Disclaimer: I don't own it. My dad is looking over my shoulder so I can't claim anything.
Chapter III Polymysteries
Both Hobbits fearfully turned around, terrified that whoever was behind them was a servant of the enemy. It was Sam who first recognized the Ranger.
"You!" he shouted loudly. Frodo gave him a desperate sign to quiet down. "I don't know whether to admire you or sock the life out of you," Sam whispered harshly.
"I doubt you could harm me, young Hobbit."
"You wanna bet?" Sam growled through clenched teeth, but his master's hand planted firmly on his shoulder clearly prevented any action on Sam's part. Behind the Hobbits, a suspicious looking character was sneaking about. He was getting quite close to Frodo, but Sam was too occupied with Strider to notice. The bird began to sing loudly, in what sounded like an elvish tune. Sam was distracted from the Ranger and everything else by it, while the song seemed to have a calming effect on Frodo. The Ringbearer leaned, exhausted, against the damp wall of the Prancing Pony and soon slept. Sam and the Ranger stood entranced until the rain stopped and a full moon and stars appeared overhead. Once he could think, Sam realized it must be quite late. On the streets of Bree, only they remained. He turned to speak to Frodo, but saw he was asleep.
"I'll carry him to your room," the human whispered, lifting the Ringbearer, while Sam, realizing he couldn't easily carry Frodo up the stairs and expect him to remain asleep, opened the door. The inn was amazingly quiet. The fire still glowed brightly, but that was the only light in the entire room. Butterbur had gone to sleep and the dining room appeared deserted. The man proceeded up the stairs and Sam showed him to their quarters. Pippin and Merry were in the two beds nearest the door. One of them, probably Merry, was snoring.
"There is an inn, a merry old inn . . . " Pippin sang in his sleep as the group passed him. The ranger gently laid Frodo on the third bed and tucked him in. The bird, who had stayed on Frodo's shoulder, now waddled up to the bedpost, as if he meant to watch over the Ringbearer.
"Mae dhu (goodnight)," the Ranger whispered as he stroked the bird's head. "Goodnight, Sam." With that, the man left the room. Sam was still debating whether to trust him or not when he finally dozed off.
The night passed without incident. Frodo was the first to awaken. Rushed he down the stairs, anxious for news.
"Has Gandalf come?" he breathlessly demanded of a drowsy Butterbur.
"Not yet, Master Underhill. Is that your real name?"
"Yes," Frodo lied. Butterbur nodded slowly as Frodo returned to his rom. The only being stirring was the grey bird that gazed intently at Frodo. The Hobbit sat down on the bed. The bird approached him, perching upon his left forefinger. He stroked its head, falling into a sort of trance, wondering where Gandalf was and how long they would have to remain in Bree before he came.
"Good morning, Mr. Frodo."
"Good morning, Sam." They decided to awaken Pippin and Merry and breakfast together, depending upon the philosophy of safety in numbers. The younger Hobbits grumbled at being drug from their beds at such an early hour, but brightened at the thought of food. Then, left the beds they did, the bird, still secure upon Frodo's finger.
They were no sooner in the common room than the bird sprang to the floor and dashed away, through the legs of the few early risers. He vanished behind Butterbur's desk quicker than the Hobbits could make chase. They needn't have worried, though. Moments later, he waddled over to them, a tattered, aged-looking envelope secured in his beak. Frodo picked him up and the bird dropped his parcel into his lap.
"I suppose he wants me to open it." At this, the bird nodded viciously. The Hobbit gently unsealed it and removed a letter.
" THE PRANCING PONY, BREE. Midyear's Day, Shire Year, 1418.
Dear Frodo,
Bad news has reached me here. I must go off at once. You had better leave Bag End soon, and get out of the Shire before the end of July at latest. I will return as soon as I can; and I will follow you, if I find that you are gone. Leave a message fore me here, if you pass through Bree. you can trust the landlord (Butterbur). You may meet a friend of mine on the Road: a Man, lean, dark, tall, by some called Strider. He knows our business and will help you. Make for Rivendell. there I hope we may meet again. If I do not come, Elrond will advise you.
Yours in haste
GANDALF.
PS Do not use It again, not for any reason whatever! Do not travel by night!
P.P.S. Make sure that it is the real Strider. There are many strange men on the roads. His true name is Aragorn.
All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.
PPPS I hope Butterbur sends this promptly. A worthy man, but his memory is like a lumber room: the thing wanted always buried. If he forgets, I shall roast him.
Fare Well! (Tolkien Fellowship of the Ring 192-193)
Author's Note: Believe it or not, I'm not dead. I know I haven't updated this in forever, but here it is. Hope it was enjoyable. Now don't forget to review it.
MornieGalad