Waiting On The Edge Of Battle

Bree's Drunks

The ride to Bree was not altogether a pleasant one. On our journey, rain began to pelt down upon our hoods. Through our miserable feelings, we pushed on, paddling the ferry down the stream towards Bree.

During our harsh venture, Pippin stepped to the side, closer to me. "You scared me almost as much as Frodo. Don't do that to me again." He uttered, referencing to when I tripped on the root while running to the ferry. His voice wasn't scolding or anything or the sort, but quite relieved and worn out.

We made our way to the town of Bree, soaking from head to toe. Frodo was in the front of our group of hobbits, leading us to the seemingly humongous wooden gate. He glanced back at the rest of us as we neared the gate, uncertain about something.

"Come on." He instructed, before knocking on the gate. A panel opened, far above our eyelevel, then slammed shut. A seperate panel then opened, down by us, and a very aged face pokes out, looking horribly grumpy.

The gatekeeper quickly examined us all from behind the gate. "What do you want?" He asked, loud enough for us to hear through the freezing cold rain. "We're headed for the Prancing Piny." Frodo told him in a small voice trying to seem larger.

We were let into the pitch black city after few words with the gatekeeper. The five of us were jostled and bumped by folk nearly twice our size in hieght, before we finally found entrance to the inn, "The Prancing Pony".

With no pause, we entered the inn. It was busy and noisy, poorly lit, and teeming with strange, untrustworthy folk. But, it was warm and out of the rain, and it smelled of fresh food. After pulling back their hoods, Merry and Pippin breathed sighs of relief.

Just the small sound of the two assured me that everything was okay. My brother was okay, so I was okay. And the very presence of Pippin made me feel happy and at home. A minuscule smile appeared on my face as we walked further into the inn.

Frodo walked up to the bar, which rose far above his head. "Excuse me?" He asked politely, gaining the bartender's attention. The bartender leaned his head over the side of the bar, looking down at us. "Good evening, little masters!" He said. "If you're looking for accommodation we've got some nice, cozy, hobbit-sized rooms available. Mr. uh..."

"Underhill." Frodo responded uncertainly. "My name's Underhill." After that, Frodo asked for Gandalf, and if he was there. The Bartender assured us that he'd not seen Gandalf in an entire six months.

Us five hobbits huddled together, speaking in lowered voices. A worried look was plastered over Sam's face as he asked, "What do we do now?" Without a proper answer, Forod leads us to an empty table.

We bought food and drink, stocking up for what we imagined to be a short journey. To bad we hadn't a clue how dreary we would be at the end of the never ending journey ahead. Sam and Frodo sat on one side of the table, I was at the end, and Pippin sat on the opposite side of Frodo and Sam.

Merry had been at the bar still, getting another drink. He came back, being pushed around and nearly trampled, but he was careful not to spill his giant stein, which his eyes were glued to.

"What's that?" Pippin asked as Merry sat down, his eyes wide at the glorious sight of Merry's huge mug of beer. "This my friend, is a pint." Merry smiled, licking his lips and still staring at his drink.

Pippin and I exchanged glances. "It comes in pints? I'm getting one." Pippin said with a determined expression, before getting up. "Count me in." I grinned, dollowing Pippin back to the bar. "You had a whole half already!" Sam scolded, but we paid him no heed.

Pippin and I grinned at eachother, even through the smoke-filled, loud inn, inside a city we'd never been to no less. We jostled our way up to the bar and waited in a crowd of people, just for a pint each.

Don't ask me how for I don't know the answer, but somehow, Pippin made conversation with the drunken men at the bar while waiting for a pint. "Sure I know a Baggins. He's over there, Frodo Baggins." Pippin said, pointing to the table where the other hobbits sat, talking quietly.

I gulped, knowing mentioning Frodo's last name in an inn so full to the brim with shady folk was a mistake. "Um, Pippin..." I started, but he didn't hear me over the ambient noise of drunken speech that surrounded us both.

"He's my second cousin, once removed on his mother's side" The drunks listening to Pippin laughed as he babbled on, "and my third cousin twice removed on his father's side, if you follow me."

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as Frodo sprinted over to us, grabbing Pippin and spinning him around. "Pippin!" He cried. "Steady on, Frodo!" Pippin said, still not too alarmed of what he had done. Frodo tripped on someone's dark boot and fell, the back of his head and torso slamming against the hard wooden floor.

The ring...The ring flew upwards into the air as Frodo fell to the ground, and it came back down, spinning rapidy, and landed perfectly and his uplifted finger. Just as Bilbo had done at his birthday party, Frodo disappeared in front of everyone's watching eyes.

A loud gasp escaped my lips, and most of the tall, intoxicated men standing near me made noises of surprise too. I looked around, scanning the room for Merry and Sam, but they came up beside me, startling me slightly.

I watched in shock as Frodo appeared once more, only to be grabbed by a cloaked man. One who I'd noticed watching our table of hobbits from a chair in the corner of the inn. But, just as quickly as before, Frodo disappeared, this time into the crowd.