A Stop at Cherim

They watched the pale rings of light round his lanterns as they dwindled into the foggy night. Suddenly, Frodo laughed: from the covered basket he held, the scent of mushrooms was rising.

The hobbits walked, or, in Merry’s case, rode down the road in complete silence. The further they walked, the more they missed the warmth of Farmer Maggot’s fire. The silence seemed oppressive as if something evil was making the air weigh more. Then Sam, who had looked worried for some time, turned around with wide eyes as if trying to see something that he knew would startle him.

“What is it, Sam? Why do you look as though you were looking for a ghost that you knew would frighten you?”

Sam turned pale and started to shake. He looked as though he had been caught in Farmer Maggot’s mushroom field.

“I’m not sure, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said in a whisper, “but I think, mark you, I think I heard voices coming from behind us. And just now I thought I saw some lantern light a way back behind us.”

Pippen blanched. Merry’s eyes widened. They continued in complete silence, each always looking behind, all hardly daring to breathe. They walked on and on. Time passed. The night drew on. Suddenly, they turned around a bend in the road, and, before them, was a small town.

Merry smiled, “Well! That beats all! I was hoping for a drink, but I didn’t expect to get one before we got to Crick Hollow!”

“Well, go and enjoy yourselves! I think I’ll go explore and meet the town’s inhabitants,” Frodo sighed.

“And I’ll go with Mr. Frodo!” said Sam stoutly, though privately he wanted to go off with Merry and Pippin.

Frodo and Sam started to roam about, trying to find someone to talk to, and maybe someone who could tell them the name of the town. They tried talking to several shopkeepers, but they were all busy. The whole time, Frodo had the uncanny feeling that he was being watched.

Finally, they found someone willing to tell them about the town.

“Oh,” wheezed the old hobbit, “this town is called Cherim. What its right name is, I don’t know. I reckon you could ask Ol’ Tom Bulger. He’s been here longer than anyone else. Say, what did you say your name was again?”

“Mr. Frodo Baggins, sir. My mother was a Took, and my father, a Baggins.”

“Well, Mr. Baggins, I’m glad you’ve come home. People are mighty queer away west. I wish you well.” With that, the old hobbit turned and started to walk away.

“Wait!” Frodo called after him. “You haven’t told me where to find old Mr. Bulger!”

“Oh, dear me! I had forgotten. Third house down this road.”

“Thank you,” Frodo replied. He and Sam hurried off down the road. Soon they came upon a small, run-down shack. It was the third house. He knocked.

“Come in!” a raspy voice called out.

Frodo opened the door and stepped inside. Sam followed close behind. The shack was very simple and primitive. The dirt floor was covered sparsely with straw. In one corner, two coarse blankets lay in a heap. The raspy voice belonged to a thin, wrinkled old hobbit. He sat in a worn rocking chair that looked to be made from the fathers of the trees from the old forest.

“What do you want?” he spat as if the two younger hobbits coming was an offense. Though he was frail, he looked as though he could beat the best swordsman in the Shire.

“M-my name is Mr. Baggins, and I would like to know …”

“What! A Baggins! So you’re the impudent youth who has bought Crick Hollow! A filthy, snobby young Baggins! And with a Gamgee, well! Whatever you’ve come for, the answer is no. I don’t care about anything you could possibly say. Good night!”

The fire in his ancient eyes alone drove Frodo and Sam out the door. Once they were outside, they walked down the street in silence. Suddenly, from behind them, they heard a shout.

“Hoi! Hoi! We must talk to you!”

Nervously, Frodo replied as he turned to face a large crowd, “Why? I’m nobody important. I was about to pick up my two young friends from the tavern.”

“Well, we won’t detain you for more than a minute, I’m sure. We only want what you’re carrying,” he smirked. “Oh yes,” he responded to Frodo’s astonished and terrified face. “We know all about the ring. A black fellow told us about it just yesterday. He also told us that it would be with hobbits from Hobbiton. Pah, I dislike you. And your lousy servant. This robbery will be a pleasure.” With that, he blew a shrill note on a finger flute. A piercing, bone-chilling cry came from nearby. Frodo knew that cry. He had heard it while taking his “short-cut”. He heard a horse snort. Slowly, he and Sam turned around. Behind them on a black horse was a tall black swathed man. The sound of cruel laughter came from behind the cowl the man wore.

“You see?” said the spokesman hobbit. “There is no escape for those who take what is not theirs and attempt to destroy it.” He laughed. “No, no. There is no hope for you. I learned that long ago. Now hand over the ring!” He thrust his hand forward to receive it.

“I cannot,” stuttered Frodo. Sam suddenly looked wild and defiant.

“Mr. Frodo, with your leave, I say that these scoundrels are drunk and that all they need is a good smack to best them.”

“No, Sam. They aren’t drunk, but they are foolish. Foolish and evil. All I want is to collect Merry and Pippin and relax at home,” he sighed. “But I don’t suppose that that will ever happen now.” He looked weary, weary and old.

“Hey now, what’s all this fuss?” a reedy voice piped up. “Why are you lads threatening these fine young hobbits? And you, you’re a man, aren’t you? We don’t like your sort around here, that’s for sure. Get lost!”

Frodo turned around in amazement. It was the old man he had spoken to with Sam on the streets. Before his eyes, the crowd was disappearing. The black rider turned around and spurred his horse on.

“What are you young’ uns doing gaping at me like I was a wizard for? I ain’t one. You sure earned the disfavor of Archie’s crowd, an’ no mistaking it.”

Frodo thanked the old hobbit many times.

“Bah, don’t mention it,” came the gruff reply. Then Frodo and Sam located and relocated Merry and Pippin, who were surrounded by laughing, story-loving hobbits. After sending the hobbits away, the whole party set off to finish seeing the town while Frodo (with help from Sam) told of their strange adventures. They did not include the bit about the ring. They soon discovered a small group of hobbit children tagging along. They were sent home.

“Now, we had better get home ourselves,” said Merry. “There’s something very strange about all this, I see; but it must wait till we get in.”

Thanks to J.R.R. Tolkein for an amazing story that I could build off of.