"What do you want?" the Gatekeeper asked roughly. Frodo looked up at the man.
"We're heading to the Prancing Pony." The Gatekeeper looked upon the little halflings. He didn't even notice Morantwen through the sheets of rain.
"Hobbits. Four Hobbits," he acknowledged, "What business brings you to Bree?" Frodo started to let his tired mood take over.
"We wish to stay at the inn. Our business is our own."
"All right, young sir. I meant no offense. It's my job to ask questions after nightfall," he smiled, letting them walk past the gate door, "There's talk of strange folk abroad. Can't be too careful." Frodo and the other hobbits were let through but the Gatekeeper put his hand down when Morantwen tried to pass. The hobbits turned to watch, as Morantwen looked the Gatekeeper in the eyes. Her face turned cross.
"Excuse me, young sir," she said through bared teeth, "I believe your hand is in my way."
"I believe it is. Who might you be?"
"I do not believe I feel like telling you. But if you do not let me through, I believe I will be known as Your Worst Nightmare." Merry smiled at Morantwen's words.
"Now," she continued, "I am here to protect these young hobbits and I will not let you come in my way," she added, pushing his hand afar from her face, "Go on interrogating others that are worth being interrogated and leave unworthy ones to spend precious time doing things that are actually important and leave people like me alone to use anger on people they need it for. Oh, yes, and, uh, good evening, sir." Frodo raised his eyebrows as Morantwen walked past the Gatekeeper with a small smile on her face. Once they all walked a little distance, Pippin started laughing hysterically. Frodo laughed as well. Sam smiled as Merry stifled his own joyful giggling.
Morantwen and the hobbits walked down the sides of the roads. Her black hair hung in soaked strings around her. They all watched the signs while avoiding traffic.
"There!" yelled Morantwen over the rushing rain. They all looked at a sign not ten feet away. Inscribed upon it were the words, 'The Prancing Pony.' Above it was engraved a rearing pony. They all walked in, dripping water like a full-on faucet. Once again, Morantwen retreated to the shadow, as though she rather just watch, not be seen.
"Excuse me," whispered Frodo politely, just loud enough for someone to hear. The owner appeared over the towering counter.
"Good evening, little masters," said the owner with a booming voice, "If you're seeking accommodation, we got some nice cozy hobbit-sized rooms available, Mister..." Frodo hesitated for a moment, opening and closing his mouth.
"Uh...Underhill. My name's Underhill," he half-whispered. The owner raised an eyebrow.
"Underhill, yes," he whispered. Morantwen noticed he was getting suspicious. And she, herself, was getting pretty angry.
"We are friends of Gandalf the Grey," she said, voice laced with an elven accent. She slowly walked out of the shadows like a ghost. The owner jumped in fright. "Can you tell him we have arrived?" The owner cocked his head to the side.
"Gandalf? Gandalf?" he thought aloud, "Oh, yes. I remember. Elderly Chap. Big grey beard, pointy hat." Frodo nodded hastily.
"Not seen him for six months," said the owner, frowning. Frodo's nodding disappeared as quickly as if someone had slapped him. He looked at the floor and then turned toward the hobbits. They all leaned in. Morantwen looked around the so-called inn. More like a bar, she thought.
"What are we going to do now?" whispered Sam to his hobbit friends. They shrugged thoughtfully and then went to go find a table. Pippin turned around to look at Morantwen.
"Are you coming with us?" he said softly. He had a precious look on his face. His eyes twinkled like a child and smiled like a young boy, wanting to make friends but too shy to do so. Morantwen smiled.
"I'll be there in a moment, you go on ahead. I will buy you guys a round of drinks. Go tell the others." Pippin jumped in joy and ran to go do what he was told.