“Well it’s a lot nicer traveling in the quiet white snow than in the rain, mud and dark with four Black Riders hot on your trail, let me tell you,” said Pippin as he marched along the East Road at point guard. The five Shiriffs accompanying the little group of travelers looked around uneasily at the dark woods on either side of the Road.

“Um, how much further, Captain Brandybuck, sir?” one of the rear guards asked. It didn’t matter that they were armed with bows and arrows and each also carried a stout short sword. Pippin’s chatter was making them all nervous. They had been on the road all day providing extra security for Frodo and Iris as they traveled on their ponies from Buckland to Bree. Merry had insisted on the extra protection after talking with Sam the week before. The Shiriffs were from the North Farthing and had not heard of the tales of the “War down South.” This was an effort to keep Frodo’s identity as secret as possible.

“Another three hours or so,” Merry replied from atop his shaggy bay pony.

“And you’re sure there’s going to be another armed escort waiting there in Bree?” he asked.

“That’s the arrangements,” Merry continued. “But if they do not show up within the next two days, then we all turn right around and come back to the Shire.” Merry raised his voice. “Remember, you are under contract with me and Captain Took no matter what. We have arranged to have you put up at the Prancing Pony Inn in Bree for the next couple of days. Then we all travel back to the Shire, unless Mr. Underhill and Doctor Proudfoot decide to stay in Bree.”

“Underhill?” Iris whispered to Frodo.

“Right,” he whispered back. “I have to travel incognito from now on. The folk in Bree know me as Mr. Underhill from my previous adventures, so we decided to continue on with the little deception. I see no reason why you have to take on a new persona though. But it would facilitate matters if you were to be traveling as my bride. That way we can share a room at the Inn without raising too many suspicions. I doubt if the ruffians seeking to make a quick profit from my demise would be on the lookout for a pair of newly-weds.”

Time passed quickly as the little party made their way towards Bree. As they reached the outskirts of the town, a few scraggly houses appeared alongside the road. But most of the Bree dwellings were inside a fortified gate and thick thorny hedgerow. Merry and Pippin interceded at the heavily-armed gate. They were well-known to the Breeland Patrols, and the traveling party was waved into town without incident.

Merry confidently lead the little group along the tangled muddy roadways in the feeble lamplight of early evening. They threaded their way past numerous shops and houses until they reached their goal. The Prancing Pony Inn offered a cheerful oasis in the cold and rather menacingly over-large looking town. The hobbits left the three ponies tied to the front posts and filed into the warmth and confusion of the Inn.

A large Man with huge greying mutonchop whiskers peered at them from over the polished countertop. “And what can I do for you, little Masters?”

“Don’t think he’s recognized us, Pip,” Merry said as he removed the hood of his winter cloak.

“Why! As I live and breathe! Master Brandybuck and Master Took!” the rotund innkeeper beamed with pleasure. “What a surprise to see your smiling faces again in our humble establishment. It seems like it has been forever since last you were here. And why look! You’ve brought friends.” He smiled at the rest of the hobbits standing behind Merry and Pippin. The Shiriffs were gaping in astonishment at the large Men laughing and drinking at the busy bar. Most had never traveled outside of the North Farthing’s farmlands before, and the few Big Folk they had seen were always in less-intimidating groups of only two or three. The noise and smoke and high jinks going on in the bar room made the Shiriffs quite uneasy. They formed a protective ring around Frodo and Iris, but kept their weapons sheathed.

“Mister Butterbur, you seem rather busy tonight,” Merry laughed. “Do you have any rooms for my friends?”

“Most certainly, Master Brandybuck,” the innkeeper smiled. “I have a nice hobbit-sized room with four beds over in the West Wing, and another with two beds further down the hallway. Oh, yes, and your regular room for yourself and Master Took is available.”

“If you could add an extra bed to the four-bed room, the Shiriffs can stay there for the night,” Merry said.

“Absolutely! Shiriffs? Does this have anything to do with patrolling the East/West Road?” Mr. Butterbur asked. “We aren’t ready to start the patrols yet.”

“Indeed it concerns the patrols,” Merry replied, “but we will talk about that tomorrow. Rooms for the evening are what is wanted tonight, if you please.”

“Right you are, Mister Brandybuck,” Mr. Butterbur smiled. “Ho! Nob! Over here, you silly goat. Take an extra Little Folk bed into room number four.” He gestured for a good-natured brown haired hobbit to do his bidding, then turned to address the Shiriffs. “Good sirs, if you would follow Nob there. He will take you to your rooms. Dinner and drinks can be ordered from the bar, if you’ve a mind to it. I’m sure the lads in the Great Room would welcome a story or two, if you’ve a mind to join in the festivities. Quite a crowd we’ve got tonight. Very busy, you know. Very busy.”

A song could be heard from inside the smoky Great Room. “Hey! That’s the one I sang at Freddy’s wedding,” Pippin crowed.

“Um, Captain Brandybuck, would you rather have us stay with Mister Underhill until he and the doc get settled in?” the chief Shiriff whispered into Merry’s ear amidst the hustle and song.

“We can handle it from here, Mister Paddington,” Frodo replied. “Thank you ever so much for your help. Perhaps we will see you at dinner.” Iris tried to stay in the shadows as much as possible.

“Let’s all meet up at breakfast,” Merry addressed all the Shiriffs. “Captain Took and I can look out after things from here, thank you.” The Shiriffs were quite relieved to be rid of their heavy responsibility, and quickly followed Nob down a long, curving hallway until they disappeared around the bend.

Mister Butterbur was momentarily distracted by a waiter, then returned his attention to the little group left in front of the counter. He screwed up his large, red face and tried to concentrate on the familiar-looking dark haired hobbit before him. “Now wait. Don’t tell me.” He waved his hand as Frodo was about to speak. “You’ve been our guest here before, haven’t you?” The innkeeper scratched his thinning hair. “It comes to me, then flees out again. Too many things to keep track of, you understand.”

“It’s Mister Underhill, if you remember,” Frodo smiled and prompted.

“Ah, yes. Mister, um, Underhill, is it?” the friendly innkeeper smiled in sudden recognition. “Oh yes! Yes. I do hope your stay here this time will be quite uneventful. No singing or dancing on the tables this time! We want to keep it quiet tonight.”

“Let us sincerely hope so,” Frodo laughed. He pulled Iris around from behind his cloak. She couldn’t help but stare open-mouthed at the imposing, round innkeeper. Mister Butterbur appeared to her as a giant. The innkeeper winked at her. Frodo placed his arm around the blushing hobbittess and gave her a reassuring smile. “Mister Butterbur, may I introduce you to Doctor Proudfoot, my wife? She has traveled with us from Hobbiton.”

“Well, well. Congratulations Mister Underhill!” the innkeeper smiled. “And my pleasure to meet you, little mistress. I mean, Mistress Doctor, er, Doctor, er, Mam. No disrespect intended.”

Iris could not contain a smile at the big man’s dilemma as to her title.

“It’s not usual we receive lady travelers to our humble Inn, much less lady hobbits or personages as important as the Hobbiton physician. Well, well. This is delightful. A real pleasure to have you stay with us, Mam.” He leaned far over the countertop and proffered a large, fat hand to Iris. She hesitated slightly, but smiled back at the innkeeper and shook his hand.

“But if there is anything we can do to make your stay as pleasurable as possible, you be sure to tell me or Nob or Bob or any of the other Prancing Pony staff,” Mr. Butterbur said. Iris blushed and tried to blend in with Frodo’s cloak.

Mister Butterbur beamed a broad smile at the two familiar tall hobbits. “Your usual room, Masters Brandybuck and Took? And will you be needing one of the meeting rooms for discussing business this time as well?”

“Yes, please,” Pippin spoke. “And some of your fine brew too!” Merry elbowed him.

“Ow! What?” Pippin rubbed his arm.

“Thank you, Mr. Butterbur,” Merry said. “We won’t be needing the meeting room until tomorrow morning. And you are most welcome to attend tomorrow’s meeting, as you know about some of the topics.” He smiled. “My father also sends me with a proposal for some trade between Brandy Hall and Bree.”

The Innkeeper smiled and winked knowingly at Merry, then turned his attention to Frodo and Iris. “And for you, Mister and Mistress Underhill, I’ve a nice hobbit room on the ground floor, round windows and all. Just the way you Little Folk like it,” Mr. Butterbur said. “I shall try to put you two as far away from the noisy crowd as I can. But you understand, we’re very busy tonight. Very busy. Oh yes. Lots of travelers.” He snagged a hobbit waiter by the apron. “Ribbie here will show you to your room, Mister Baggins.”

“I am afraid you have mistaken me for someone else,” Frodo quietly said. “It’s Underhill, if you please.”

“Oh! Right. Right. Mister Underhill,” the flustered innkeeper said and twirled the end of his mustache. “Do forgive me. So much to do and remember. Can’t keep it all in my head all at once, you know. Ribbie. Room seven on the West Wing.” The innkeeper handed him a large key.

“Oh, so much to do I almost forgot,” Mr. Butterbur stopped them as they were about to follow Ribbie down the hallway. “Darndest thing him knowing you would be coming here. But then again, he always seems to know more than most folk. Appears and disappears at will. Shows up so unexpected like.”

“Um, Mister Butterbur,” Pippin interrupted, “who’s that you’re talking about?”

“Oh! Right! There’s someone waiting to meet with you. I’m sure you’ll be pleased to see him again too.” The innkeeper came around the edge of the counter. “Ribbie, take Mr. and Mrs. Underhill’s things to their room. This way, little masters.” He headed them towards a backroom as his assistant carted off the luggage to their rooms. “Come now. Master Gandalf is here, awaiting for you.”

“Gandalf!?” Frodo blurted out.

Butterbur arranged for one of his assistants to take care of the ponies and showed the quartet into a dimly-lit back room where the wizard was sitting by the roaring fireplace, smoking his pipe. Merry and Pippin entered the room, but waited until Frodo had a chance to greet Gandalf. Iris studied the wizard from behind the two.

Frodo ran over and embraced his old friend. “Gandalf! What a surprise! How did you know we would be coming?”

“I am staying in Rivendell now. Lord Elrond told me the news of your trip and I volunteered to accompany your escort to the Last Homely House. Well hello there Meriodoc Brandybuck. And Peregrin Took. My, how you two have grown, and I don’t simply mean in stature.”

“Great to see you too, Gandalf!” Merry replied.

“Can I refresh your pipeweed pouch, Gandalf?” Pippin asked.

Gandalf smiled. “Perhaps later, Peregrin.”

“And you must be the doctor?” Gandalf raised himself from his chair and knelt down to take Iris’s trembling hand.

“Gandalf, let me introduce you to Iris Proudfoot, the Hobbiton physician and my fiancé.”

“Well, well! Indeed!” Gandalf puffed. “Enchanted to meet you my dear.” He leaned over to whisper in her ear. “A very special lady indeed if you’ve managed to capture a Baggins’s heart.” He took her hand and kissed it lightly. Iris dropped a small curtsy in return.

Butterbur brought the party a hearty dinner of stew, cheese, bread and beer, then left them to the relative quiet of the backroom. The traveling companions sat about and talked, Frodo holding hands with Iris and laughing at Pippin and Merry’s jokes and Gandalf’s light-hearted banter.

“Here’s a bit of news for you,” the wizard smiled. “Bilbo is composing naughty poems which are the current rage in Rivendell. He calls them limericks. Some are quite clever and most are slightly naughty in one way or another.”

“Oh!” Pippin interjected, “I know several limericks by heart. I made this one up only last week.” The slightly tipsy hobbit stood up and cleared his throat.

“There was a young lady from Bree,
who climbed up one day in a tree.
An Ent came around
and was lifting her gown
when she said, ‘That, kind sir, ain’t my knee.’”

Merry burst out laughing, almost snorting beer through his nose. Iris giggled and took another slice of cheese.

Frodo rolled his eyes to the smoky ceiling. “Pippin! We are in polite company.”

“Naw. It’s just Iris,” Pippin replied. “And I know Gandalf isn’t polite.”

Gandalf chuckled. “Very astute. And very impressive, Master Took. Exactly the style and flavor of Bilbo’s poetry. You know you would make the Elves very jealous.”

“Me?” Pippin asked, incredulous. He sat back down at the little wooden table, sword thumping against the bench, and took another long drink from his ale.

“Yes, you!” Gandalf laughed. “You just easily trumped anything the Elves can do. Bilbo’s finally found a poetic meter and subject matter to which hobbits are naturally gifted and the Elves cannot compete. Although Glorfindel is still trying to compose a naughty limerick with Bilbo’s name in it, but he just can’t seem to get the joke and Bilbo’s name worked into the rhyme scheme all at the same time.”

Merry whispered something into Pippin’s ear, plunked his empty tankard on the table top and belched impressively. “Pardon, but I think I need to see Master Butterbur about a new trade agreement before we all go to bed.” He stood up and took Iris’s hand and kissed it, bowing deeply from the waist. “I do hope to see you in the morning, doctor. Or should I say, Mrs. Underhill?” Merry grinned and slid a sideways leer at Frodo. Iris punched him in the arm.

Frodo stood and embraced his cousin warmly. “Thank you, Merry. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.”

Meriodoc winked at Frodo. “Oh, you’re not getting rid of me just yet, Frodo. My task is not finished until I see you with an armed escort out of Bree. I’ll be back to walk you to bed tonight, though. Don’t leave this room until I’m back.” He patted the pommel of his sword affectionately, bowed to the rest of the company and exited.

A waiter came and brought another round of ales. Iris politely declined and stood up. Pippin scrambled to his feet as well.

“If you will also excuse me,” Iris said. “I believe a bath and bed are calling me.” She looked quizzically at Pippin. “Are you also going to bed, Master Took?”

“Uh,” Pippin sheepishly stammered, “I’m your armed escort, Dr. Proudfoot.”

Iris smiled and stood on tiptoe to kiss the young hobbit on the forehead. “My Gondor knight in shining armor. You really are quite handsome in that silver and black uniform.” Pippin blushed and smiled privately at his own thoughts.

Frodo stood up, hugged Iris to himself and kissed her full lips. “Goodnight my love. I shall be in after a little while. I need a little more time with Gandalf.”

“Goodnight Master Gandalf, sir,” she said as she and Pippin departed the room and disappeared down the hallway.