Chapter Three: Of Pirate Voices and Hobbits.

"Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?
Caught in a landslide, No escape from reality,
Open your eyes, Look up to the skies and see."
- Queen, Bohemian Rhapsody.

For Elizabeth, the following week came to a routine: Get up at the crack of dawn, tell joke, Strider not amused, walk for hours at a time, sing songs, tell another joke, Strider still not amused (A feat that still puzzled her. Was she saying wrong?), sleep. It was extremely wearisome. All her joints were aching dreadfully, her throat was dry from the liquid rationing (She stopped to pee too much), her leg muscles felt stretched from keeping up the pace, without deodorant, sweat was starting to collect under her arms, and leg hair was making it's revenge.

I haven't looked in a mirror in days, I must look like a wookie. Bleuugh, underarm hair is disgusting. Thankfully, although she didn't know it, the very, very long walk was coming to an end, as they were less than half an hour away from Bree. Strider told her this while wearing a mask of concern, troubled by her deficiency of clothes.

"When we arrive at the outskirts of the forest, it may be wise for you to wear my cloak." He said.

"Why?" She shot.

"I should think your garb would attract some unwanted attention."

"Oh no, it's fine. I'm sure little ol' me can handle whatever Bree has to offer." Strider frowned. Normally any maiden would be grateful to cover her bare flesh. But, he considered, she was not an ordinary woman. That half hour waned down to a simple fifteen minutes, with the town's walls partially showing in between the trees.

"If I may so inquire, what is your age?" He imposed.

"Me? I'm all but twenty five, good Sir."

"Ah, then certainly you are married." She stopped trying to get signal on her infuriating phone and gave him a strange look.

"Have you a mental defect? Of course not!"

"No? Does your father not permit it?"

She made a rude noise, "Like I give a flying fuck about what my Daddy-O permits or not. Besides, it's regarded too young to marry."

"You must live in a strange world."

"Not as insane as here. I'm not getting into a discussion of why daughters don't need to ask a man's permission to do anything." Then under her breath, "Not yet, anyway. The conversation will crop up, no doubt." Strider buttoned up, perplexed at the abnormalities of this culture she spoke of .

They reached the walls of the town. Elizabeth speculated if it was to keep unwanted persons out or the community in. The sun shone down, her first time in seeing it fully for days, instead of small rays that poked through the canopy of vast greenness. Shouts could be heard from inside, as it was midday, the busiest time of the working day. The source of her anxiety was the faint screech of chicken could be heard now and then.

Strider knocked heavily on an immense wooden door. Once, then twice when no reaction came from within. One panel was slid away to expose a weather-worn old man. Only his face, mind you. The panel wasn't that big. What's yer business? Upon identifying Strider, "Oh! Longshanks! Mr. Butterbur will be glad to have you back, Bill Ferny's been causing trouble, again."

His eyes lay to rest on Elizabeth. "What be yer business? Don't usually get lasses traveling around."

"Why you be talking like a pirate, matey?" She said, putting on her best Johnny Depp accent. "My business be with Sir Strider, here. If you don't surrender the loot, we'll pillage yer treasuries and capture yer children!" No comments passed for about 2 minutes. The expressions would be the same if she'd declared that she liked her pancakes with uncooked pasta. Strider suddenly insisted that she was his sister, journeying out from Rohan, desiring to explore the world first-hand.

The doorman blinked a few times before unbolting and opening the door, far too confused to so much as glance at her as she went passed. Strider grabbed her by the shirt and pulled her close to hiss in her ear, "Don't try anything like that again! Breelander's are touchy folk, so if you wish to keep your head, I would hold your tongue."

She yanked herself out of his grasp indigently, but nodded. Suppose I'd better listen to the guy, he's being nice by taking me with him. Not that I couldn't have trekked for weeks in the woods to coincidentally stumble upon this, um...She dared a darting a glance at the streets, which were filthy, and the people, who were filthier. Endearing cul-de-sac, here. Ooooh! I get to meet Samwise! Frodo's cool and all, but he's the one who gave the plot some heart. What should I say? Perhaps I could do my pirate voice- No! That didn't go down well with the doorman.

She rambled off in her own thoughts, having to be stopped a few times because she kept drifting into passers-by. After the third time that happened. Strider took her aside. "You need to concentrate more. When we reach the Prancing Pony, I need you to be inconspicuous, at least for a short while." He pleaded, "Your clothing, as I mentioned earlier, is earning curious eyes. Please cover yourself." He handed her a cloak from his pack.

She scowled but took it anyway, wrapping it round her shoulders, unhappy at the prospect of sitting in a male dominated tavern, stinking of smoke and beer. As she observed earlier, the streets of Bree weren't easy on the eye. Dirt, encased in the stone cobbles, imprinted on the bottom of her shoes. It's hardly Rome, is it? In the film, I never expected there to be such a stench in the air. She had gained a few peculiar surveys from others, due to her garb and, surprisingly, to her height. She was 5'7, and next to Strider's 6'6, it gave the illusion she was smaller. But the majority of Bree's population were very short, so if it pleased her, she could count the number of men that tired to hide thinning hair.

How far can the inn be? Hope we don't have to wait HOURS before the hobbits arrive. There'd better be time for me to have a good bath. Why didn't I bring my Herbal essences? When they finally saw the Prancing Pony, Elizabeth almost cheered in acknowledgement, then had a little fangirl squeal. She now felt very grateful for the cloak; she really didn't like the look some people were giving her. One gentleman might have tried to catch her arm, she couldn't really be sure, despite the midday sun. Strider blocked her way in with one gangly arm, "Remember-"

"Yes, yes." She snapped, "Don't talk to strangers, be quiet, don't draw attention to myself. Got it." He removed his arm and pushed the door open. Yep, as predicted. It reeks, have these people not heard of soap? Or air freshener? Strider went in first and she heard a few cries of 'Longshanks!'. Jitters hit the bottom of her stomach when she swiftly followed, cutting off whatever greetings they had in store for the ranger.

"Er, Hi..?" She questioned. Strider took her arm firmly and guided her to a small table in the corner.

Okay then. Apparently it's drinks first, then getting a much needed bath... If he doesn't let me have a damn bath, the pepper spray is coming back out. She seated herself, started to pull off her cloak. He gave her a warning glance before heading up to the counter. She decided to keep it on. Well, aside from all these tiny people who are outright staring at me, I'm having a dandy old time. What's with these sweat stains and all. That must be Butterbur at the counter! He's a lot fatter than I imagined... Oooh, he's come back with drinks. I need a nice, cold-

"Water?" She said, disappointed. She was hoping for beer or ale to remind her of the Black Bull. There's nothing like a nice pint of nostalgia.

"What else? It's hardly appropriate to be drinking alcohol during the day." He smiled. She lent over, getting a whiff of what was in his tankard. She choked.

"What," cough, "was that?"

"A tonic." He gulped it some of it down.

Bloody heavyweight. She slumped her chin on her hands, fangirl moments over and done with, suddenly missing home an awful lot. Middle earth ain't what it's cracked up to be. Wandering through woodland with dangerous trees, dirty streets and smelling enough to make someone's eyes water. Mental Note: Get out of here as soon as possible, and I could send Strider a gift basket for his troubles. Flowers, a nice Hallmark card, and SOAP! God knows he needs it, oh, and some shampoo wouldn't hurt either. What does he use on his hair? Margarine? Animal fat? He looks the type not to be wasteful with what he kills...

She sipped her water, wrinkling her nose at the stale taste. Or maybe that was the mug. She couldn't tell. She tapped her fingers on the table tunelessly. "So we just... sit here? Waiting for the hobbits?"

"Yes. So you were telling the truth. You do know the story of our world."

She cracked her knuckles. "That I was. Why would lie? I'm a lot of things, but at least I'm honest."

"As you have proven. Do you know any of the events that lie ahead?" His eyes were clear and curious.

"I can't tell you what's going to happen. It's cheating. I've probably changed things too much by going with you. You'd get lazy and stop going places, messing up the entire story." She frowned. "Look, I'm really grateful you took me with you. In all likelihood, I could have died. So, um, thanks. I'll pay you back when I get some form of currency."

His expression was very serious. "I am a ranger, I have helped people all my life, what kind of person would I be if I left you?"

"One with more money?""

"No matter who I found there, I would have brought them here."

"Modesty is not your best trait, is it?" He remained quiet and lit his pipe. She drummed her fingers against the wood. So he just sits here until the Hobbit crew get here? How dull. She looked longingly at Strider's mug. What will Grandma be doing now? I bet she's calling every one of my friends, interrogating them, shining bright light's in their eyes... Bless her over-protectiveness. With no warning, a sharp pang of home sickness resonated in her gut, causing her to bring her knees up to her chest and hug them. Now I know how Dorothy felt. There's no place like home.

But, doing her best not to dwell in the past, she rooted around in her bag, surfacing with the much-loved iPod Classic. The battery was going to run down by itself anyway, so why not use it now? In a time of great boredom? Ah, so many songs... My brain's almost certainly 70% lyrics, 20% hilarious jokes, 10% actual knowledge.

The inn filled up pretty quickly, the closer it got to night. Elizabeth soon lost herself in an ocean of melodies and chords and now that her and Strider were keeping to themselves, no one paid them much attention, aside from the few sideways gazes at her headphones. She didn't know how the ranger kept so still and noiseless. He had barely shifted positions since they arrived, choosing to puff on his pipe and stare aimlessly into space.

Twilight's rays were escaping through the dense clouds, painting the town blue making the whole town look much more attractive than it was in daylight. 'Big Yellow Taxi' blared through her headphones. Ah, Miss Joni Mitchell! She did sing about some odd things... Of all the things to sing about, why a taxi? Someone else would say it was about something deep and meaningful, but I say, 'If it look's like a duck, it's a duck'

She sighed, having heard over 200 songs in one sitting, growing restless. She twisted round to see if Strider had even moved in the last five hours and found him absent from his chair. Frowning, she scanned the bar, unsuccessfully trying to locate him. He'll be in the bathroom, just because I've never seen him pee, doesn't mean he simply does not do it. She shuddered at the bombardment of disturbing imagery.

Then she saw him standing at the counter, conversing with one, greasy little man. Let's just say that he wasn't the brightest crayon in the pack. Like some other inhabitants of Bree, he was covered in a film of grime. Elizabeth pictured him being in a commercial for Vanish! Trust pink! Where he took a dip in a bath of dirt-remover and came out clean as a whistle.

"What is he talking to that guy for?" She muttered, viewing the scene with a vague interest. The man looked agitated, pointing a grubby finger in her direction every now and then. Strider was angry. Mouth grimacing, nostrils flaring and a fire lit behind his eyes. The man stumbled away, firing profanities in every direction, and Strider stormed back to his seat beside Elizabeth. "What was that about?" She demanded.

"That was Bill Ferny..." He, A pause. "He requested to know your... price."

"My price? Price for what?"

"The less you know, the better."

"Nah, that doesn't fly with me. My price for what? Bread? Fairy dust?" He sat down, facing the open hearth, sucking on the pipe, legs stretched out.

"Sometimes, an imprisonment camp stops just outside the town's limits. If you find a guard willing to be bribed, for a certain sum, he will let you have your pick of the young ones."

She gaped. "And... and he thought, that I... I was one of those young ones?" He nodded gravely, not really paying much attention to her. He had scared him thoroughly, enough to leave her alone. He profoundly hoped. She had a hard time believing that those type of things existed. If he comes over again, I'll... I'll do something. How very dare he! It shall involve my trusty pepper spray!

The night eventually followed the twilight, the waxing moon making an appearance from behind the grey clouds, casting Bree in a silvery moonlight through the sheets of rain, giving it a sinister appeal. Elizabeth was dozing in the corner, lips slightly parted. He looked over at her and wished that the Hobbits would hurry themselves, she was the epitome of weariness. It must have been hard for her, miles away from home, roaming the woodland with a total stranger and, from her non-existing survival skills, inexperience. He wrapped her borrowed cloak tighter around her. His own cloak had it's hood up, shadowing all distinguishable features. The regular drunks shambled in, laughing loudly at their own jokes, apparently already intoxicated by their own means.

The door opened, snapping her awake. Yes, it was the moment she had been waiting for; the four hobbits stepped in, soaking wet and tired to the bone. Although still drowsy from sleep, she had a secret fangirl moment. Butterbur leaned over the counter, "Good evening, little masters! What will you be wanting? If you're looking for a room, we have a few hobbit-sized beds, always a pleasure to serve the little folk. Mr...?"

She stretched, staring at them. Aww! There's Sam! He's adorable! Not like the actor though. Didn't expect them to be so small! "Underhill, my name is Underhill," said Frodo quickly. "We are friends of Gandalf the grey; can you tell him we've arrived?" She glanced around the room, even though she knew he wouldn't be here.

"Haven't seen Gandalf in six months." Said Butterbur sadly.

"We shall wait for him then, if it isn't too much trouble." I love this feeling of almighty power! I know what's going to happen before it happens! I could tell them I am an all-knowing seer from the west, bringing great knowledge of the Ring's future. I suppose Stridy wouldn't let me, spoilsport...

The innkeeper had promised the hobbits dinner, so they sat at a table on the opposite side of the room from her. Conversing in hushed tones, each of them shifting uncomfortably in soaking clothes. It was all very surreal, to be seeing characters of fiction in flesh and blood. They glanced around warily, like a rabid dog was about to bite them. She inspected them all as several meals were brought from the kitchens and presented before them. Strider was watching too.

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