LotR: Pippin's Point of View

IV: The Prancing Pony

The rain beat down in bucketfuls. We panted as we raced through the trees from the the last crossing.

Finally, we reached the large wooden fence that marked entrance to Bree.

Frodo knocked.

An old person opened a small door, looked around, and then opened another one at a hobbit's eye level.

"What do you want?" He asked.

"We're heading for the Prancing Pony." Frodo answered.

The small window shut and the large gate was opened.

"Hobbits. Four hobbits!" The person said as Merry and I looked around behind us. Those Black Riders could be anywhere.

"Hurry up!" I muttered nervously.

"What business brings you to Bree?" He asked.

"We wish to stay at the inn. Our business is our own." Frodo replied.

The person nodded. "Alright young sir. I meant no offense. It's my job to ask questions after nightfall. There's talk of strange folk abroad. Can't be to careful." He shut the door.

I shuddered.

We trudged through the muddy streets to the village.

When we got there, we had trouble getting around. A horse-drawn cart rumbled by, almost running us over.

It seemed every person in Bree was a Man. We stumbled along, avoiding the other people's looks.

Two men walked through us, pushing us to the side. "Out of the way!" One said.

"Watch where you're waking." The other snickered.

Frodo spotted the sign, swinging in the wind and rain. A golden pony over the gold words on a green wood:

The Prancing Pony

We opened the door and hurried inside, happy to have shelter from the elements.

Men laughed loudly and the smell of ale reached our noses. I looked at Merry and grinned.

Pulling off our hoods, we looked at each other and then Frodo walked up to the bar.

The bar was a foot or two above our heads.

"Excuse me," Frodo said politely.

A Man walked up, cleaning a mug. "Good evening little masters. If you're seeking accommodation,-" he continued as another Man walked through our little group to leave. "- we've got some nice cozy hobbit-sized rooms available. Mister....uh....." He eyed Frodo warily.

"Underhill." Frodo said. "My name's Underhill."

The bartender nodded. "Underhill...yes..."

"We're friends of Gandalf the Grey; can you tell him we've arrived?"

"Gandalf?" The man looked up, as if thinking. "Gandalf." Light dawned upon the man. "Oh, yes...I remember. Elderly chap. Big grey beard, pointy hat."

Frodo s nodded.

"Not seen him for six months."

Frodo looked down, worried. Then he turned to us.

We all leaned our heads in.

"What do we do now?" Sam inquired.

We sat at a table, surrounded by drunk Men. Merry had gone to the bar to get a drink.