Authors Note: A little bit of a short chapter, sorry! As always, thanks to
all my reviewers.
Chapter 6- A Short Stay at the Inn
They reached the village just as dusk was falling. Merry and Pippin made certain they shielded Sam from view as they proceeded down the road to an inn that Pippin knew of. They cast their hoods over their faces, but they didn't have to worry about being seen. All the hobbits of Tuckborough were safe inside their homes, for the evening air had a cold chill to it and there was a brisk breeze flitting around the street.
After a good half hour of riding, they reached the inn. Pippin cautiously peered through the windows, but it was not crowded, so one by one the three hobbits passed through the door.
"You go and sit in that corner over there," Merry whispered, nodding his head towards a small table at the far side of the room. "I'll get us something to drink and inquire about food and a room."
Pippin ushered Sam over to the table and he sat down, glad for the comfortable chair that eased his back. He stretched his legs out under the table and leaned back, suddenly feeling very tired. Just then Merry appeared, balancing three mugs of ale.
"Here you go," he said, putting one in front of Sam. "You'll forgive me for saying so, but you look like you need it."
"You're right there," Sam answered, taking a deep swallow of the ale. The taste was comforting and familiar to him, and reminded him of happy evenings in the Green Dragon.
Soon their food was bought over by a kindly hobbit who looked at them curiously before Merry bid him a polite 'Good evening'. The old hobbit had not seen travellers in his inn for many weeks, especially ones as old, and possible older, than him. As he walked away he shook his head slightly, trying to remember why he recognised their faces.
"Mighty strange, that's what it is," he said to himself as he absentmindedly dried a plate. "We haven't had any strange characters in these parts since those ruffians and old Sharkey from years back."
Meanwhile, the three hobbits were finishing their food in silence. They were all wearied from their journey and they still had many more miles to go. Merry and Pippin could feel the time when they had to say farewell to Sam creeping up on them, and they knew that the journey back would be sad and lonely without him.
The old hobbit showed them to their room, still looking at them thoughtfully. Sam could hardly find the energy to get undressed, yet when he was lying in his bed he found that he was still wide-awake. He kept thinking of their night at the Prancing Pony, and of how the years had flown by.
"An old hobbit, that's what you are now Samwise," he muttered to himself. He wished for a fleeting moment that he was young again, and that Frodo and Merry and Pippin were living happily with no hint of knowledge of the Ring, or of Sauron, and that Rosie was alive, and his old Gaffer was still living in Bagshot Row.
"There's no use wishing Sam," he told himself sternly, pushing aside his thoughts. "For no one can turn back time, not even the Elves."
And although he knew that he could not go back, a small part of him wished that he could. It was that small part of him that was still living in Bagshot Row with the Gaffer, gardening for Mister Frodo and just listening to old Bilbo's stories, not living them.
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Chapter 6- A Short Stay at the Inn
They reached the village just as dusk was falling. Merry and Pippin made certain they shielded Sam from view as they proceeded down the road to an inn that Pippin knew of. They cast their hoods over their faces, but they didn't have to worry about being seen. All the hobbits of Tuckborough were safe inside their homes, for the evening air had a cold chill to it and there was a brisk breeze flitting around the street.
After a good half hour of riding, they reached the inn. Pippin cautiously peered through the windows, but it was not crowded, so one by one the three hobbits passed through the door.
"You go and sit in that corner over there," Merry whispered, nodding his head towards a small table at the far side of the room. "I'll get us something to drink and inquire about food and a room."
Pippin ushered Sam over to the table and he sat down, glad for the comfortable chair that eased his back. He stretched his legs out under the table and leaned back, suddenly feeling very tired. Just then Merry appeared, balancing three mugs of ale.
"Here you go," he said, putting one in front of Sam. "You'll forgive me for saying so, but you look like you need it."
"You're right there," Sam answered, taking a deep swallow of the ale. The taste was comforting and familiar to him, and reminded him of happy evenings in the Green Dragon.
Soon their food was bought over by a kindly hobbit who looked at them curiously before Merry bid him a polite 'Good evening'. The old hobbit had not seen travellers in his inn for many weeks, especially ones as old, and possible older, than him. As he walked away he shook his head slightly, trying to remember why he recognised their faces.
"Mighty strange, that's what it is," he said to himself as he absentmindedly dried a plate. "We haven't had any strange characters in these parts since those ruffians and old Sharkey from years back."
Meanwhile, the three hobbits were finishing their food in silence. They were all wearied from their journey and they still had many more miles to go. Merry and Pippin could feel the time when they had to say farewell to Sam creeping up on them, and they knew that the journey back would be sad and lonely without him.
The old hobbit showed them to their room, still looking at them thoughtfully. Sam could hardly find the energy to get undressed, yet when he was lying in his bed he found that he was still wide-awake. He kept thinking of their night at the Prancing Pony, and of how the years had flown by.
"An old hobbit, that's what you are now Samwise," he muttered to himself. He wished for a fleeting moment that he was young again, and that Frodo and Merry and Pippin were living happily with no hint of knowledge of the Ring, or of Sauron, and that Rosie was alive, and his old Gaffer was still living in Bagshot Row.
"There's no use wishing Sam," he told himself sternly, pushing aside his thoughts. "For no one can turn back time, not even the Elves."
And although he knew that he could not go back, a small part of him wished that he could. It was that small part of him that was still living in Bagshot Row with the Gaffer, gardening for Mister Frodo and just listening to old Bilbo's stories, not living them.
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