlour a little later, where it's safer, hopefully before that man Strider arrives."
"Namárië an si (Farewell for now)." The elvish words spilled from her mouth ahead of her thinking. The hobbit looked startled, but he seemed to understand the words. A curious hobbit indeed, she thought, as he slid off the chair.
They introduced themselves to the quickly accumulating crowd as Master Underhill, Pippin Took and Sam Gamgee, and in turn were given the names of most of the people in the room. Underhill seemed the leader in their strange, and wet, party, but also the least talkative. After he had told the hobbits he was writing a book but did not proceed in start writing in right at that moment, he was relatively left alone, to the little place at the side of the room. The other two, Sam and Pippin were chatting gaily about events at their home; a place called the Shire. Kathryn had spent some of the summer last year guarding that place with a few Rangers, and knew that Bree seldom got travellers or news from there, now the Old Road between them was more dangerous.
Suddenly Underhill seemed to notice her attention, and at the same time they both realised that she was not the only one watching him so, a strange weather-beaten man was sitting in the shadows in the opposite corner, also listening intently to the talk. He had a tall tankard in front of him, and was smoking a long stemmed pipe. He was clad much like her - his high boots of leather were also worn and caked in mud, he was also swathed in dark- green weather stained cloth - two eyes gleamed from a shadowed face.
When the hobbit finally got the innkeeper's attention, he whispered something to him furtively but carefully.
"Them?" said Barliman, who could not be as quiet to avoid Kathryn's sharp ears, but doing his best by not turning his head to face them. "I don't rightly know. They both seem to be one of the wandering folk - Rangers we call them. He seldom talks: but she is always ready with a story to please us locals. They both disappear for months, or a year, and then pop up again. He was in and out pretty often last Spring, and I last saw her last Summer. What their real names are I've never heard: but he's known around here as Strider, and she as Fleetfoot. He goes about at a great pace on his long shanks; and she lightly and merrily at the same pace; but neither tells nobody what cause they have to hurry. But here's no accounting for East and West, as we say in Bree, meaning the Rangers and the Shire-folk, begging your pardon. Funny you should ask about him." At that moment Mr Butterbur was called away by a demand for more ale and his last remark remained unexplained to both Kathryn and Mr Underhill.
Strider seemed to also have heard, or at least, guessed all that had been said. By now Kathryn was suspecting that there was something out of the ordinary about Mr Underhill. Alert again, Kathryn saw Strider making a gesture to invite the hobbit over, Kathryn did not want to trust him with Underhill and so called merrily to him, a fairer and more appealing gesture than that of a wave of a hand.
"Hello, Mr Underhill, would you care a while to sit with me? Two is company as they say in Bree." She smiled.
The hobbit smiled faintly back, still a little suspicious, "I suppose but just a few moments." Then she realised her hood was still over her face. She threw it back. Almost immediately after she had done so, the hobbit seemed to relax, maybe it was the elven blood in her.
"I hear I have been introduced to you as the Ranger, Fleetfoot. Did you expect somewhat different to who you see before you?"
The hobbit shuffled uneasily, "If truth be told, yes, I expected someone a little more.ill-favoured in appearance." They both laughed a little, easing the tension. Kathryn pulled her hood back up and leaned back again.
Strider came into view, walking over to their table. "If I may speak with you, 'Fleetfoot'?" He asked with an angry edge to his voice.
Nodding Kathryn stood up, then turned to the hobbit and whispered quickly, "Now, Master Underhill, if I were you I should be careful, and keep an eye on your friends. Drink, fire, and chance-meetings are pleasant enough, but this isn't the Shire. There are queer folk about." She glanced meaningfully at Strider. The hobbit nodded hastily, blue eyes wide with fear, then hunched over his half-pint.
Kathryn sat over at the table Strider had been previously. "So what is it?" She resumed her gruff voice.
"Listen, kinsman, I don't know your business here, but this matter I have to deal with is important, stay away from the hobbit." His gleaming eyes pierced her. They seemed familiar.
"I will do as I like, Ranger. And if it means protecting the hobbit from the likes of you, then so be it!"
Strider snarled, "You do not understand! This is of the uttermost importance - it is imperative that I speak with him!" Kathryn looked at him doubtfully. He seemed to search for something to dissuade her. Then he said quietly, the words themselves working the fear. "The Nine are following him."
She gasped. "The Nine? I knew they were here but why would.?" Strider's attention had wandered from the conversation, and Kathryn followed his eyes until they were both staring at a certain Pippin Took. Due to a successful tale about a fat Mayor of the Michel Delving - and maybe also some drink - he had begun to tell a story about a hobbit called Bilbo's farewell party. "I can hardly see what you are so interested about. It is merely a harmless story." She murmured. But Mr Underhill was also looking alarmed, and annoyed. He was fidgeting, agitated, in his seat, seemingly trying to think of something to stop the tale. Kathryn's curiosity was further aroused.
"He better do something, quick!" Strider said, quietly. The hobbit jumped up and stood on a table, beginning to talk. Some of the hobbits looked at him and laughed and clapped, obviously thinking he had finally taken enough drink to talk to the rest of them. The poor Mr Underhill then blushed, looking embarrassed, and began toying with things in his pocket. He spoke a speech to thank them all, which made him even more flustered. Feeling his discomfiture, the audience began to shout, "A song! A song!" Underhill hit inspiration and began to oblige them.
It was a funny old song, about an inn on top of a hill, a cat that played the fiddle, and a cow jumping over the Man in the Moon. The hobbit was actually quite good at it, excepting his nervousness, but when he started it again - after a loud encore from the audience - something alarming happened. It all went well until the last verse, when the hobbit, drunk from his applause, tried to punctuate the line 'the cow jumped over the moon'. He jumped too far and fell, with an outcry of alarm from the crowd, hitting the ground as nothing. He had simply disappeared. There was silence, as everyone stared in amazement at the floor where he should have landed. Some called for Barliman, who hurried in and looked bewildered too. Everyone shunned Mr Underhill's two companions, Pippin and Sam. Three people left; the gatekeeper and a swarthy Bree-lander and squint-eyed southerner slipped out too.
Then Kathryn heard a shuffling noise beside her; she turned quickly, only to see the disappeared Underhill, reappear and not the least bit happy.
"Well?" said Strider. "Why did you do that? Worse than anything your friends could have said!" Obviously this Strider knew more about the hobbit than he had let on.
"I don't know what you mean!" the hobbit said feebly, Kathryn felt sorry for him.
"Oh yes, you do," answered Strider, "but we had better wait until the uproar has died down. Then, if you please, Mr Baggins, I should like a quiet word with you."
"What about?" said Mr Baggins, trying to ignore the use of what must have been his real name.
"A matter of importance - to us both. You may hear something to your advantage." answered Strider, glancing at Kathryn, annoyed, then looking the hobbit in the eye. "I'll talk to you later."
"And me also." Kathryn cried, but ruffled the small hobbit's curly brown hair comfortingly. "Here now, let's see if we can't clear up this mess you've fallen into." She allowed herself a chuckle.
Many patrons were grumbling about Mr Baggins's disappearance, in a circle round Barliman. "There must be a mistake." Barliman defended the young hobbit. "He must be in here somewhere."
"Well where is he now?" most of them cried.
"Here!" Kathryn called. "My apologies on the behaviour of young Mr Underhill here. But you should know how hobbits are very good at sneaking away at appropriate moments." Some of the men in the room nodded. "- Not that I would call that appropriate." A few of them chuckled. "- But he obviously was embarrassed about his slight mishap of falling off the table."
"Slight?" laughed one of the less dubious people.
"I don't even think even the most skilled hobbit could disappear like that." Shouted another.
"Really? It's quite easy, when people are watching the place they expect you to be, to hide amongst the crowd. Would you like me to demonstrate?" Kathryn asked.
"No!" Mr Butterbur cried. "No more tumbling over my tables tonight, thank you! I don't need anymore of my crockery broken!" At that point almost everyone laughed and it seemed apparent that Kathryn's excuse was mostly accepted.
When they had all resumed what they had been doing before the whole incident, the hobbit that Kathryn had just spoken for thanked her. "You saved a very serious situation, and I deeply thank you." He said, innocent blue eyes shining with gratitude.
"I sensed there was something worse than just tavern capers. Now. I think that you owe me a name at least, Mr 'Underhill'."
The hobbit smiled, "Alright, I'll meet you in the parlour a little later, where it's safer, hopefully before that man Strider arrives."
"Namárië an si (Farewell for now)." The elvish words spilled from her mouth ahead of her thinking. The hobbit looked startled, but he seemed to understand the words. A curious hobbit indeed, she thought, as he slid off the chair.