Article: 207923 of rec.arts.books.tolkien Path: uchinews!newsfeed.stanford.edu!paloalto-snf1.gtei.net!news.gtei.net!webtv.net!not-for-mail From: <<>> (David Sulger) Newsgroups: rec.arts.books.tolkien Subject: Chapter 9: At the Sign of the Prancing Pony Date: Fri, 19 May 2000 01:11:50 -0400 (EDT) Organization: WebTV Subscriber Lines: 196 Message-ID: <9594-3924CD16-87@storefull-255.iap.bryant.webtv.net> NNTP-Posting-Host: localhost.webtv.net Mime-Version: 1.0 (WebTV) Content-Type: Text/Plain; Charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7Bit X-WebTV-Signature: 1 ETArAhRISGa94knrRK746Et0+Rad6r6oXwITQke9knR7GNg8xPioUJnYFLVmsw== Content-Disposition: Inline Xref: uchinews rec.arts.books.tolkien:207923 Bree was the chief village of Bree-land, a small country a few miles broad whose chief claim to fame was its aluminum siding industry. The Men of Bree were cheerful and independant: they belonged to nobody but themselves. In the lands beyond Bree there were mysterious wanderers. The Bree-folk called them Rangers, and being unlettered hicks for the most part knew nothing of their origins. They were believed to have strange powers of sight and hearing, and so the Bree-folk thought that they were the ones who secretly ran the local psychic telephone hotline. When they appeared, they brought strange news from afar, but since they didn't buy siding, the Bree-folk did not make friends of them. There were also many families of Hobbits in Bree-land. The Big 'Uns and the Little 'Uns (as they called one another) were on friendly terms, both regarding each other as necessary parts of the Bree-folk. Nowhere else was this peculiar (but politically correct) arrangement to be found. The Bree-folk, Big and Little, did not travel much. Occasionally, the Hobbits of Bree went as far as Beltbuckleland or Eastfarting, though the Hobbits of the Shire now seldom visited. An occasional Beltbucklelander or adventurous Took would come out to buy some siding, but that was becoming less usual. The village of Bree had some hundred houses of the Big 'Uns, all with aluminum siding, awnings and doors. It was dark when Frodo and his companions came to the West-gate and found it shut. The gatekeeper jumped up and looked at them in surprise. "Who the hell are you?" he asked gruffly. "We are making for the inn," answered Frodo. "We are journeying to the east." "Hobbits! And from the Shire by their talk," the gatekeeper said to himself. He stared at them darkly, and then opened the gate. "You'll pardon my wondering what business takes you away east of Bree! What may your names be, might I ask?" "Our names and our business are our own," said Frodo, not liking the nosiness of the man. "No doubt," said the man, "But I'm supposed to ask questions after nightfall." "We are Hobbits from Beltbuckleland, and we feel like staying at the inn here," said Morrie. "I am Mr. Brandybuck. And why don't you mind your own damn business?" "All right, all right!" said the man. "I meant no offense, but there's queer folk about, not that there's anything wrong with that." Frodo wondered why the man was so suspicious, and wondered if anyone had been asking about a party of Hobbits. Could it be Gandalf, or perhaps his creditors? As soon as the gatekeeper's back was turned, a dark figure climbed over the gate and into the shadows of the village. The Hobbits rode on up a slope and drew together outside the inn. Sam stared up at the inn with its aluminum siding and felt his heart sank. He had imagined meeting terrifying creatures, but at the moment he was finding his first sight of Men and their aluminum houses to be quite enough. He pictured fierce, warlike elf-maidens peering out the out of dark upper windows. "We surely aren't going to stay here, are we?" he exclaimed. "Maybe we could stay with some Hobbits. It would be more homelike." "What's wrong with it?" asked Frodo. "Tom Bombadil recommended it. I expect it's homelike enough." Even from the outside the inn looked a pleasant home to familiar eyes. A sign above the door pictured a fat white pony rearing on its hind legs. Over the door was painted the letters: THE PRANCING PONY by BARLIMAN BUTTERBALL. They climbed up the steps. Frodo went forward and nearly bumped into a short, grossly overweight man with a bald head and sweaty red face. "Can we --" began Frodo. "Half a minute, if you please!" shouted the man. He dissapeared into the tavern, and reemerged a moment later, wiping his hands on his greasy apron." "Good evening, little master," he said, bending down. Morrie and Pipsqueak giggled and chortled at "little master", but Frodo glared at them and they shut up. "We'd like beds for four, and stabling for five ponies," Frodo said. "Are you Mr. Butterball?" "That's right," he said. "Barliman Butterball at your service. You're from the Shire, eh? Now what does that remind me of? Might I ask your names, sir?" "Mr. Took, and Mr. Brandybuck," said Frodo. "This is Sam Gamgee, and I am Mr. Underhill." "There now," said Butterball, "it's gone again! Well, it'll come back as soon as I have a chance to think." Butterball showed them to their rooms and prepared them a dinner in a private parlor, which was served to them by his wife, Bella. As he was leaving, he invited them to join the company in the common room when they were finished. They felt refreshed and encouraged after thier meal, and Frodo, Sam and Pipsqueak decided to join the company. Morrie, having learned long ago the value of keeping a low profile, decided to stay behind, and perhaps go out later for soem fresh air. The company was in the large common room of the inn. It was large and mixed as Frodo discovered as his eyes adjusted to the light. Barliman Butterball was talking to a group of dwarves near the fire. On the benches were various folk: the local drunks for the most part, but also more dwarves and other figures in the shadowy corners. The local folk, having drunk a few pints already, cheered the Shire-hobbits as they entered the room, but the strangers, especially the ones from the South, stared at them curiously. Butterball introduced them to the crowd. The Men of Bree seemed to have strange, meaty names like Oscar-meyer, Hatfield, Weaver, Tyson, and Sandyman (not to mention Butterball). However, the Hobbits had much more natural names, like Banks, Bigholes, Earthmovers, and Digger, many of which were used in the Shire. There even some Underhills, who immediately took to Frodo as a long-lost cousin. Frodo said that he was interested in history and geography, but got many blank stares, as the Bree-folk were uneducated and such words weren't in their vocabulary. The Hobbits went over to Pipsqueak and asked him all sorts of questions about the Shire, leaving Frodo to sit in the corner by himself. The Men and Dwarves were mostly talking of distant events. There was trouble away in the South, and the Men who had come up the Greenway were on the move looking for lands were they could find peace. The Bree-folk were sympathetic, but since poor refugees seldom have money for siding and other home improvements, they didn't want them around. One traveller, a squint-eyed ill-favored fellow was foretelling that more people would be coming north in the near future. He went on and on about squatters' rights, and local folk were not pleased. The hobbits were not as concerned, since Big 'Uns could hardly beg for lodgings in hobbit-holes. They were more interested in Pipsqueak and Sam's tales of the Shire. Pipsqueak roused a great deal of laughter with an account of the collapse of the Town Holes in Michel Delving: Will Whitfoot, the mayor and fattest hobbit in the Shire, had been buried in his hidden stash of cocaine, and came out looking like a floured dumpling. Then Frodo noticed that a strange-looking flabby man sitting in the shadows was also listening intently to the Shire talk. "Who is that?" Frodo asked, when he got a chance to whisper to Mr. Butterball. "I don't think you introduced him." "Him?" said the landlord. "I don't really know. He is one of the wandering folk -- Rangers we call them. What his right name is I've never heard, but he's known around here as Strider." Frodo found that Strider was looking at him, and he beckoned for Frodo to come closer. "I am called Strider," he said in a low voice. I am pleased to meet you, Master Underhill. If I were you, I would stop your young friends from talking too much." Frodo noticed that Strider's attention was focused on Pipsqueak. To his alarm, Frodo noticed that the ridiculous young Took was now talking about Bilbo's farewell. He was giving a good imitation of the speech, and was now drawing close to the astonishing Appearance. Frodo was annoyed. It would bring the name of Baggins the minds of the locals, especially if there had been inquiries in Bree about the name. Frodo fidgeted, unsure what to do. Pipsqueak, unmindfull of the danger, finished the speech, then he jumped up on a table, tore off his shirt, and started to gyrate his hips wildly. "You'd better do something quick!" whispered Strider. Frodo jumped up onto another table. Some of the hobbits looked at him and laughed, thinking he had taken as much ale as was good for him. He felt nervous, and began to fondle the things in his pockets as he did when making a speech. He felt the Ring on its chain, and quite suddenly he felt a desire to slip it on and prove his manhood with Bella. It seemed to him, somehow, that the suggestion came to him from someone or something in the room. He resisted the temptation firmly. He spoke a few words, then hesitated and coughed. Everyone was now looking at him. "A song!" shouted one of the hobbits. "A song, a song!" shouted all the others. For a moment he hesitated, and then one of Bilbo's silly old songs came to mind: Hey diddle, diddle, the cat and the fiddle, The cow jumped over the moon. The little dog cried to see such sport, And the dish ran away with the spoon. Though since Westron had a lot more words than Modern English, the song was quite a bit longer than that. The applause was long and loud, and they called for an encore. Now Frodo began to feel pleased with himself. He danced on the table, and when he came to "the cow jumped over the moon" he leaped into the air. He slipped on a tray of mugs when he came down, and rolled off the table. The audience laughed when they saw his pants around his ankles exposing his flannel boxers with pink oliphaunts. One swarthy Bree-lander looked at him with a mocking and knowing expression, then slipped out the door with the squint-eyed southerner and the gatekeeper; they had been whispering together a great deal that evening. Frodo felt foolish. Not knowing what to do, he pulled his pants back up and took off the Ring. How it came to be on his finger he could not tell. He did not like the looks of the men that had gone out. "Well?" said Strider. "Why did you do that? Worse than anything your friends could have said! You have put your foot in it! Or should I say your finger? We better wait until the laughter dies down. Then, if you please, Mr. _Baggins_, I should like a quiet word with you." "Very well," said Frodo, "I'll talk to you later." After the crowd left, Butterball came over to Frodo. "I'm sorry if I caused any trouble," Frodo said. "It was quite unintentional. We'll be leaving early tommorrow. Could you have our ponies ready by eight o'clock?" "Very good. But before you go, I would like a word with you in private, Master Underhill. Something has just come back to my mind that I ought to tell you. After I've seen to a thing or two, I'll come to your room, if you're willing." "Certainly," said Frodo, but his heart sank, wondering how many private talks he has going to have before bed. Were they against him? He even suspected fat Butterball's face of concealing dark designs. --Dave