CHAPTER NINE: New meetings

* * *

In the Prancing Pony Inn, business was as usual: very busy.  Pipeweed smoke filled the air, but it wasn't only from the hobbits.  Apparently, the Bree habitants also smoked up like chimneys, though hobbits viewed smoking more as an art form than just something to pass the time.  The innkeeper Barliman Butterbur was scattering about, as well as his three servants.  None paid too much attention to the three hobbits that sat at the table, legs dangling off the side of their chairs and hands each wrapped around a mug. 

"I'm glad that raccoon didn't make it in with us," Sam declared as he took a swig of his drink.

"Why is that?  He was a jolly old chap.  Any friend of the elves is a friend of mine," Merry asked.

Sam furrowed his brow at the mention of elves again, but quickly hid his disappointment.  "He wasn't jolly at all.  He was bitter, rude, sarcastic, and unpleasant.  Nothing like elves."

"Either way, he's gone now," Frodo jumped in.  "There was no way he could have survived that horse trampling over him like that."

"He's a spirit.  If he told the truth, he'll still live on… just not in that body," Merry reassured, ending that topic there. 

The three of them sighed at the same time, but each for different reasons.  Sam took one last sip of his drink, and set it on his table, empty.  His eyes scanned the room as he tried to adapt to the new environment, though he wasn't sure if he was ever going to be able to do so.  Everything was just so different from the Shire.  For starters, everything was twice their size since Bree men were… Men.  There were hobbits as well, but only as a minority.

"I could sure go for some ale right now," Merry interrupted Sam's thoughts, noticing that his own cup was also emptied.  Without any further thoughts, he hailed one of the servants and immediately ordered three ales for the three road-weary travelers. 

Surprisingly, the servant did nothing about it.  "No ales," he simply stated.

Frodo was a little taken by the refusal.  "Why not?" the hobbit asked.

"Fresh out.  Only wine," he said again.

"What kind?" Frodo questioned, hoping this wasn't a scheme to weasel money from visitors.

The servant seemed sincere enough, though he strangely spoke only two words at a time.  "Elf wine.  Very good."

Sam stopped Frodo before he could agree by reaching out and holding his arm.  "Don't they have high rate of alcohol content?" he asked, a worried look appearing on his face.  

Shrugging, the hobbit decided that merely trying the wine would do no harm.  And how often is it that he is able to leave the Shire and taste foods and wines from other places, anyway?  "Three, if you please," Frodo requested.

"Three bottles.  Coming up," the man nodded.

Frodo raised his eyebrows in surprise.  "No, three glasses!" he shouted after him, but the servant had already walked away. 

Almost as quick as lightning, another servant dashed out of the kitchen with their three bottles.  "Here you go, young masters," he smiled as he placed their orders before them.  He spun around and headed to serve another table, leaving the three to gawk at the giant bottles.

"This is going to hurt our wallets," Sam pointed out.

Upon hearing those words, the servant stopped abruptly as if suddenly remembering something.  Turning back to face the hobbits, he said, "Oh, and it's already paid for."

The three hobbits exchanged curious looks.  Not that they were complaining or anything.  "By who?" they all asked simultaneously. 

He pointed at a young hobbit lass sitting at a table across the room, then quickly resumed his work.  A wide grin grew on Merry's face as the hobbit waved at them, smiling sweetly and fluttering her long eyelashes.  It was a strange sight for the three hobbits to see a single hobbit lass sit alone in such a crowded and busy place.

"Who's that?" Sam asked, nudging Frodo in the elbow. 

Before Frodo had a chance to reply, Merry jumped off his seat and made his way towards the table valiantly, but not before turning around and giving a reassuring wink to his friends.  "I think we're about to find out," Frodo muttered.

Merry strutted his way towards the hobbit lass, and grinning like a fiend.  Swiftly he took her hand and kissed it, while Frodo and Sam gagged in the background.  "Meriadoc Brandybuck, at your service," he introduced, winking at the blushing hobbit before him.

"Charmed," she replied.  "Estella Bolger, at your service and your family's."

Pausing slightly, Merry tried to recall why the name struck him so familiar.  "Bolger, as in Fredegar Bolger?"

"He's my brother, yes."

"Nooo," Merry raised his eyebrows in surprise.  "Surely you don't mean Fatty Bolger of the Shire?"

She nodded, pulling her hand out of Merry's with a quick jerk.  Out of shock, Merry had forgotten to release her hand after their introduction.  "I assume you know each other?"

"I know every Shire habitant," Merry grinned again, straightening his collar proudly.  Unintentionally, he pushed a drunken man off chair beside Estella and sat down on it, giving her his whole attention.  He paid no heed to the loud thud of the drunkard falling onto the wooden planks, and then the roar of laughter followed by his audience.  "Tell me, why does a lovely delicate flower bloom in such a hideous foul swamp like this?" he asked, ignoring the loud snickering of Sam and Frodo.

Estella blushed an even deeper shade of red, if that was possible.  "I wanted an adventure.  The Shire was dull, and alas! so was my so called outing… and then I found you," she said, turning away in embarrassment.

More snickering made Merry shoot an icy glare at Frodo and Sam.  Seeing that they had his attention, Frodo took Sam's hand and kissed it, and Sam dramatically fainted onto the floor with his hand over his heart.  They both burst into a fit of uncontrollable giggles, reminding Merry to poison their water skins when he had the chance.

"Who are they?" Estella asked, moving her head slightly to see what caught Merry's attention so quickly. 

"Nobody important," Merry quickly covered up, shuffling over to block her view of his two friends. 

When Estella was about to open her mouth to speak, the drunken fellow that Merry had pushed aside arose.  "Watchu think you'er doin', pushin' meh ovaah like dat?" he slurred, pointing straight at the hobbit.  Though he stood a good few feet taller than Merry, the Brandybuck wasn't one bit frightened of the man. 

"I didn't do it," Merry shrugged, toppling the man over again with one good sturdy shove. 


Estella gasped, and covered her mouth with both her hands as she watched the man fall to the floor for the second time.  "You shouldn't have done that, Meriadoc," she warned, lowering her voice.  "Bree men are unstable already.  Drunken Bree men can be deadly."

On cue, all the men rose from their seats and glared evilly at the tiny hobbit.  The entire inn customers fell silent, and stared at the feud that was about to take place.  Liquid poured out of mouths that were gaping open, not daring to move.  The fallen man stammered back to his two feet, and spat at the hobbit disrespectfully.

The spit had missed the Merry and hit another unsuspecting man, which rose and threw his drink at him angrily.  All of a sudden, everyone began shouting at each other, and then throwing punches.  Pretty soon the whole inn was in a giant brawl.  Utter chaos had broken out that even the burly Butterbur could not bring under control. 

Merry crawled underneath a table for shelter, and quickly pulled Estella underneath to avoid being hit by flying objects.  "Look what you've done!" she accused almost immediately.

"I didn't mean to!" Merry shot back, his eyes frantically darting around for an escape.  "We've got to get out of here."

"You needn't say that twice," Estella agreed.

Spotting Sam and Frodo already at the entrance, Merry decided to make a break for it.  He grasped Estella's tiny hand and sprinted towards the door, dodging flying chairs, drinks, and some unidentifiable items on the way. 

Unfortunately, the two hobbits were spotted.  "Get the halflings!" a voice shouted from above the noise.  At once, a giant herd of men began insanely stampeding towards the fleeing two.  Merry quickly ushered Estella out of the inn, stepped outside himself, and then turned around to close the door hastily.  The both of them winced as they heard a loud crash inside the building, but didn't linger any longer. 

Estella pointed at a small horse-driven wagon across the street.  Under the covers were Sam and Frodo, hastily signaling Merry to come.  Without wasting a moment, Merry darted off towards the wagon but skidded to a stop when he realized Estella wasn't by his side.  Turning around, he saw her standing in the middle of the road, hesitant to follow. 

"Come on, Estella.  We've got to go!" Merry warned, signaling her to hurry up.

She shook her head sadly.  "I promised my brother I wouldn't go further than Bree."

"Merry!" Frodo hissed loudly, stealing his attention away from the hobbit lass.  "It's now or never!"

Torn by his decisions, Merry looked at a panicking Frodo, then at the calm and collected Estella.  He repeated this a few times, still undecided.  "Merry!" Sam piped in, hoping to be able to persuade his friend.  "My old Gaffer always says 'when opportunity comes a knockin'… don't screw yourself over!' "

"Your friend is right… I think," Estella agreed, pointing at the wagon.  "They will not hurt me, it's you they're after.  Now fly!"

Merry took her hands in his own, and started straight into her crystal blue eyes.  "Will I ever see you again?"

"Fly, Meriadoc!" she ordered one last time.  The hobbit blinked, and then after one quick peck on her cheek, Merry sped off towards the wagon.  He leapt into the covers just as the drunken mob burst out the doors of the inn, chairs and table legs in their hands and alcohol staining their breath. 

"They went that way!" Estella jumped up and down ecstatically, pointing down the street in the opposite direction.  With a lurid war cry, the mob began stampeding down the street leaving Estella behind to admire her work.  She turned back around to see that the driver had hopped back on to his wagon, oblivious of the addition to his cargo, and had already began his journey.  A single grunt and the horse began trotting down the street obediently.

Estella sighed as she watched the wagon eventually disappear from her sight.  "Meriadoc Brandybuck," she repeated to herself, heading back into the Prancing Pony and retiring to her chamber.  She smiled at the sound of his name.  "We'll meet again, Meriadoc," she assured as she closed the door behind her gently.

* * *

Pippin dared not exit his little cave until he was completely sure that the Warg had left.  Even then, he was reluctant to leave the security of the cavern, but his intense hunger and thirst was beginning to drive him insane.  If he did not find food within the next day, Pippin was sure that he would be ready to tear the Warg apart with his own hands and devour it live. 

Slowly wriggling out of the tiny cavern successfully, Pippin was happy to see that it was night had fallen already.  Surely the Warg would be asleep, or perhaps it had found other prey and would cease hunting the poor hobbit.  Taking a good few moments to examine his surroundings for any enemies before standing up, Pippin once again headed towards a random direction.  This time, he had an objective instead of the aimless wandering he has been doing the last few days: to scavenge for food.

Deeply wishing that he had Sam's instincts when it came to locating food (that hobbit could smell a fruit tree from a league away), Pippin began trying to recall the types of edible berries there were available.  It would have helped if he actually knew where on Middle-earth was he, but since those facts were not known to him, he would just have to risk it.

As luck would have it, the Took stumbled on a few bushes decorated with many bright red berries after what seemed like ages of walking.  Wondering if they were either edible or fatal, Pippin stared at the strange berries for a long time, debating on his decisions.  His empty stomach argued a valid point, but his brain always responded with a good rebuttal.  The hobbit was torn.

That was when a tiny bird, the same one he had met earlier, fluttered by and landed right at Pippin's large feet.  "Hullo again," the hobbit greeted cheerily.  "Why aren't you asleep like any normal bird?"

The bird cocked its head to the side as it stared at the giant berry that perched on the bush before it. 

"Ah, a late evening snack?" Pippin smiled.  "I like you.  You remind me of myself."

Without hesitation, the bird snatched the berry from the bush with its beak and swallowed it with one huge gulp, leaving the hobbit astonished.  "You even have my appetite," he laughed.

Chirping once, almost as if it was saying goodbye, the bird turned around and flew off into the distance.  Pippin turned his attention back to the berry bush, and smiled to himself.  "Ah, that means the berries are not poisonous!  Thank you, my little friend!" he exclaimed as he began gathering handfuls of the fruit at once.  He made a mental note to himself never to allow hobbit children to chase away birds again.

After practically stripping the bushes dry, Pippin's stomach was reasonably satisfied.  He was not full, by far, but at least the intense grumbling of his stomach had stopped for the moment.  "My sanity for a nice pot of stew," he sighed out loud as he began walking again, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

It was unusually peaceful that night, with the stars shining over the land like fireflies in the sky.  Pippin never did like the night; the strange things often lurked in the shadows.  He was more of a morning/day hobbit himself, but it wasn't as if he had a choice right now.  His eyes drifted away to a cliff in the faraway distance, wondering if there was food beyond it, when suddenly he caught sight of the most peculiar thing.  A dark figure was perched at the top of the cliff, standing proudly on all four legs and watching the world below it.

Pippin's heart froze when he recognized that dark silhouette as the Warg.  What shocked him even more was that behind that Warg slowly appeared many, many more shadows, crawling seemingly out of the darkness. 

The Warg had recruited his friends for the hunt.