Lodgings at Bree

Four Hobbits scuttle across the road from the Ferry and arrive at Bree, looking like drowned rats, in the pouring rain. They knock on the gate. Guard answers. Seeing no one at the window, he opens the lower window.

Frodo: *miffed* Men and their stupid high doors...stupid low window looks like a stupid dog-door!

Guard: What do you want?

Frodo: *still miffed but trying to be polite to the greasy Human* We are headed for the Prancing Pony.

Guard: Hobbits. Four Hobbits!

Merry: Yes, we know what we are! Get ON with it!

Guard: *peeved that his musing has been interrupted* Humph! Fine, then-what business brings you to Bree?

Frodo: We wish to stay at the inn, and our business is none of your business, so there! *sticks tongue out*

Guard: @#$#%$#@!!! 

The Hobbits, having managed to drive the gatekeeper to profanity in two easy minutes, run as fast as their Hobbitty legs will take them, all the way to the inn.

Inside The Prancing Pony

Frodo: Excuse me?

Barliman: Good evening, little masters. If you're seeking accommodation, we have some cozy Hobbit-sized rooms available, Mr...?

Frodo: Underhill. My name's Underhill. We're friends of Gandalf the Grey.

Merry: *under his breath* We are? Friends!?

Frodo: *poking Merry with his elbow* Would you tell him we've arrived?

Barliman: Gandalf?

Frodo: Gandalf.

Barliman: Gandalf?

Frodo: YES, GANDALF!! Urgh, Men!

Barliman: Oh, yes, I remember. Elderly chap, big grey beard, pointy hat.

Frodo: Yeah, that's him!

Barliman: Haven't seen him in six months.

Frodo: *pauses, looking downcast* Darn. See, I knew we should have run faster! Now we're six months late!

Merry: *bonks Frodo* He means Gandalf hasn't gotten here yet, idjit!

Sam: *bonks Merry indignantly* Hands off, that's my Frodo, not yours!

Pippin: *bonks Sam indignantly* Ditto to you! Only-*thinks a minute*-Put 'Merry' in instead of 'Frodo'. I don't really want Frodo...

Sam, insulted that anyone could not want Frodo, bonks Pippin. Pippin bonks him back, so on, so on, huge barroom brawl begins, and a great big piece of film has to be cut out.

Sam: *nursing his head* So, what do we do now?

Frodo: Put an icepack on it, that ought to work...

Sam: NO, I meant about Gandalf!

Frodo: Oh! Don't worry, Sam. He'll be here.

Sam: Yeah, sure, but when? Sometime next Age? Stupid late wizards...

Frodo: *absently* Gandalf said wizards are never late...And besides, the Fourth Age starts next year, so we won't have to wait so very long anyway.

Sam: Gandalf said wizards are never late because he IS one. And wait, how do you know the Fourth Age starts next year?

Frodo: *loftily* I have seen it...

Sam: *bewildered* Come again?

Frodo: *grins* Sorry, I couldn't resist. No, actually, I went to visit Saruman on Monday, and hey, did you know he's turned evil, and now he's got this palantir thing you can see stuff in? Oh, wait. I probably should've told Gandalf that before he went there...Oh, well. I'll tell him next time.

Merry sits down next to Pippin, across the table from Sam and Frodo, who's still babbling inanely.

Pippin: What's that?

Merry: This, my friend, is a pint.

Pippin: It comes in pints? I'm getting one.

Sam: You've had a whole half already!

Pippin goes to the bar for his pint. Sam looks back at a man in the corner.

Sam: *to Frodo, somewhat proudly* That man's done nothing but stare at you since we came in.

Frodo stops the innkeeper.

Frodo: Excuse me. That man in the corner, who is he?

Barliman: He's one of them Rangers. Dangerous folk, they are, wandering the wilds. What his right name is I've never heard, but round here he's known as Strider.

Frodo: *slowly* Strider...Wow, that's a cool name! Hey, why can't I have a cool name like that? Frodo. I mean, what were Mum and Dad THINKING! Isn't it bad enough that Dad had to have a gross name like Drogo without giving ME one like it!?

The Ring tries again to get Frodo to put it on, whispering Baggins, Baggins.

Ring: Yeah, and your last name is just as gross. Baggins!? Sounds like some old dolt...

Frodo: What, you mean like Bilbo?

Ring: Uh...Yeah, sure! Just like that. You don't want to turn out like that, do you? Well, put me on, and I'll give you a new, cool name!

Pippin: Baggins? Sure I know a Baggins-Frodo Baggins, over there. He's my second cousin, once removed on his Mother's side.

Frodo runs toward Pippin, at the bar, afraid that he will become the laughingstock of the entire town if Pippin begins handing his name out to everyone.

Frodo: Pippin!

Pippin: Steady on!

Frodo trips, the Ring falls on his finger. The Nine are sucked irresistably towards Bree as Frodo sees the Eye for the first time. Coming face-to-Eye with the disembodied epitome of ultimate evil naturally frightens him, so he takes off the Ring as fast as he can. Unfortunately, this renders him visible again, and he is dragged up the inn stairs by Strider before the Nine can hit Bree.

Strider: You draw far too much attention to yourself, Mr. Underhill.

Strider tosses his Hobbitty armful on the floor, admires the view for a moment, then remembers Arwen before he can get any really neat ideas. He goes to snuff out the candles instead.

Frodo: What do you want?

Strider: A little more caution from you, that is no trinket you carry.

Frodo: I carry nothing.

Strider: Indeed? Then what was that in the air a moment ago? Uhh, I mean...*tries to cover his mistake* I can avoid being seen if I wish, but to disappear entirely - that is a rare gift.

Frodo: Who are you? And why were you checking out my rear?!

Strider: *ignoring the second question* Um...I dunno, who am I? Yesterday I think I was Aragorn, but today I'm Strider and tomorrow I'll probably be something else. *thinks about it, decides it isn't really important and changes subject* Are you frightened?

Frodo: *also forgetting the second question, now officially freaked out* Yes.

Strider: Not nearly frightened enough. I know what hunts you.

The three Hobbits come in, threatening Strider if he has hurt Frodo.

Strider: You have a stout heart, little Hobbit. *steps back suddenly and takes a good look at Sam* Well, actually, you're pretty stout all around. But none of that stuff can save you. Face it, Frodo, the wizard's late again. Who knows when he'll get here. You can't wait up for him anymore. They are coming.

Four of the Nine arrive at Bree, ramming their poor horses right through the gate, which bounces oddly as it squashes the nosy gatekeeper. They find the room where Hobbits appear to be sleeping and slash them to ribbons, becoming shriekingly incensed when they find they have been tricked. Frodo is awake already, watching Strider watching out the window. The others wake at the noise.

Frodo: What are they?

Strider: They were once men. Great kings of men, and then Sauron the Deceiver gave them nine Rings of power, and, blinded by their greed, they took them without question, one by one falling into darkness. Now they are slaves to his will. They are the Nazgul, Ringwraiths, neither living nor dead. At all times they feel the presence of the Ring, drawn to the power of the One. They will never stop hunting you.

Pippin: *looking impressed* Cool! He's even more pessimistic than Gandalf!

Sam, Merry and Frodo agree, but do not think it wise to be as vocal as Pippin.

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GRRRRH! This is mostly dolphin's work; the only thing I did, really, is the choppy bit with the gatekeeper! I've been concentrating so hard on writing out the storyplot of an epic-length mpreg for the mailing list that I've hardly touched ART!

Why do all my original stories end up being so LONG? I never manage to finish them because they never seem to END. Double GRRRRH!

dolphin's pouting because there are hardly any reviews on his new story, Lost and Found, btw. Be nice and review it for the poor thing-the link is in my Favourite Stories section. dolphin's also written some very good poetry, should anyone be interested-HINT, HINT!