Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the new characters I've created. I
probably don't own Walker though...
The following scene was cut from the book and film because it was rubbish.
The Blue Pheasant
The common room of the Blue Pheasant inn was unusually quiet tonight. It was a Friday and one could normally expect raucous laughter, lively songs and the occasional sheep joke from the friendly locals. Tonight however, just a few regulars were huddled in a small group around the bar. They muttered in low voices amongst themselves, one of the braver hobbits poked his head up for a glance at the table by the fireplace, but it was only for a glance before the same hobbit hurriedly resumed his submissive gaze at the bar. "Still there", he whispered.
From behind the bar Abram sighed, but not too loudly. He was not going to make much money tonight. The Blue Pheasant was the last inn on the outskirts of the Shire, indeed the dark trees of the old forest could be seen swaying from the window, and as such a situated inn might expect, travellers often passed through. But the barmen had never seen strangers such as those nine who cast hooded shadows from the table by the fireplace. In all his years he'd served men, dwarfs and even the odd elf or two, but never anyone dressed all in black with no face. It was bad for business for sure, all his customers that night had either made a quick u-turn the moment they'd come in the door (one had actually screamed) or had rather awkwardly sat by the bar ordering one half at best. The main problem was that he just couldn't find the courage to ask the black cloaks to leave. Instead he had just polished his glasses to sheen.
"Watchsss out for the fatssss hobbit", rasped the nazgul with jam stains in his robes.
The other nazgul nodded in agreement sending grim shadows dancing across the room. "Jamsssss issss hard to get out"
"Yessss I will assssk Sauron for a new robe."
The other nazgul shifted doubtfully. Sauron's measly ness was famed throughout Mordor. After all this was the same dark lord who skimped so badly on armour that it was affecting his army's performance in the field. They had all heard orcs complain about their armour not fitting properly, or heard tales of chain mail falling to bits mid-battle, most orc swords were so old that they looked like gnarled bits of wood, but would Sauron fork out for new ones...no.
"I could do with new robesssss", rasped another nazgul, "look itsssss all fraying!"
Things were bad in Mordor at the moment, dungeon prices were rising, inflation was through the roof and to top it off Sauron was making cut- backs. The night wore on as the black riders discussed issues such as these, oblivious to a small group of increasingly nervous hobbits by the bar.
"Abram!" one of the locals hissed his name, "are you going to let them stay all night?"
"We//..er technically they haven't done anything to warrant throwing out.."
Abram suspected that all the present hobbits combined could not manage that.
"They give me the shivers" whispered Joni.
"Aye. There's defiantly something fell about them", said old Herny, who was the resident expert when it came to fell beasts.
"Do something Abram"
"Yeah c'mon they're spoiling the mood"
As if to emphasis this point, one of the black cloaks let out a succession of blood curdling hisses, startling the hobbits (two of which fell off their stools). The black cloaks paid them no heed though and continued they're strange conversation. It could have been their equivalent to laughter Abram supposed, but the noise had sent a chill to the very core of his soul. After some time Joni picked himself up off the floor. He was wide eyed with fear but Abram suspected he looked no better. "What we need..", said the terrified hobbit, "is a hero."
Bang. The door to the inn flew open. And there, outlined by the moonlight stood a ranger. Rangers were dangerous people every one knew, they roamed the wilds keeping evil away from the towns and villages, Abram could not have wished for a better visitor. The other hobbits also looked somewhat relieved and old Herny was smiling, he loved rangers, they knew a lot about fell beasts. Only the black cloaks seemed uninterested as the stranger walked into the inns light. He was tall with broad shoulders, although most of his figure was hidden by a rough brown travelling cloak. His face was shadowed by his hood but for an unshaved chin. As his cloaks shifted the hobbits saw a glimpse of a sword scabbard and tattered clothing that seemed patched together in several places. Rangers were often scruffy but what did one expect from someone who travelled the wilds? Anyone who underestimated them were fools. Abram suspected the black cloaks had done just that judging by their lack of interest. As the ranger moved up to the bar Abram recognised him as "Walker", what his real name was, no one knew, rangers had many names. To Herny's delight Walker took the stool next to him. "A pint of Ale", Walker said in his gruff voice. Abram reached for a gleaming metal pitcher, "Its always good to see rangers in here", he said as he worked the tap, "why they always see that no trouble comes to an inn", Abram gave a slight nod in the direction of the fireplace. Walker however seemed too preoccupied to notice. It was often like this with Walker Abram thought, he'd talk of his problems for a while and then move to his favourite corner for the rest of the night. No one was sure why he did this exactly, but everyone agreed he looked very enigmatic in his corner.
"We had another row", Walker said mournfully
Abram sighed. A little talk wouldn't hurt. Somewhere along the lines though, he would have to steer the conversation towards a certain group of faceless men by the fire.
"What was this one about?", said Abram in his best "understanding barman" voice.
"The usual", the ranger sniffed, "King this and Gondor that. She said if I didn't become a king by next year the marriage is off"
To this, several hobbits sucked in their breath. "I remember when my wife refused to move in with me until I fixed a leak in the roof", said old Herny.
"What did you do?"
"Well..I got the builders in. A good job they did too"
Walker considered this for a moment, then shook his head, "its not the same"
"Of course not", Abram agreed, "We've all had women demand things of us.", the hobbits nodded, "but becoming a king is a bit steep"
"yes. Its not as if I can just become a king like that!", annoyance crept into Walkers voice
No one suggested he find another girl. Abram had once done so, and Walker had come over all depressed at the prospect, and had gone into his corner prematurely and sniffled all night.
"She's trying to give me the sword of kings now", said Walker, "I don't want to be a king", he added hopelessly
"don't take it", Joni warned, "If you do she'll think you've agreed to become a king", to this the hobbits nodded and so did walker, if a little hesitantly.
"What if you became a captain or a lord of something?", Abram offered
Walker resignedly shook his head, "no..its a king or nothing", and with that he emptied the last of his ale and started to eye his regular corner.
Abram knew it was now or never, "Erm.Walker you know how rangers keep evil away.."
The ranger nodded vaguely while he stared into the corner of the room.
"and fell beasts", old Herny added.
"Well we have a problem with..er.. evil tonight. If you haven't noticed", he pointed.
Walker followed his gaze. "Agh!", he yelped, knocking his pitcher over with a clatter. "I'm off!"
Walker jumped up from his stool. Then just as quickly sat back down as one of the black cloaks turned its faceless gaze towards them. "sssssssssssssssss!", it hissed. The ranger and hobbits cowered in silence. The black cloak turned back to its companions.
Abram let out a sigh of relief, and by the sound of it he had not been the only one holding his breath. This was not the reaction he had hoped for. Walker was staring intently at his shoes and Abram thought he heard the man mutter "the nine". If a ranger could not help them who could? The group by the bar held its silence for another five minutes. At last Walker made to get up, but several desperate hands gripped him, "walker you're our last hope!", Abram whispered.
"I am?", The ranger stood for a moment while the hobbits held onto him. Slowly he lifted his head up, and for a moment Abram thought he saw pride twinkle in his dark eyes. He surveyed the frightened hobbits before him and then faced Abram. "Very well", his voice was leaden and had a grim finality about it, "I will rid you of these.things".
The hobbits released their hold as Walker fingered his sword. The tension was palpable. Abram winced as Walker turned towards the black cloaks. A fight in the Blue Pheasant! Was this, after all the best way to deal with the situation? Walker was certainly outnumbered...What if he lost? The other hobbits looked just as tense as Abram felt. Walker stalked closer to the black cloaks. "rangers can do anything", Joni whispered. Although to Abram it sounded as if he was trying to reassure himself. Then there was a crash which made the hobbits cringe in fear as Walker tripped over a stool. Three of the black ones turned to regard the ranger sprawled unmoving on the floor. Walker lay there, as still as the hobbits who watched, frozen in horror. Then, silently and smoothly the faceless ones turned away to continue they're unnatural conversation. Abram aloud himself to breath once more.
"Do you think he's unconscious?" whispered Joni
The hobbits continued to watch.
"There he moved!", Abram kept his voice as low as he could through the excitement.
The other hobbits leaned forwards on their stools. Old Herny nodded. "Aye, he just moved his head"
"He getting up!", Joni whispered, whooping silently
Walker had managed to get to his feet. The black cloaks were still oblivious. The ranger drew closer once more, if unsteadily. He was now at sword length from the nearest black cloak. To Abram the seconds that past seemed to stretch out for minutes as Walker slowly reached a hand beneath his travelling cloak. Even the fire seemed to have stopped flickering. The black cloaks monstrous shadows etched unmoving on the walls as if they too were holding their breath. Then Walker slowly brought his swordless hand back out. Silently he melted away from the black cloaks, towards the doors. The last few paces he broke into a run as he charged through into the night.
The hobbits were stunned.
"Did he just?", Joni began, open mouthed
"Bugger it", Old Herny swore
"Maybe he's got a plan. Maybe he's coming back with something.", one of the younger hobbits said hopefully
However they're hopes were dashed once more as out of the window the hobbits watched a ranger-shaped object receding into the moon lit distance...
Cowards. Abram thought sullenly as he polished the last ale tap. It was past midnight. The black cloaks were still here and the only hobbit in the room was now himself. They had all, one by one followed Walkers example. Cowards. Abram sighed to himself. At least the bar was looking good, the wood was gleaming dully in the firelight and behind that forty metal pitchers reflected his face. If I get murdered by these monsters he thought, at least people would say he kept a clean establishment. It wasn't much consolation.
The noise of stools dragging brought his head up. The black cloaks were standing now, heads brushing the roof, faceless gaze swallowing him. "Good.. Night", he croaked. Hoping against hope that they would leave. Then, wordlessly they turned as one and orderly filed out of the door. To his horror the last one stopped at the doorway and turned to look straight into him.
"Have yousssss seen any ringsssss of power?"
".er, no..no I haven't"
The black cloak stood basked in ethereal moonlight for a moment more, then it was gone. A few minutes later Abram sagged in relief as he watched from the window, nine fire eyed horses and their black riders gallop into the old forest.
The End
Next time: Tom Bombadil, maybe.
The following scene was cut from the book and film because it was rubbish.
The Blue Pheasant
The common room of the Blue Pheasant inn was unusually quiet tonight. It was a Friday and one could normally expect raucous laughter, lively songs and the occasional sheep joke from the friendly locals. Tonight however, just a few regulars were huddled in a small group around the bar. They muttered in low voices amongst themselves, one of the braver hobbits poked his head up for a glance at the table by the fireplace, but it was only for a glance before the same hobbit hurriedly resumed his submissive gaze at the bar. "Still there", he whispered.
From behind the bar Abram sighed, but not too loudly. He was not going to make much money tonight. The Blue Pheasant was the last inn on the outskirts of the Shire, indeed the dark trees of the old forest could be seen swaying from the window, and as such a situated inn might expect, travellers often passed through. But the barmen had never seen strangers such as those nine who cast hooded shadows from the table by the fireplace. In all his years he'd served men, dwarfs and even the odd elf or two, but never anyone dressed all in black with no face. It was bad for business for sure, all his customers that night had either made a quick u-turn the moment they'd come in the door (one had actually screamed) or had rather awkwardly sat by the bar ordering one half at best. The main problem was that he just couldn't find the courage to ask the black cloaks to leave. Instead he had just polished his glasses to sheen.
"Watchsss out for the fatssss hobbit", rasped the nazgul with jam stains in his robes.
The other nazgul nodded in agreement sending grim shadows dancing across the room. "Jamsssss issss hard to get out"
"Yessss I will assssk Sauron for a new robe."
The other nazgul shifted doubtfully. Sauron's measly ness was famed throughout Mordor. After all this was the same dark lord who skimped so badly on armour that it was affecting his army's performance in the field. They had all heard orcs complain about their armour not fitting properly, or heard tales of chain mail falling to bits mid-battle, most orc swords were so old that they looked like gnarled bits of wood, but would Sauron fork out for new ones...no.
"I could do with new robesssss", rasped another nazgul, "look itsssss all fraying!"
Things were bad in Mordor at the moment, dungeon prices were rising, inflation was through the roof and to top it off Sauron was making cut- backs. The night wore on as the black riders discussed issues such as these, oblivious to a small group of increasingly nervous hobbits by the bar.
"Abram!" one of the locals hissed his name, "are you going to let them stay all night?"
"We//..er technically they haven't done anything to warrant throwing out.."
Abram suspected that all the present hobbits combined could not manage that.
"They give me the shivers" whispered Joni.
"Aye. There's defiantly something fell about them", said old Herny, who was the resident expert when it came to fell beasts.
"Do something Abram"
"Yeah c'mon they're spoiling the mood"
As if to emphasis this point, one of the black cloaks let out a succession of blood curdling hisses, startling the hobbits (two of which fell off their stools). The black cloaks paid them no heed though and continued they're strange conversation. It could have been their equivalent to laughter Abram supposed, but the noise had sent a chill to the very core of his soul. After some time Joni picked himself up off the floor. He was wide eyed with fear but Abram suspected he looked no better. "What we need..", said the terrified hobbit, "is a hero."
Bang. The door to the inn flew open. And there, outlined by the moonlight stood a ranger. Rangers were dangerous people every one knew, they roamed the wilds keeping evil away from the towns and villages, Abram could not have wished for a better visitor. The other hobbits also looked somewhat relieved and old Herny was smiling, he loved rangers, they knew a lot about fell beasts. Only the black cloaks seemed uninterested as the stranger walked into the inns light. He was tall with broad shoulders, although most of his figure was hidden by a rough brown travelling cloak. His face was shadowed by his hood but for an unshaved chin. As his cloaks shifted the hobbits saw a glimpse of a sword scabbard and tattered clothing that seemed patched together in several places. Rangers were often scruffy but what did one expect from someone who travelled the wilds? Anyone who underestimated them were fools. Abram suspected the black cloaks had done just that judging by their lack of interest. As the ranger moved up to the bar Abram recognised him as "Walker", what his real name was, no one knew, rangers had many names. To Herny's delight Walker took the stool next to him. "A pint of Ale", Walker said in his gruff voice. Abram reached for a gleaming metal pitcher, "Its always good to see rangers in here", he said as he worked the tap, "why they always see that no trouble comes to an inn", Abram gave a slight nod in the direction of the fireplace. Walker however seemed too preoccupied to notice. It was often like this with Walker Abram thought, he'd talk of his problems for a while and then move to his favourite corner for the rest of the night. No one was sure why he did this exactly, but everyone agreed he looked very enigmatic in his corner.
"We had another row", Walker said mournfully
Abram sighed. A little talk wouldn't hurt. Somewhere along the lines though, he would have to steer the conversation towards a certain group of faceless men by the fire.
"What was this one about?", said Abram in his best "understanding barman" voice.
"The usual", the ranger sniffed, "King this and Gondor that. She said if I didn't become a king by next year the marriage is off"
To this, several hobbits sucked in their breath. "I remember when my wife refused to move in with me until I fixed a leak in the roof", said old Herny.
"What did you do?"
"Well..I got the builders in. A good job they did too"
Walker considered this for a moment, then shook his head, "its not the same"
"Of course not", Abram agreed, "We've all had women demand things of us.", the hobbits nodded, "but becoming a king is a bit steep"
"yes. Its not as if I can just become a king like that!", annoyance crept into Walkers voice
No one suggested he find another girl. Abram had once done so, and Walker had come over all depressed at the prospect, and had gone into his corner prematurely and sniffled all night.
"She's trying to give me the sword of kings now", said Walker, "I don't want to be a king", he added hopelessly
"don't take it", Joni warned, "If you do she'll think you've agreed to become a king", to this the hobbits nodded and so did walker, if a little hesitantly.
"What if you became a captain or a lord of something?", Abram offered
Walker resignedly shook his head, "no..its a king or nothing", and with that he emptied the last of his ale and started to eye his regular corner.
Abram knew it was now or never, "Erm.Walker you know how rangers keep evil away.."
The ranger nodded vaguely while he stared into the corner of the room.
"and fell beasts", old Herny added.
"Well we have a problem with..er.. evil tonight. If you haven't noticed", he pointed.
Walker followed his gaze. "Agh!", he yelped, knocking his pitcher over with a clatter. "I'm off!"
Walker jumped up from his stool. Then just as quickly sat back down as one of the black cloaks turned its faceless gaze towards them. "sssssssssssssssss!", it hissed. The ranger and hobbits cowered in silence. The black cloak turned back to its companions.
Abram let out a sigh of relief, and by the sound of it he had not been the only one holding his breath. This was not the reaction he had hoped for. Walker was staring intently at his shoes and Abram thought he heard the man mutter "the nine". If a ranger could not help them who could? The group by the bar held its silence for another five minutes. At last Walker made to get up, but several desperate hands gripped him, "walker you're our last hope!", Abram whispered.
"I am?", The ranger stood for a moment while the hobbits held onto him. Slowly he lifted his head up, and for a moment Abram thought he saw pride twinkle in his dark eyes. He surveyed the frightened hobbits before him and then faced Abram. "Very well", his voice was leaden and had a grim finality about it, "I will rid you of these.things".
The hobbits released their hold as Walker fingered his sword. The tension was palpable. Abram winced as Walker turned towards the black cloaks. A fight in the Blue Pheasant! Was this, after all the best way to deal with the situation? Walker was certainly outnumbered...What if he lost? The other hobbits looked just as tense as Abram felt. Walker stalked closer to the black cloaks. "rangers can do anything", Joni whispered. Although to Abram it sounded as if he was trying to reassure himself. Then there was a crash which made the hobbits cringe in fear as Walker tripped over a stool. Three of the black ones turned to regard the ranger sprawled unmoving on the floor. Walker lay there, as still as the hobbits who watched, frozen in horror. Then, silently and smoothly the faceless ones turned away to continue they're unnatural conversation. Abram aloud himself to breath once more.
"Do you think he's unconscious?" whispered Joni
The hobbits continued to watch.
"There he moved!", Abram kept his voice as low as he could through the excitement.
The other hobbits leaned forwards on their stools. Old Herny nodded. "Aye, he just moved his head"
"He getting up!", Joni whispered, whooping silently
Walker had managed to get to his feet. The black cloaks were still oblivious. The ranger drew closer once more, if unsteadily. He was now at sword length from the nearest black cloak. To Abram the seconds that past seemed to stretch out for minutes as Walker slowly reached a hand beneath his travelling cloak. Even the fire seemed to have stopped flickering. The black cloaks monstrous shadows etched unmoving on the walls as if they too were holding their breath. Then Walker slowly brought his swordless hand back out. Silently he melted away from the black cloaks, towards the doors. The last few paces he broke into a run as he charged through into the night.
The hobbits were stunned.
"Did he just?", Joni began, open mouthed
"Bugger it", Old Herny swore
"Maybe he's got a plan. Maybe he's coming back with something.", one of the younger hobbits said hopefully
However they're hopes were dashed once more as out of the window the hobbits watched a ranger-shaped object receding into the moon lit distance...
Cowards. Abram thought sullenly as he polished the last ale tap. It was past midnight. The black cloaks were still here and the only hobbit in the room was now himself. They had all, one by one followed Walkers example. Cowards. Abram sighed to himself. At least the bar was looking good, the wood was gleaming dully in the firelight and behind that forty metal pitchers reflected his face. If I get murdered by these monsters he thought, at least people would say he kept a clean establishment. It wasn't much consolation.
The noise of stools dragging brought his head up. The black cloaks were standing now, heads brushing the roof, faceless gaze swallowing him. "Good.. Night", he croaked. Hoping against hope that they would leave. Then, wordlessly they turned as one and orderly filed out of the door. To his horror the last one stopped at the doorway and turned to look straight into him.
"Have yousssss seen any ringsssss of power?"
".er, no..no I haven't"
The black cloak stood basked in ethereal moonlight for a moment more, then it was gone. A few minutes later Abram sagged in relief as he watched from the window, nine fire eyed horses and their black riders gallop into the old forest.
The End
Next time: Tom Bombadil, maybe.