Return to our Destiny.

11. The Prancing Pony

The Hobbits arrive at the gates of Bree, soaking wet due to the pouring rain. They pause, uncertain how to declare themselves. "Come on." Frodo urged. He knocks on the gates. A small peep hole opens high above them, then slams shut. Another opens, nearer their eye level. An old face peers out against the downpour. "What do you want?" the old gatekeeper said after using both peek windows to find the four drenched Hobbits.

"We're heading for the Prancing Pony." Frodo answered as the Gatekeeper opened the gate, "Hobbits! Four hobbits! What business brings you to Bree?" he asked as he looked down at them, with his lantern held up to shine light on their faces, "We wish to stay at the inn. Our business is our own." Frodo said a bit defensively, "All right young sir, I meant no offence. 'Tis my job to ask question after nightfall. There's talk of strange folk abroad. Can't be too careful."

He then ushers them inside. The Hobbits make their way up the cobbled path, through the motley crowd which jostles and bumps them. One man, a particularly ugly oaf holding a carrot, belches contemptuously over them. "Out of the way! Watch where you're walking, young masters!" one of the men say as he walks around the four hobbits. Frodo looks up and spots the sign of the Prancing Pony. The four Hobbits enter the Inn. 

Inside, it is crowded, noisy and poorly-lit. They pull back their hoods. Merry and Pippin breathe sighs of relief. Frodo steps up to the bar, which rises far above his head. "Excuse me?" Frodo calls getting the owner's attention. Butterbur leaning down over the bar sees the hobbits. "Good evening, little masters! If you're looking for accommodation we've got some nice, cozy, hobbit-sized rooms available. Mister uh —" he trails off waiting for a name to address the leader of this tiny band of hobbits. 

"— Underhill, my name's Underhill." Frodo gives seemingly giving a name from off the top of his head. "Underhill. Yes..." the owner accepts the name despite knowing it's probably fake. "We're friends of Gandalf the Grey. Can you tell him we've arrived?" Frodo adds, "Gandalf? Gandalf? Oh yes! I remember: elderly chap, big gray beard, pointy hat... Not seen him for six months." he says different feelings fill and drain out of Frodo,

As he's told Gandalf wasn't even in the area and hadn't been for some time. The hobbits are shocked. They huddle together. "What do we do now?" Sam asks but Frodo can't answer as he too doesn't know. 

***

The hobbits are seated at a table in the tap room of the Prancing Pony. The air is dark and smoke-filled. Drunken men laugh raucously. Several glance suspiciously at the hobbits. "Sam. He'll be here. He'll come." Frodo says still hopeful. A man almost steps on Merry coming from the bar, "Get, get out of my way." he quips but the hobbit is focused on not spilling his drink. Merry sits down at the table. He is holding a huge stein of beer.

"What's that?" Pippin asks enviously at his friend, "This my friend, is a pint." Merry says and Pippin gasps in excitement. "It comes in pints?" he asks and Merry hums into his mug confirming Pippin's question, "I'm getting one." says quickly before getting up and rushing to the bar. "You had a whole half already!" Sam shouts after him but it ignored. Sam turns back to his mug. After a moment, he nudges Frodo and gestures to the corner of the room. 

A dark cloaked figure sits alone. The male has his face is partially inside his hood. "That fellow's done nothin' but stare at you since we arrived." Sam said, Frodo takes Butterbur aside "Excuse me, that man in the corner, who is he?" he asked, Butterbur looked to see who Frodo meant and then looked at Frodo to avoid having his lips read by the pair in the corner.  "He's one of them rangers." He started with the man first.  

"Dangerous folk they are — wandering the wilds. What his right name is I've never heard, but around here, he's known as Strider." he said and Frodo tested the name, "Strider." As Butterbur walked off, Frodo watched Strider lights his pipe. Only the gleam of his eyes can be discerned above the glow of the burning leaf. Frodo starts to play with the Ring. It starts to whisper. "Baggins. Baggins. Baggins. Baggins! Baggins!..." 

But a familiar voice calling the same name filled him with panic. "Baggins!" Frodo snaps out of his reverie. Pippin at the bar is now the focus of Frodo's attention as he speaks, "Sure I know a Baggins. He's over there, Frodo Baggins. He's my second cousin, once removed on his mother's side" Pippin is an idiot, Frodo had told him before they arrived not to use his real name, listeners laugh, "It works for him!" yells one, 

"And my third cousin twice removed on his father's side, if you follow me." Strider sits up, his attention fairly caught. Frodo rushes towards the bar to stop Pippin from babbling further. "Pippin!" Frodo snaps as he grabs Pippin. "Steady on, Frodo!" the drunk hobbit says as Frodo slips on someone's boot and falls back, tossing the Ring into the air. As he catches it, the Ring slips onto Frodo's finger. Frodo disappears. Folks gasp in surprise. 

Strider is alarmed and jumped up from his seat. Outside the village, the Black Riders turn around. Frodo, now in a shadow world, looks around bewildered. He then sees an immense singular orb, a lidless eye, wreathed in flame. The Eye of Sauron stares down at him. "You cannot hide! I see you! There is no life in the void, only death!" Frodo backs away, terrified. He gropes for the Ring, unable to tear his gaze from the hideous Eye. 

Finally he wrenches the Ring off, reappearing with a relieved sigh. Strider grabs him from behind. "Ah!" Frodo gasped. "You draw far too much attention to yourself Mister 'Underhill'!" Strider growls as he tosses him up the stairs, flings open the door of his room, once up stairs he throws Frodo in and he shuts the door behind them. Frodo stumbles, falls to his knees, and stands up. "What do you want?" Frodo demands, 

Strider moves around the room putting out candles. "A little more caution from you. That is no trinket you carry." Strider says as he puts out the ones near the windows. "I carry nothing!" Frodo snaps. "Indeed." Strider says back obviously not believing him, he walks over to another window, and puts out more candles with his fingers. "I can avoid being seen if I wish. But to disappear entirely, that is a rare gift." He says yanking off his hood. 

"Who are you?" Frodo questions, "Are you frightened?" Strider asks sharply. Frodo looks at his and nods, "Yes." Strider shakes his head, "Not nearly frightened enough. I know what hunts you." The door bursts open. Strider draws his sword. Sam, Merry and Pippin rush in, Sam with fists clenched and ready to fight. "Let him go! Or I'll have you Longshanks!" Sam growls with his fists up. Strider sheaths his sword, 

"You have a stout heart little hobbit, but that will not save you. You can no longer wait for the wizard Frodo. They're coming." 

***

Inside the gatehouse of Bree, the wizened gatekeeper hears a horse snorting. He gets up to investigate and opens the window in the gate. Suddenly the Black Riders crash through the gate, crushing the gatekeeper underneath it. The riders gallop to the Prancing Pony. Screeches are heard. The Riders enter the Inn, swords drawn. Butterbur hides behind the door, terrified Inside, the Hobbits are soundly asleep.

The Riders make for the hobbit-sized room. Silently, they raise their swords high above them to plunge into the beds. The swords descend, stabbing at the still forms as the Hobbits awake. The Riders pull back the covers and realize they have been attacking stuffed bedclothes and pillows. They scream. Strider and Thilia watch from the window in the room as the Riders remount their horses. Frodo sits at the foot of the bed. 

The rest of the sleeping hobbits, awakened by the Riders' cries, lean wide-eyed against the headboard. "What are they?" Frodo asked looking at the two warriors, "They were once Men. Great kings of Men." Strider starts, "Then Sauron the Deceiver gave to them nine Rings of Power. Blinded by their greed, they took them without question. One by one falling into darkness." Strider continues, 

"Now they are slaves to his will. They are the Nazgûl, Ringwraiths, neither living nor dead. At all times they feel the presence of the Ring. Drawn to the power of the One. They will never stop hunting you." Strider finishes.