Lotr Bullshit

The Punch

Merry sat down on the bench next to Pippin, slowly setting down his foamy pint of beer.

"What is that?" Pip asked in pure shock and adoration.

"This, my friend..." Merry began smugly, "is a pint." He grinned and sipped at the cool drink.

"It comes in pints!?" Pippins face lit up with joy, there was nothing he loved more than beer. Except maybe second breakfast. Or pipe weed. "I'm getting one!" He leapt up from the table and ran off to the bar of the Prancing Pony.

"But you've had over half already!" Sam called out after him, but to no avail. He sighed and returned to scanning the room. The Inn was busy tonight, full of odd looking folk and Sam didn't like the way they tended to glance at Frodo.

"That fellow's done nothing but stare at us since we arrived." Sam muttered angrily, he wanted nothing more that to glide across the tables and give the hooded figure a good slap - Hobbit style.

Frodo looked up dosily from the bottom of his drink and glanced discreetly at the man.
"Excuse me, that man in the corner, who is he?"

"He's one of them rangers, dangerous folk they are. What 'is right name is, I've never heard. But round here? He's known as Strider." The bar man said, his voice quivered in fear and he rushed off soon after.

Frodo felt the fear settle in his stomach and attempted to stop his hands from shaking. He grasped the ring in his fingers and fondled it gently under the table.

Sam watched Frodo's eyes flutter closed and analysed his movements under the table. He really hated that stupid ring, he really hated Gandalf for abandoning them, but most of all he hated Strider. How dare he intimidate people by just sitting in the corner? Sam was going to do some thing.

Then all of the sudden Frodo jumped up from his seat and bustled over to the bar where Pippin was drunkenly singing out Frodo's real name. The black haired hobbit fell to the ground with a thump, and if the attention of everyone wasn't grabbed, then it certainly was when Frodo vanished as the ring slipped on his finger.

There was a collective gasp and Sam saw Strider sit up like an annoying pigeon after food. He balled his fists; one move from the hooded jerk and he would punch him square in the chops.

Sam focused on finding Frodo, he glanced at the floor and saw scuffle marks in the dust. He rose from his seat, abandoned his beer and followed them. Finally, across the room he saw him re-appear. His best friend was huddled under a table, eyes wide and trembling. He uttered a sigh of relief before Frodo was swiftly whisked away by the hooded Strider. He dragged Frodo up the narrow staircase with ease.

Sam should have been scared, he should have been terrified. But no. He was angry as hell. He gathered Merry and Pippin and charged up the stairs after his boss and the daunting, fully grown 87 year old, hybrid, elf-raised, heir to the thrown of Gondor with his bare fists. Sam was not afraid. He was mad! White hot rage consumed him as he bolted up the stairs.

He felt the presence of Pippin and Merry who brandished both a candle stick and a whole bar stool. He smirked and uttered a battle cry as the three hobbits burst into the silent hallway. They stopped. Which way now?

Sam roundhouse kicked the first door down to receive a scream from a woman. "Sorry!" He shrieked.

"Get out you pervert freak!" she yelled.

The trio ventured on down the hall until they reached the last door. Sam placed his ear against the cool wood and heard raised voices echoing from inside. His anger re-emerged and the sandy haired Hobbit ran into the door.

"Get off him or I'll have you, longshanks!" He cried in the deepest voice he could muster.

Strider turned around slowly to see the blonde hobbit in all his three foot six glory and laughed. He was backed up by two equally small hobbits with makeshift weapons. He looked at Sam again and noticed that he had tightly balled fists ready to punch. But where would he hit? His knees? Strider laughed again.

Sam didn't believe that it was possible for him to feel any more anger. But he did. He scowled and tightened his fists before he lunged and swung his fist as hard as he could landing it squarely in the delicate region that was Aragorn's crotch.

"Oh..." Strider breathed. He slithered to his knees where Sam swung his second fist into the man's face knocking him out with ease. Strider fell from his knees flat onto his face. Sam huffed.

"Are you okay Mr Frodo?"

Frodo's eyes were wide in shock before he leaped across the room to hug Sam. They embraced in the cold dark room, when Frodo finally let go he kissed Sam on the forehead. "That was amazing, you're my hero, Sam." He stared deep into Sam's eyes, like Sherlock does to John Watson.

"Aww shucks." Sam blushed and looked at the floor.

"Are your hands alright?" Frodo asked grabbing them gently and running his thumbs over Sam's bruised knuckles.

"I'm fine Mr Frodo, thank you." Sam took his hands away.

"Great! Then you can help carry Strider out. Black Riders are coming and he's going to help us." Frodo grabbed one of Strider's legs and started to lug the guts.

"He's coming with us?" Sam panicked.

"No offence, Frodo, but isn't that gonna draw attention?" Merry began.

"Well, what else do we do?" Pippin questioned.

"Here, I'll carry him, this is my fault." Sam picked up Strider and carried him bridal style out of the door. Frodo looked at Merry and Pippin.

"Is he on Steroids?" Pippin asked innocently still swaying slightly from all the beer.

"I don't know but Frodo likes! Hubba hubba!" Frodo grinned and ran out of the door following Sam.

"'Scuse me. We got a real drunk fella here." Sam said, almost buried in the mass of Strider's huge body.

There were some mutters of understanding through the Inn, there were less people, and the bar man was scurrying around elsewhere. The five exited swiftly after staging the room with pillows under sheets. And the four hobbits  weren't seen again in Bree until years later.