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Entrapment In Bree
Late afternoon cast long shadows across the East Road from the stately tall
poplar trees that lined the way. The autumn sky was still clear, but there was a
steady chill wind, and dry leaves rattled down and past them. The hobbits,
clustered uncertainly at the dusty shoulder of the antiquated thoroughfare,
looked both ways down the highway, but saw no one and nothing beyond the trees.
With some regret, but remembering their obligation, Sam had previously lifted
the packs off of the pony, and with a quick pat on the nose and one of the last
of his apples, had set him back on his way to Tom. A sigh of disappointment
couldn’t help but escape him as he had watched the animal leave. “Right handy,
he was,” he muttered, with a frown. “Wish we’d thought of bringin’ one now.”
“No pony would ever have made it across the Brandywine with us, Sam,” Pippin
patted his shoulder sympathetically.
“Aye, you’re right on that,” Sam lifted up his pack, slinging it back on his
shoulders again. He held up Frodo’s, while Frodo adjusted his cloak underneath
it, carefully letting it then fall back into place. Frodo thanked him with a
smile and a warm glance, as well as a quick clasp of his hand.
“This bit looks like I remember it,” Merry, who had been studying the Road
warily, finally said.
The other three stared at him in surprise. “What, have you been to Bree, then?”
Pippin asked in astonishment.
“Yes, I have, once, long ago. I had nearly forgotten most of it, but it’s
starting to come back a bit,” Merry murmured, staring down the Road. “There was
a time when my father would come here every year or so, on business, and the
year after you left, Frodo, he took me along with him.”
He turned to the others then, with a wry smile. “I was sulking to no end, and I
expect he thought a bit of travel would take my mind off of things.”
“I never heard of that,” Frodo shook his head, finding this piece of news
somewhat difficult to fathom. “Only Bilbo had ever left the Shire, I thought.”
Merry gave a chuckle. “Possibly why you never heard it mentioned. I think Bilbo
rather liked the idea of you thinking that. And of course, no other hobbit has
ever gone past Bree, as far as I know, but there was Buckland business to
conduct, and so my father went there every now and again. But it’s been many a
year since the last time he’s gone, and I never thought to ask him about it.”
“So you were still a teen when you were here?” prompted a curious Pippin.
“Oh, not even that, not quite,” Merry shook his head. “I only remember bits and
pieces, but this Road does seem familiar. And the Prancing Pony,” he added
suddenly, with a grin. “That was the name of the inn in Bree where we stayed. It
had some rooms for hobbits and others for Big People. I wanted to take a peek
into one of their rooms, but my father wouldn’t let me.”
“That inn sounds promising,” Frodo sighed, slightly wistful. “I really would
appreciate a room that’s proper size, tonight, I think.”
“Aye, to be sure,” Sam agreed. “Well, then the sooner we’re off, the sooner
gettin’ there, and a snug room in an inn sounds that much better than a cold
night at the side of the road, to be sure.”
There was no disagreement from the others, and they set off along the Road, with
their backs to the setting sun, at a goodly pace.
&&&&&
But, several hours later, the sun was sinking out of sight, and still there was
no town in sight, no cozy inn, not even the homely sight of smoke rising from
snug hearths. Only the seemingly never-ending rows of half-bare poplars guarding
the edge of the wide roadway, with grassy hills falling away to the south, and
scattered pine woods to be seen toward the north. Frodo finally came to a
reluctant halt. “No inn tonight, it would seem,” he murmured in disappointment.
“You don’t suppose we’ve already passed Bree?” Pippin asked with a bit of
concern, coming to a halt next to him. “After all, we don’t really know quite
where we joined the Road.”
“Well, I imagine there’s no sense going backwards, if we have passed it,” Frodo
shrugged, giving Pippin a reassuring glance, as Sam joined them. “After all,
it’s Rivendell we’re really making for, and that must still be quite a ways from
here.”
“All the same,” Sam muttered, with a slight frown, “I wouldn’t mind one more
chance to be stockin’ up on provisions. If we’ve passed Bree, we best be
tightenin’ up our belts a bit.”
“I don’t think we have,” Merry, coming up behind them, shook his head. “I was in
a wagon, mind you, not walking it, but I do remember the Road being as broad as
this. I don’t think the Road east from Bree is anywhere near as wide or
well-traveled.”
“Then we ought to be at Bree by tomorrow.” Frodo looked around carefully, as the
dusk deepened. “I’m afraid we’d better do without a campfire tonight. Even
though we’d best not be seen here, I’d rather not get too far from the Road.
Let’s see if there’s any place out of the wind, though.”
Sam found the best spot, behind a small thicket only a short distance from the
poplars. It was at least a respite from the dry cold wind that blew from the
north, but the night promised to be a long and uncomfortable one, nonetheless.
They huddled in their blankets and cloaks, munching bread and dried sausage,
washed down with only water. Soon the night sky was dark above, with only the
sliver of a moon, and a sprinkling of stars. Merry and Pippin, huddled together,
were soon asleep. But Sam, lying wrapped in Frodo’s arms, as well as their
cloaks and blankets, gazed up into the sky, and knew that Frodo was still awake
as well.
“D’you think Gandalf might be awaitin’ us in Bree?” he finally whispered softly.
He felt Frodo’s arms tighten briefly around him, and a quiet sigh close to his
ear. “Possibly, or at least he might have left a message for us there,” he heard
Frodo’s muted voice, and the worry in it was clear to Sam.
“Well, leastways, we know we’re on the right road now,” he murmured reassuringly
in reply, feeling slightly guilty for bringing the subject up. Grasping Frodo’s
hand, he raised it and gave it a quick kiss. “Gandalf or no, I’m sure the
elves’d be helpin’ us out, just as soon as we get to Rivendell.”
“I’m sure you’re right, my dearest sensible Sam,” he could hear the smile in
Frodo’s voice, and he could feel Frodo’s cheek resting against his forehead.
“We’ll know more tomorrow, when we reach Bree, I’m sure. Rest you now, love.”
But Sam’s eye was on the North star, and his thoughts were elsewhere, for quite
awhile, before he finally fell asleep.
&&&&&
They were on their way again the next morning before the sun was over the
horizon, somewhat cramped and stiff, and the thought of a comfortable room, and
a steaming bath, was in more than one mind as they tramped along. It was the
sight of a small farmhouse, to the north, and at a distance from the Road, that
buoyed up all their spirits.
“Ah,” Frodo sighed with relief, when Merry pointed it out to him, “we must not
be that far off, now.”
And indeed they were not. Farms and small cottages, and the occasional smial,
began to appear more and more frequently, and fellow travelers, mostly farm
wagons, and hobbits on ponies, began to share the Road with them. There was even
the occasional Big Person, some of them riding horses, and others just passing
them by with their long strides. They got looks of mild interest from hobbits
and men alike, but nothing more. Clearly, the folk of Bree were well used to
strangers in their midst, and felt no need to pry. By midday, they caught sight
of a great wooden wall, with tall buildings showing past it, all set about the
skirts of a substantial hill. Apparently, the town of Bree could guard itself in
times of trouble.
There was no sign of trouble this afternoon, however, and the great gate stood
open, with both hobbits and men entering and leaving freely. The four travelers
halted outside, out of the mainstream of traffic, and gave each other rather
nervous looks. “What was the name of that inn, again, Merry?” Frodo muttered,
unconsciously adjusting the pack on his back.
“The Prancing Pony,” Merry responded quickly, with only the slightest of anxious
glances about.
“Right, then,” Frodo nodded decisively. “And remember,” he added abruptly,
turning to give them all a warning glance, “I’m Mr. Underhill here.”
“You told Tom Bombadil your real name,” Pippin pointed out with a quick grin.
Frodo raised an eyebrow at his comment. “Trying to trick him would have been
rather pointless, and probably foolhardy as well,” he replied, somewhat
severely. “These are more ordinary folk, though, and it’s best to follow
Gandalf’s instructions.”
Fortunately, Pippin stifled any critique of Gandalf’s part in their quest thus
far, to both Merry and Sam’s relief, and without another word, the younger three
fell behind Frodo, and they approached the gate.
Walking behind a trio of older hobbits pulling a wagon loaded with potatoes and
carrots, the four travelers were very nearly through the gate when there was a
sudden exclamation from a large man seated on a bench, who had been leaning,
with eyes closed, against the stout wooden wall, seemingly asleep in the midday
sun. “Ho, there, strangers!” came the sudden call, and the four hobbits came to
an uncertain halt, as he lifted his rather portly self off of the bench and
ambled over to them. “You’re not from around here,” he said noncommittally,
staring closely at them. “Coming from the Shire? Been awhile since we’ve seen
any of your folk about here.”
But before Frodo could say anything, the man gave them a closer look, and then,
with a grin, exclaimed, “Well, if I ain’t totally mistaken, one of you would be
a Brandybuck, true enough. Bless me if it ain’t the little son of the Master of
Buckland, all grown up!”
Merry looked a little flustered at being recognized, but gave a quick bow, and
politely replied, “Yes, I am Meriadoc Brandybuck.” Then giving him a keen
glance, he added, “You do have a fine eye for faces, gatekeeper.”
“Well now, I wouldn’t be having this job otherwise,” the man laughed affably.
“But your father used to come this way fairly often, and bless me if you ain’t
the picture of him. Well, good sirs, if you’re with him, you’re more than
welcome in Bree. There’s plenty of room at the Prancing Pony for hobbits; we’d
not be getting many travelers from the Shire these days, more’s the pity. Just
up that street,” he nodded in the direction of the town, “and you’d not be
missing the sign, I’m sure. Nob’d put you up right, sure enough.”
Merry started walking toward the center of town at his invitation, obviously
pleased at the attention, and motioned to the others to follow. “It really does
look familiar now,” he said with a bit of excitement in his voice, as Frodo,
with an amused smile, caught up to him.
Pippin was looking all about as he walked next to Merry, wonder clear on his
face. “It all seems so grand, Merry,” he murmured, eyes wide. “I’ve never seen
such splendidly big buildings.”
“That’s because they have to suit Big People,” Merry explained, tucking an arm
around Pippin’s, as they continued up the crowded street. “There are as many Big
People as hobbits here, so all the shops have to be large enough for them, as
well. It does take a bit of getting used to, I admit.”
Sam kept close to Frodo, as large wagons rumbled past them in the muddy streets
and they were jostled by hobbits and men alike, his expression showing as much
astonishment as that of Pippin. “It’d all be so big,” he muttered to Frodo, “and
so crowded. However a hobbit could be livin’ in all of this is beyond me, to be
sure.”
“Not the place for me, either,” Frodo had to admit, jumping out of the way just
in time, as a large wagon wheel splashed through a mud puddle.
But Merry had caught sight a large sign hanging before an open doorway, well
weathered, but with the picture of a painted pony, foreleg lifted, still
discernable on it. “The Prancing Pony,” he cried, pointing to it. “We’re here.”
The inn was dark and smoky inside, and they stood in the doorway for a moment,
trying to become adjusted to the dim light. Mostly it was men who entered and
left, pushing them to the side without a second glance, but just as Frodo
started to look around for the proprietor, a hobbit with a pile of linen stacked
in his arms walked past, and stopped short before them. “Welcome, my good sirs,”
he grinned, with a cheerful nod. “Came just in time you did. Only one hobbit
room left, but it’s a large one, and there are at least four beds in it. Farmers
come to town with the apples, ‘twould be harvest season now, sure enough, you
know, and the other rooms were already spoken for.”
“Thank you,” Frodo began, feeling rather deluged with information from the
jovial hobbit, but he had already turned to catch a glimpse of Frodo’s
companions.
“Well, bless us indeed, if it ain’t a Brandybuck!” he exclaimed, nearly dropping
the linen. “You can always spot a Brandybuck chin, that’s what I say.”
“Erm, yes, I’m Meriadoc Brandybuck,” Merry nodded, not entirely sure if he had
been complemented or not.
“True enough, and the Master’s son, if I don’t miss my guess. Likewise two Tooks,
I’d be thinking. Those sharp noses are not hard to spot. You’d be a little
harder to place, good sir,“ he added, with a keen glance at Sam. “But just look
at me, nattering away. Well, come along, good gentlehobbits, these men will run
us over and not think twice, if we keep standing in the doorway like this. I‘m
Nob, I am, and it’s indeed a pleasure, to be sure.”
The four travelers followed Nob, still chuckling to himself, at his good fortune
at having such illustrious guests, down a long hall that led away from the
crowd. Nob triumphantly flung a door open, and the four could not stifle
thankful sighs at the sight of the snug, properly sized room. “I’ll be back in
no time,” he assured them, “and start that fire for you. And I’d imagine some
hot tea and warm water would not come amiss, am I not right?” They gratefully
satisfied him as to that supposition, and he cheerfully bustled from the room,
leaving them looking about the comfortable room with pleasure.
They dropped their packs on the floor, and Merry sat on the edge of a bed,
testing it. “Comfortable enough,” he grinned, and let himself fall back.
“I didn’t realize we were traveling with such a celebrity,” Frodo crossed his
arms over his chest, messaging his shoulders where the straps of the pack had
dug in. He gave Merry an amused grin. “I guess I didn’t have to worry about my
name that much, no one seems to be paying me much mind, fortunately.”
“Yes, maybe you should go with Took,” Pippin laughed, opening up the window, and
staring out on the street with fascination. “After all, there are a lot of us,
and no one ever can seem to keep us straight.”
Frodo turned to Sam, who was methodically stacking their packs in a corner of
the room, with a sly smile. “But you’re the mysterious one, Sam. Nob will be
after you, make no mistake. I rather think he likes to get us all in the proper
categories, in his mind.”
But Sam gave him a serious glance in return. “Then I expect I’d best be Mr.
Underhill,” he answered. “There’s those that might think of Baggins when they
hear the name Gamgee, if you catch my drift.”
Frodo had no time to say any more than, “Good thinking, Sam,” when, with a sharp
rap on the door, Nob pushed it open, and entered, bearing a large tray with a
covered teapot, and all the necessary accompaniments. There was even a plate
heaped high with bread-and-butter, and a small dish of jam.
“Here you are, good sirs,” he beamed, setting the tray down on the small table
before the hearth with a flourish. “This will help take the edge off.” Then he
knelt in front of the hearth, tidying up the logs stacked within, and picking up
a small tinderbox that lay unobtrusively on the mantle, soon had a cheerful fire
lit. “There now,” he gave the fire a pleased glance, and turned back to the
visitors. “I’ll be back in no time with some warm water, so’s you can have a bit
of a wash up. I hope you’d not mind waiting for your baths until this evening;
it’ll be nearing dinnertime soon, and we’d be that busy, you know.”
He was as good as his word, returning with clean towels over an arm, and warm
water in a pitcher, carefully pouring it in the large basin that stood on a
small cabinet in the corner of the room. The others had only just sat down and
started to pour the tea. “There you are, sirs, and if there’s any thing more,
all you need to do is ask.”
“Do we need to speak to the proprietor?” Merry glanced at him uncertainly, as he
spread jam over a piece of bread.
“No need for that,” Nob chuckled. “He’s that busy with the men, he has no time
for the hobbits. That’d be my task.”
“The gatekeeper seemed to think we’d be the only hobbits here,” Pippin paused in
the middle of stirring a rather large spoonful of honey in his tea, and gave a
curious glance toward Nob.
“Ah, old Farley never keeps track of who comes and goes, as long as they’re
hobbits, and he knows the faces,” Nob shook his head. “The inn’s been that full
for the last week, but we hobbits are seemingly invisible to most of the men,
that’s what I’d think sometimes. We’re useful to them, yet they don’t really
care if we’re about or not, mostly. I suppose it’s different back in the Shire,”
he added, wistfully. “Or so’s I’ve heard.”
Frodo looked up from his cup, and gave Nob a speculative glance. Since he seemed
knowledgeable enough as to the guests of the inn, he ventured a question. “Have
you ever had a wizard as a guest?” he asked quietly.
Nob gave a chuckle. “Well, aye, that we have, Mr… Took, is it?”
Frodo nodded, and said nothing, not daring to give Pippin a look.
“That’s not a guest you forget in a hurry,” Nob continued. “Gandalf, I think his
name was. Used to stop by often enough, in the past, but it’s been at least a
year or so since the last time I saw him. You knew him too, then? Must have been
on his way to the Shire when he’d stop by here, I suppose. Well, we do get all
kinds.”
Frodo spirits sank at Nob‘s words, even though he had really expected nothing
different, and Sam gave him a commiserating glance.
Merry spoke up suddenly, as Nob prepared to leave. “Look here, Nob,” he said,
“would you be able to send a message back to the Shire?”
“Aye, to be sure, Master Brandybuck, though I doubt if there’s anyone going that
way at the moment,” Nob nodded.
“That’s all right, there’s no hurry,” Merry assured him quickly. “Only if you
could let my father know that you’ve seen me, and Peregrin Took, and that we’re
all right, and will be back as soon as we can. And,” he continued, slowly,
giving both Frodo and Sam a careful look, “that Sam is with us, and to let his
father know. Should I write this down?”
“Oh, no, I’m good with names, no need for that,” Nob nodded. “Peregrin Took, is
it?” he added with a grin, unerringly picking Pippin out. “We are honored, to be
sure!”
Pippin gave him a pleased look but said nothing.
Nob started to leave then, only turning back with his hand on the door handle to
issue them a final invitation. “If you’d like to join us in the common room
later, we have some proper sized tables there as well. The food is good enough,
but we do have an uncommonly good beer here, I’m glad to say. And I’ll have the
baths brought in later this evening, if you’d like.”
“Splendid,” Merry replied with a grin. “A fine beer should never be missed.” And
Nob was gone.
“So, no Gandalf,” Frodo sighed, after a moment or two of silence. “We need to
buy supplies for a longer journey then. I really have no idea how far Rivendell
is from here.”
“Pip and I can take care of that this afternoon,” Merry assured him, “since my
face seems to be fairly well-known about here. I hope you don’t mind about the
message, Frodo, but I thought it only fair to give our families some idea of
where we are. And if they contact the gaffer, I suppose he’ll be able to tell
them more.”
“That’s all right, Merry,” Frodo gave him a small smile. “It was rather weighing
on my mind that they would not know where the both of you were, I must confess.
And we should be far from here when they receive the message, so it shouldn’t
help anyone trail us.”
“Good,” Merry gave him a relieved grin. “And now let’s properly take care of
this tea.”
&&&&&
Darkness was beginning to settle in when Frodo and Sam entered the common room
that served as the establishment’s dining room. Merry and Pippin had not yet
returned, but Frodo assumed that they would find their way there, easily enough.
The dining hall of the Prancing Pony was a cavernous affair, to Sam’s way of
thinking, and he almost wished that they had had dinner sent to their room, but
the thought of a good beer was most alluring. The tables nearest to them, as
they entered, were too tall for comfort, and besides, were already filled with
over-sized men, with their deep, rumbling voices, and their clumsy, noisy ways.
Sam had not seen this many Big People in all of his life, and he could not help
but find them intimidating, and in some ways, frightening. He walked close to
Frodo, drawing strength from his seeming impenetrability and calm. There were,
though, as Nob had assured them, some hobbit-sized tables in the back of the
room, and that’s where they headed now.
There was one long table already crowded with hobbits, presumably those brought
here by the apple harvest. They were a noisy and rather rowdy lot, and had
obviously been sampling the tavern’s brew since early that afternoon. They gave
Frodo and Sam curious glances, but did not invite the newcomers to join them,
and Sam was just as glad. They continued on to one of the smaller tables to the
rear of the room. Here there were not as many patrons, just a few men, solitary
and quiet in the darkened corners, meditatively sipping from their large mugs,
and some drawing on their pipes as well.
“No wonder Merry’s father came here on business,” Frodo mentioned, as they
seated themselves side by side at a small hobbit table in the corner. “That’s
Longbottom leaf I smell, to be sure.”
“No doubt,” Sam agreed, looking about the room with wary interest. “An’ ‘twould
be the Big People smokin’ it, as well as hobbits. Oh, Frodo,” he exclaimed
suddenly, giving a table not far from them a quick glance. “Those would never be
dwarves sitting there, now, would it?”
Frodo tried to confirm Sam’s guess, without being too obvious about it, and
turned back to Sam with a smile. “Good eye, Sam. A dwarf came to visit Bilbo
years ago, when I had first come to Bag End, but I know he couldn’t be one of
that pair. He was much older. Balin, I believe his name was. He was quite nice,
actually, when you got used to his gruff ways.”
Sam shook his head, his eyes wide. “Sure enough, ‘strange as the news from
Bree’, as the saying goes, ain’t no lie. They do get all sorts here, seemingly.”
But their conversation was interrupted by the appearance of the innkeeper, a
tall, friendly man. “Good evening to you, sirs,” he greeted them affably, with a
nod. “I’d be Mr. Butterbur, proprietor of this establishment. My Nob told me
that you had come. I trust he’s made you comfortable?”
Frodo had risen to greet him, and assured him that Nob had been more than
helpful.
“Good, good, glad to hear that. He’s a good lad, he is,” Mr. Butterburr gave
them a pleasant smile. “Dinner will be ready in about an hour, but would you
care for a pint while you wait? We do beer rather well here, I‘ve been told.”
“That would be wonderful,” Frodo agreed. “The rest of our party will be here
shortly.”
“Indeed,” the man eyed them with a bit of speculation. “Nob told me that young
Master Brandybuck had arrived with you, and Master Took as well. We are quite
honored to have such distinguished guests from the Shire.”
Since he appeared to be waiting, Frodo felt compelled to introduce the both of
them in return. “Thank you,” he replied, only slightly hesitant. “I am Fr… er,
Fredegar Took, and this is Mr. Underhill,” he added, gesturing to Sam, sitting
silently next to him. Carefully, he watched the proprietor’s face as he
pronounced the last name, but there was no indication that it meant anything to
him, and Frodo inwardly sighed. Apparently, Gandalf had left no word. They were
most definitely on their own, then.
Sam drew a little closer to Frodo as the proprietor left, and one of the men
turned in their direction with a cool glance. “The Green Dragon’d be more
welcoming to a stranger, I’d be thinkin’,” he muttered, feeling distinctly
uncomfortable and exposed.
“But that would be the Shire, now, Sam,” Frodo chuckled slightly, “where a
stranger is a rare event indeed. Seems as though keeping your business to
yourself is more the custom here, and one for which I must say that I am
grateful, all things considered.” This philosophy did not prevent him, however,
from sidling slightly closer to Sam as well. The occasional brush of their arms
against each other was oddly reassuring.
But the proprietor was as good as his word, and was suddenly before them with
two frothing mugs of beer. “Ah, no, your credit’s good here,” the proprietor
protested with a laugh, when Frodo dug in his pocket for some coins. “You’d be
with Master Brandybuck, after all.”
“No, I’ll be paying for us,” Frodo felt a quick irrational irritation at the
innkeeper’s assumption, and firmly held the coins out in his hand. Sam said
nothing, but gave him an amused glance as Mr. Butterbur retreated, payment in
hand.
The brew, however, was everything that had been promised, and even Sam had to
admit that it was uncommonly fine, although a trifle strong. “Mayhap it’d have
to be a stouter brew, if it’d be pleasin’ to Big People as well,” he speculated,
taking a deep draught. “Does have a bit of a bite, though. Most likely a
different type of hops they’d be usin’.”
“Nob’d probably be able to give you all the details,” Frodo smiled, taking
another pull on his mug as well. “I wonder where the other two’d be, though.
Seems to be taking them awhile.”
“Ah, it’s most likely everybody commenting on how wee Master Brandybuck has
grown,” Sam snorted, setting his half-finished mug sharply down on the table.
“As if he were liable to do aught else in these past twenty years or so.”
Frodo laughed at Sam’s remark, and took another deep swallow of the beer,
setting the empty mug back on the table. Sam started suddenly, at that moment,
and sat up a little straighter, for it seemed that, oddly enough, one of Frodo’s
feet had managed to intertwine itself with his, under the table, and there was
the unmistakable sensation of toes being drawn slowly and sensuously around his
ankle and across his foot hair.
He did not dare look in Frodo’s direction, but commented, rather vaguely, “I
imagine it’ll be a bit difficult to get much time to ourselves, once we leave
Bree.”
“No inns, as far as I know, past this one,” Frodo’s voice was beginning to take
on a definitely silky tone.
“I suppose I’d best be finishin’ this beer, then,” Sam agreed, as Frodo gave a
husky chuckle.
“Go ahead, Sam,” he muttered, rising to his feet. “I’ll just let the innkeeper
know that we’ve gone for a stroll about town, and to have Merry and Pippin wait
for us here.”
“We’re goin’ to walk about?” Sam asked, with a bit of confusion, but Frodo
returned his gaze with a meaningful smile.
“No,” he said softly, “but that is what I’ll be telling him, nonetheless. And I
think I’ll pay for a couple of mugs for them, too. That should keep them here a
bit longer.”
He started to walk away from the table, with only the slightest hint of
unsteadiness, and thrust his hand in his pocket for another coin.
&&&&&
Instantly, the dark, crowded room was swirling around Frodo, and hardly able to
stand upright, he felt the bile rise from his stomach as tables and the faces of
strangers seemed to lurch before him. Swallowing desperately, he tried to
stagger back to the table, but the room had grown very dim, and he nearly had
lost track of where he had been sitting. Faces loomed out of the dark near him,
but not a one he knew, and in the midst of his bewilderment at what was
happening to him, he suddenly felt his hand burning, as though from the bite of
a horrific insect. With a gasp of terror, he pulled out his hand, drawing it
closer to his face, and then he knew. The Ring had claimed him.
Panicking, without rational thought, he wildly looked about, and that’s when he
saw Sam rising, with a look of absolute terror on his face. Sam was stretching
his hand out, and Frodo could see his name being formed on Sam’s lips, but he
knew, from the way Sam’s eyes did not meet his, that Sam could not see him.
Desperately, he reached forward for Sam, with no other thought than a wordless
frantic plea for Sam to save him, and somehow, their hands touched.
Then Frodo saw Sam’s expression change, and with a fierce scowl, he grasped
Frodo’s invisible hand in both of his, and blindly found the Ring. With a cry of
despair, he pulled it off as Frodo, frozen, stood before him, and Frodo, again
visible, fell limply into his arms.
But neither had any time to react to what had just occurred, before a dark man
was upon them, grasping their arms roughly in his large hands, and harshly
muttering, “Come with me. Now.”
There was something about his voice and demeanor that seemed to give them no
choice in the matter, and without another word, they allowed themselves to be
forcefully dragged from the room, down a corridor, and shoved through a doorway.
The door was thrown shut behind them, and terrified and bewildered, they found
themselves facing a very tall and angry man.
“Was that to entertain the locals?” he muttered harshly. “Or do you truly have
no idea what it is that you carry?”
For Sam, that was really about all he could take. He was still shocked beyond
words at what had happened, but this Big Person harrying Frodo was past
tolerating. Shoving himself in front of Frodo, he violently grabbed the
stranger’s hands, and threw them off forcibly from his and Frodo’s arms. “You
know nothing of us, and what we’d be knowin’ or not,” he hissed, furiously.
“Tall as though you’d be, we’d not be fauntlings that you can drag about as you
will. I’d thank you to keep that long nose of yours out of our affairs, and
leave us in peace.”
The man eyed him warily, but the ghost of a smile began to appear on his lips.
“Well spoken, Mr. Underhill,” he murmured softly. “Although, I’d guess that you
would actually be Mr. Underhill,” he added, turning his attention to Frodo, who
was standing, guarded and silent, watching him from behind Sam.
“Yes, I am,” Frodo spoke then, carefully scrutinizing the man’s face. “It would
seem that you know that name.”
“We have a mutual friend,” was the reply, as Sam continued to stand protectively
in front of Frodo, and glare at the stranger. “I have been waiting for you. But
we have little time to talk at this moment. Did you not mention there are others
in your party? They must be found immediately. You are all in the gravest of
danger.”
“Merry and Pippin,” Frodo breathed, as Sam turned around to give him a worried
glance. “We must find them at once.”
“You can not go about,” the stranger said at once. “You are in far too much
peril to be seen on the streets.”
“Sam?” Frodo whispered, turning his eyes to him, with anguish on his face.
The tall man turned to him as well. “I’m afraid it is up to you,” he said,
abruptly. “If you wish to protect your friends, you must find them at once. I
don’t believe they would follow me at my request,” he added, rather dryly. “I’m
afraid my appearance would not inspire much confidence in them.”
“Please, Sam?” Frodo’s voice was choked with emotion, and Sam swallowed hard.
“Aye,” he said slowly, but gave the man an almost imperceptible motion of his
head to the door. Turning again to Frodo, he lay a gentle hand on Frodo’s
shoulder, feeling in dismay how tight Frodo’s muscles were beneath his touch.
“Don’t you fear, me dear, I’ll find them and bring them back,” he whispered
quietly. Only then did he give a quick look about the room in which they stood.
“It’s the linen storeroom,” the man answered his unasked question. “We’ll still
be here.”
Torn in his heart over what he should do, Sam walked to the door nevertheless,
with only one glance back to Frodo. But Frodo’s face was clouded over, and he
could not read it. The man followed him to the door, and as Sam opened the door
and stepped out into the dimly lit corridor without, he turned once more back to
the man, and reaching, up, forcefully grabbed his arm. “Listen to me, and listen
good,” his words were vehement, but in a subdued tone, so that Frodo could not
hear. “I expect that Mr. Underhill will be treated well while I’m gone. I find
out otherwise, an’ it’ll be Sam Gamgee as you’ll be answerin’ to, I can promise
you that. And a Gamgee always keeps his word.”
The man studied him in silence for a moment, and then said, very quietly, “You
need not worry, Master Gamgee. I saw you take It off of his hand. He must love
you very much to have allowed you to do that.”
Sam stared at him for a moment in surprise, his grip loosening unconsciously.
“Aye, that he does,” he whispered softly, and then turned and left.
&&&&&
Back in the storeroom, Frodo and the man eyed each other silently for a few
moments, each taking the measurement of the other. Frodo’s experience with Big
People was very limited, but even so, he had the sense that this man was not at
all ordinary. He was taller than most, with a lean and rugged visage, and attire
that spoke of an unsettled life, and many a night on the road. But his eyes were
the most extraordinary thing about him. They were a light grey but piercing, and
somehow, cool and non-judgmental. Frodo had the suspicion, however, that those
eyes were assessing him quite carefully, and he was not entirely sure of their
verdict.
“You spoke of a mutual friend,” he said at last.
“Gandalf the Grey,” the man answered promptly. “He told me that you would be
traveling through Bree, and the nature of your mission. I have been waiting for
over a month for your arrival. He also mentioned that you would be traveling by
the name of Underhill, Frodo Baggins.”
“You have the advantage of me then,” Frodo responded, rather sharply.
“My pardon,” the man acknowledged, with the slightest of smiles. “The folk here
call me Strider, and I suppose that name suits as well as any.”
“Where is Gandalf, then, Strider?” Frodo was not interested in pursuing whatever
other names the man might have, as his unease at Gandalf’s non-appearance
returned. “Do you know where he is?”
“No, I regret to say,” Strider shook his head, and his concern was obvious. “He
thought that he would be here. He told me only as a precaution, should some
unforeseen circumstance arise, and I’m afraid it has.”
“What has he told you of our mission?” Frodo then asked, almost hesitantly, but
it seemed as though it was indeed not hidden from this mysterious man.
“I know what it is that you carry, Frodo Baggins, and where you are bound,”
Strider replied, suddenly stern again. “And your carelessness in the manner in
which you are handling It concerns me greatly. It is not at all something to
ever be used lightly.”
A quick resentment flared through Frodo at those words, aided not to a small
extent by the fear that he was trying to suppress as to the Ring‘s apparent
independent action. “I have never used It lightly,” he answered the man’s
accusation hotly. “Indeed, I have never used It at all before tonight, and I did
not put It on willingly. I am well aware the danger of using It.”
“Are you telling me that you did not consciously use It?” Strider frowned, alarm
clear in his expression.
“I have carried It in a box, which I did not open,” Frodo’s words were precise
and even, but the light in his eyes was still angry as he stared up at this
stranger, before whom he had unaccountably found himself defending his actions.
“However, this is not the first time that It has apparently slipped out, and at
the least fortunate moment.”
“And where is it now?” the stranger asked softly, giving Frodo a steady gaze.
Frodo started at the question, for the moment, taken aback. His memory of what
had happened in the inn’s dining room was still confused, but he did know that
Sam had pulled it from his hand. With a sudden gulp of panic, he carefully
groped in his pocket, but found only the box. With a perceptibly shaking hand,
and eyes widened by fear, he slowly opened the box, and then gave a sigh of
relief. The Ring was there.
But then the memories came back to him more clearly, and he looked back up at
Strider, with fear beginning to grip him again. “I didn’t put It back,” he
whispered.
Strider took one look at the simple gold band, and then turned abruptly on his
heels, as the sound of footsteps outside the door could suddenly be heard. “Put
It away,” he hissed over his shoulder, and Frodo quickly and wordlessly
complied.
It was Sam who opened the door, with an obviously alarmed Merry and Pippin close
behind him. They stared at Frodo with wordless concern, but then both turned to
see the tall man as he stepped back out of the shadows.
“Is this all your party?” he asked abruptly, as Sam hastily went to Frodo’s
side, giving him an apprehensive glance. But Frodo nodded to Sam slightly, and
his hand connected unnoticed with his, their fingers threading together, for the
briefest of moments, and Sam relaxed.
“This is Strider,” Frodo spoke levelly to his cousins, ignoring the man’s
question for the moment. “He has told me that Gandalf has asked him to assist
us. He appears to know why we have left the Shire, and,” pausing for a moment,
he looked carefully at the man, “I believe him.”
“Well, we were certainly doing fine enough on our own,” Merry scowled, giving
the stranger an unfriendly glare. “And why are we holed up in here, anyway? Sam
did tell us…” here he paused, and then carefully continued, “What happened. But
cowering in here doesn’t make much sense, I must say.”
“Gandalf certainly did not prepare you well for this journey, if you do not
understand your danger,” the man retorted angrily to Merry’s words, making no
effort to hide his exasperation.
“Well, as Sam explained it, none of the rest of the patrons appeared to notice
the fact that Frodo was not to be seen for a few moments,” Merry shot back,
undeterred by the stranger’s attitude or words. “I’m sure it must have been
disconcerting for Sam, and Frodo too, for that matter. I do know It is not to be
used, but it sounds like a simple accident, and if no one noticed, then there is
no reason for us to be cowering in this closet.”
“Then you do not understand,” the man said simply. “The Ring has called His
servants, the Ringwraiths. In the Shire, as of late, I believe they are known as
the Black Riders. By wearing It, Frodo, however unintentional your actions were,
you have allowed It to summon them. Even now, they are on their way here.”
“The Riders,” Pippin gasped, all color draining from his face. “They’re coming
here?”
Strider nodded. “I will do my best to guard you, but it is imperative that you
understand the danger you are now in.”
“They hunted us in the Shire,” Sam murmured, his face clearly revealing his
fear. “I thought we’d left them behind.”
“As long as you carry the Ring,” Strider shook his head, “It will not cease to
call to them. But they can only clearly see you, when you put It on.” He gave
Frodo a piercing look then, and abruptly said, “ Will you accept my help, Frodo
Baggins? I pledge you that I will risk all, in order that you and your comrades
may arrive at Rivendell.”
Frodo returned his gaze coolly, and slowly replied, “I will accept it. Tell us
what it is that we must do.”
The man gave him a quick look of relief, rapidly concealed, and answered, “Then
I must leave you here for a little while. We must leave Bree tonight, before the
dawn. We can no longer travel the Road, and it will be a rough and arduous way
ahead of us, one that your party is not yet equipped to travel. I will return in
a short time. In the meanwhile, stay here. Do not, above all, return to your
room. Will you do this?”
“We will,” Frodo answered steadily, regarding him with composure.
“Very well, then.” And the man was gone.
&&&&&
There was silence in the storeroom as the four travelers stared at each other.
Merry was the first to speak. “Are you quite sure about this, Frodo?” he asked,
with a slight scowl. “What proof do you have that Gandalf ever really said
anything to him?”
“None,” Frodo answered immediately, with a slight sigh. “But he does seem to
know quite a lot about where we are going and why, and I can’t imagine who else
could have told him.”
“Those chasing us back in the Shire seem to know what we’d have, likewise,” Sam
put in, with a concerned voice. “But I’d not be likin’ to be following their
advice, noways.”
“You’re right, Sam,” Frodo admitted, rubbing his forehead. “But somehow this
Strider does not strike me as the same sort at all.”
“I think you’re right, Frodo,” Pippin unexpectedly spoke up. “I feel same about
him. Definitely a little uneasy about him, maybe, but that he’s safe,
nevertheless. If he meant us harm, he would have already done it.”
“Aye, you have a point a’that,” Sam allowed slowly. Giving Frodo a worried
glance, he wrapped a firm arm around his shoulders, and slowly sank down,
leaning against the wall, along with Frodo. Frodo did not resist, but wearily
leaned against Sam, and sank his head upon Sam’s shoulder, closing his eyes.
Merry watched Frodo as well, with some concern, and then sat down nearby, Pippin
at his side and their hands securely clasped. “Very well, then,” he somewhat
reluctantly agreed. “I suppose we’d better wait.”
&&&&&
There was no way of knowing how long it had been when Strider returned, but
Pippin had fallen into a doze, and Merry would have done so as well, if he had
been able to ignore his rumbling stomach. Frodo and Sam had remained quiet, and
Merry wasn’t at all sure as to their thoughts, but he was positive that they
were not asleep.
Strider entered quietly enough, with a well-laden pack slung over his shoulder,
but in his hands was a most unusual sight, four short swords and scabbards.
Merry looked at the weapons, aghast, and slowly looked back up to Strider.
“Hobbits don’t use weapons,” he exclaimed, shortly.
“Perhaps they do not in the Shire,” the man replied patiently, “but you are no
longer there, Master Brandybuck. The road ahead is perilous, as I have said, and
you can not always await aid.” Merry flushed slightly at Strider’s words and
roused Pippin, none too gently, who rose to his feet.
“We can handle ourselves, Strider,” he said shortly. “You need not concern
yourself with us.”
“That remains to be seen, my good hobbit,” Strider replied, obviously skeptical,
and handed the weapons to Frodo and Sam, both of whom had stirred, and stood up
at his entrance. “We need to return to your room,” he continued, handing swords
to Merry and a yawning and blinking Pippin as well. “We must collect your packs
now, and be ready to leave before dawn. We’ll be safest if we stay together, so
lead me to your room, if you please.”
“Or even if we don’t please,” Merry quietly grumbled to Pippin, as they followed
Frodo, who had the best sense of direction, back to their room.
&&&&&
It was the cold air in the dark room that Frodo first noticed, as he and Strider
stepped inside with the other three close behind. The fire that had been burning
cozily in the hearth when they had left had gone out, leaving only cold, barely
glowing embers. There was a steady sort of rustling sound, which he realized was
from the flapping curtains. In the dim light, he could barely see that the
window stood wide open, but there was something odd about it. Turning to Sam
behind him, he murmured quickly, “The candle in the hallway, Sam.”
Sam hastily nodded, and turned back out the door, reaching up to grasp the
candle that had been burning low in the sconce in the hallway outside their
room. Re-entering the room, he held it up, and Frodo then realized what was odd
about the window. The glass had been broken, as if it had been hammered out,
with only the occasional jagged shard still remaining in the frame.
Strider gave a concerned grunt at the sight, and taking the candle from an
unresisting Sam, lifted it higher. That was when they saw him.
It was Nob, sprawled in an ungainly manner over a couple of copper tubs, and his
eyes were staring sightlessly up, an expression of terror on his face. There was
a horrible gash across his throat, and the tub below him had already collected a
darkly glistening pool of blood. Strider quickly knelt down beside him, laying a
gentle hand at the side of his neck, but it was obvious, even to the shocked
hobbits, that there was no chance he was still alive. Sam heard Frodo, standing
in front of him, make a choking sound, stepping backwards, and he unconsciously
wrapped his hands around Frodo’s shoulders, supporting him from behind. Next to
him, he heard Pippin give a thin quiet wail of fear, and Merry swearing
something unintelligible.
Lightly rising to his feet, Strider cautiously approached the open window, and
peered out. “They are gone for now,” he muttered, turning back to the still
shaken hobbits, “but we must leave before the sun rises.” Stepping back to the
still body, he bent down once again, and with a surprisingly compassionate
movement, brushed his hand down over Nob’s eyes, closing them. “I must tell the
innkeeper,” he murmured. “Wait for me here.”
But none of them had stirred, or spoken a word, when he returned in a matter of
moments with Mr. Butterbur. The normally cheerful man gave a cry of grief at the
sight of the dead hobbit, and looked back at Strider with fear. “Nob had a good
heart, Butterbur, and never deserved this fate,” Strider said softly, laying a
hand lightly on the proprietor’s shoulder. “Evil times are upon us, my friend.
But for now, the evil will be pursuing us, and we are leaving.”
With a wordless nod, Butterbur continued to stand there, with slumped shoulders,
as Aragorn, nodding to the hobbits to follow him, left the room. Three of the
travelers numbly followed, but Merry hung back for a moment. “What can you tell
us of this man, Strider?” he whispered hastily, and Butterbur turned a dazed
face toward him.
“He is a Ranger, Master Brandybuck,” he answered simply, as if there were no
need to say more.
“A Ranger?” Merry scowled.
“Do not tell me that the Shire has become so complacent that they have forgotten
the Rangers?” Butterbur’s voice strengthened, containing more than a trace of
scorn. “Then evil times are indeed upon us, and some may wish that they had had
longer memories, my young Master.”
&&&&&
A faint greying of the sky spoke of dawn not far off as the four travelers, led
by Strider, left Bree. They silently walked through deserted streets, past the
prosperous shops and stables, past the great houses crammed
shoulder-to-shoulder, that could only belong to men. As they walked though, they
headed not for the great gate by which they had entered the previous afternoon,
but down progressively more narrow and dirty streets, until at last the large
buildings suddenly ended, and they found themselves in fields, walking down
cold, wet, muddy roads, with sheds and the occasional hovel near the road. Most
of the fields were fenced in, by weathered and partially collapsed timbers, and
there were cattle of a larger size than the hobbits were used to, standing
placidly in the fields next to the fences, chewing thoughtfully, and gazing
disinterestedly at the passers-by.
Frodo was walking as one in a daze, woodenly placing on foot before the other,
and staring unseeingly straight ahead. Merry and Pippin walked closely together,
Merry’s face stony. Sam could not see Pippin, but heard an occasional stifled
sob. And Sam’s heart was in turmoil, sickened by what had occurred in Bree,
tormented by fear, and still uneasy about their guide. Strider strode ahead of
them without a look back, assuming that they would keep pace with him.
As the pink light began to streak the sky ahead of them, the fields became
emptier of cattle, and the outbuildings less frequent, and Sam realized that
they were leaving Bree behind. There was a group of horses grazing in the last
field, before the hills started, and it was there that Sam noticed a scrawny
pony standing tied to a mill wheel, straining to reach the lush grass just
beyond the length of his rope. Sam choked back an unexpected sob at the sight,
unable to tolerate one more scene of cruelty, and reaching within his pack,
pulled out an apple and threw it toward the famished animal. The pony grasped it
eagerly and devoured it instantly.
As Sam turned to walk on, he heard a sudden neigh behind him, and turned to find
that the pony had snapped the frayed rope and was following him. Strider
stopped, and turned as well, watching the pony walk up to Sam, and nuzzle his
arm lightly, as if in thanks. “I never meant… I only gave him an apple,” Sam
gave Strider a guilty glance, but Strider smiled slightly at the scene.
“I suspect he could do worse than come with us, however difficult our journey
may be,” he said softly. “Your decision, Samwise.”
Sam quickly looked to Frodo, but Frodo was only staring dully at the ground.
“I’ll keep him, if he wishes it,” Sam fought to keep his voice steady. “Some
folk don’t know how to care for defenseless animals, no how.”
Strider nodded, and set off again, Frodo following at his side and Merry and
Pippin close behind. And Sam followed in the rear, one arm around the pony’s
neck, and his quiet tears hastily wiped against the pony’s mane, before those
ahead could turn to see them.
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