The Unknown Tale of How the Quest Began
Hobbits on the Coast
(Being a mild-mannered and equally mildly-humorous miscellany of Victorian* curios and oddities.)
* = an RL reference to the city of Victoria or places within it
"There you are, Mr. Frodo. A mighty nice fry-up if I do say so myself. Bangers, tomatoes, toast and jam, and mushrooms. Fare fit for a king!"
Frodo eagerly dug in and, after a moment, Sam joined him.
A while later, and unnoticed by the hungry pair, a Blue Fox* wandered by, sniffing the air. "Sausages," it thought. "Hm! Must be hobbits. Hobbits in Victoria. There's something mighty peculiar about this."
The blue fox was quite right, but it never did learn more about it.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
"Well, Sam," said Frodo, "if we're going to go tramping around the Coast, we're going to need supplies and provisions."
"Right you are, Mr. Frodo," said Sam. "Why, this would be a proper place to start--Baggins* footwear! Converse All-Stars--just the thing for the discerning and hip gentlehobbit."
"Er," said Frodo. "Running shoes? For hobbits?"
"Ah, well," said Sam, somewhat abashed. "Right you are. But look at all the colours!"
Frodo smiled and consented to buy brightly-coloured laces. After all, one never knew when a hobbit might need to tie things together.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Sam panted slightly as they climbed down the last set of wooden stairs.
"That's too high up for a hobbit. But it's a castle fit for a king! Strider would like it or I'm no Gamgee. What was the name again? Carrock Derrick? Crock Dirock?"
Frodo laughed, even though he too was slightly winded. Too flabby. Not a fit hobbit at all, he thought. Not for the last time!
"Craigdurroch Castle*," he said out loud. "But we need to find somewhere to stay tonight."
"What about over there?" Sam pointed. "Helm's Inn*. Isn't that the place that Gimli's always going on about?"
"That's Helm's Deep," explained Frodo patiently. "Quite a bit bigger. Not as comfy. Roomy, though."
"Well! What about comfy and roomy? That there Empress Hotel* would be suitable for you, sir, a proper gentlehobbit and all."
"The Empress?" cried Frodo. "That's grander than Craigdurroch Castle, and you were just saying that was fit for Aragorn! No. A small hobbit hole will do just nicely for us."
"So you say," said Sam doubtfully as he peered around. "I don't see no hobbit holes around here and that's a fact."
"Nor do I," admitted Frodo. "Ah, well. Let's go to a pub and ask the locals."
"Yes," crowed Sam with enthusiasm. "A half-pint would hit the spot proper in the meantime." He peered across the street and his face brightened. "Ah! There's a good spot, I warrant!"
Frodo tilted his head to one side as he regarded the dark, narrow door. "It certainly does look more hobbit-sized than its neighbour." His voice trailed off.
"Nothing ventured, nothing won," said Sam as he started across the street. "As my Gaffer always said."
Frodo followed, dodging a red double-decker wagon that had the peculiar words "Hop On, Hop Off" written on the side.
The two explorers fetched up at the door. "Big Bad John's*," read Sam. "That's a funny name."
The door opened and a big burly hobbit stared them down.
"Er," said Frodo. "Are you John?"
The hobbit scowled. "ID please," he growled.
"Sorry?" stammered Frodo.
"You're all right," said the big hobbit to Sam. He turned to Frodo. "But you... you look too well-preserved. How old are you?"
"He's older than me," cried Sam indignantly. "Let him through at once!"
The bouncer hobbit sullenly stepped aside with the grace of Lotho Sackville-Baggins, and Frodo and Sam went hastily in. It was dark, narrow and lined with rough wooden alcoves where one could meet anyone almost unseen and unheard. Almost immediately, they were aware of crunching things underfoot.
"What the..." Sam lifted his foot to find pale tan fragments stuck to his sole. "Peanut shells!"
Frodo looked up. "What are all those faded bits of paper stuck to the ceiling?" He sat down.
The next thing they knew, mice and spiders rained down on them. Sam let out a bellow, and Frodo frantically brushed off the creatures from his hair and shoulders. But he stopped. "Hang on." He picked up a spider. "It's rubber." He looked up to see the serving hobbits behind the bar laughing and brandishing more of the rubber creatures.
"Rubber?" echoed Sam. He looked around. "This is a peculiar place. And what are those lacy things hanging all over..."
Frodo stood up hastily and put his hand over Sam's eyes. "Don't look, Sam."
But it was too late. "Dig me up and call me a turnip!" gasped Sam. "Those are hobbit-lasses' underthings." He scrambled up and bolted outside. Frodo followed.
Sam leaned weakly against the wall and mopped his forehead with a handkerchief. "Me mam would have my guts for garters if she knew I had ever been in such a place."
"I could still use a pint after that," admitted Frodo. "Let's go into this place. It's bigger and well-lit. It looks friendlier."
"It does at that," admitted Sam. "I'll follow you from now on, Mr. Frodo."
Frodo smiled and nodded vigorously. "Why, I do think we've picked a good one. Let's start our adventure off properly!"
And so the hobbits walked next door and happily settled down to order a swift half in the Sticky Wicket*.
(Being a mild-mannered and equally mildly-humorous miscellany of Victorian* curios and oddities.)
* = an RL reference to the city of Victoria or places within it
"There you are, Mr. Frodo. A mighty nice fry-up if I do say so myself. Bangers, tomatoes, toast and jam, and mushrooms. Fare fit for a king!"
Frodo eagerly dug in and, after a moment, Sam joined him.
A while later, and unnoticed by the hungry pair, a Blue Fox* wandered by, sniffing the air. "Sausages," it thought. "Hm! Must be hobbits. Hobbits in Victoria. There's something mighty peculiar about this."
The blue fox was quite right, but it never did learn more about it.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
"Well, Sam," said Frodo, "if we're going to go tramping around the Coast, we're going to need supplies and provisions."
"Right you are, Mr. Frodo," said Sam. "Why, this would be a proper place to start--Baggins* footwear! Converse All-Stars--just the thing for the discerning and hip gentlehobbit."
"Er," said Frodo. "Running shoes? For hobbits?"
"Ah, well," said Sam, somewhat abashed. "Right you are. But look at all the colours!"
Frodo smiled and consented to buy brightly-coloured laces. After all, one never knew when a hobbit might need to tie things together.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Sam panted slightly as they climbed down the last set of wooden stairs.
"That's too high up for a hobbit. But it's a castle fit for a king! Strider would like it or I'm no Gamgee. What was the name again? Carrock Derrick? Crock Dirock?"
Frodo laughed, even though he too was slightly winded. Too flabby. Not a fit hobbit at all, he thought. Not for the last time!
"Craigdurroch Castle*," he said out loud. "But we need to find somewhere to stay tonight."
"What about over there?" Sam pointed. "Helm's Inn*. Isn't that the place that Gimli's always going on about?"
"That's Helm's Deep," explained Frodo patiently. "Quite a bit bigger. Not as comfy. Roomy, though."
"Well! What about comfy and roomy? That there Empress Hotel* would be suitable for you, sir, a proper gentlehobbit and all."
"The Empress?" cried Frodo. "That's grander than Craigdurroch Castle, and you were just saying that was fit for Aragorn! No. A small hobbit hole will do just nicely for us."
"So you say," said Sam doubtfully as he peered around. "I don't see no hobbit holes around here and that's a fact."
"Nor do I," admitted Frodo. "Ah, well. Let's go to a pub and ask the locals."
"Yes," crowed Sam with enthusiasm. "A half-pint would hit the spot proper in the meantime." He peered across the street and his face brightened. "Ah! There's a good spot, I warrant!"
Frodo tilted his head to one side as he regarded the dark, narrow door. "It certainly does look more hobbit-sized than its neighbour." His voice trailed off.
"Nothing ventured, nothing won," said Sam as he started across the street. "As my Gaffer always said."
Frodo followed, dodging a red double-decker wagon that had the peculiar words "Hop On, Hop Off" written on the side.
The two explorers fetched up at the door. "Big Bad John's*," read Sam. "That's a funny name."
The door opened and a big burly hobbit stared them down.
"Er," said Frodo. "Are you John?"
The hobbit scowled. "ID please," he growled.
"Sorry?" stammered Frodo.
"You're all right," said the big hobbit to Sam. He turned to Frodo. "But you... you look too well-preserved. How old are you?"
"He's older than me," cried Sam indignantly. "Let him through at once!"
The bouncer hobbit sullenly stepped aside with the grace of Lotho Sackville-Baggins, and Frodo and Sam went hastily in. It was dark, narrow and lined with rough wooden alcoves where one could meet anyone almost unseen and unheard. Almost immediately, they were aware of crunching things underfoot.
"What the..." Sam lifted his foot to find pale tan fragments stuck to his sole. "Peanut shells!"
Frodo looked up. "What are all those faded bits of paper stuck to the ceiling?" He sat down.
The next thing they knew, mice and spiders rained down on them. Sam let out a bellow, and Frodo frantically brushed off the creatures from his hair and shoulders. But he stopped. "Hang on." He picked up a spider. "It's rubber." He looked up to see the serving hobbits behind the bar laughing and brandishing more of the rubber creatures.
"Rubber?" echoed Sam. He looked around. "This is a peculiar place. And what are those lacy things hanging all over..."
Frodo stood up hastily and put his hand over Sam's eyes. "Don't look, Sam."
But it was too late. "Dig me up and call me a turnip!" gasped Sam. "Those are hobbit-lasses' underthings." He scrambled up and bolted outside. Frodo followed.
Sam leaned weakly against the wall and mopped his forehead with a handkerchief. "Me mam would have my guts for garters if she knew I had ever been in such a place."
"I could still use a pint after that," admitted Frodo. "Let's go into this place. It's bigger and well-lit. It looks friendlier."
"It does at that," admitted Sam. "I'll follow you from now on, Mr. Frodo."
Frodo smiled and nodded vigorously. "Why, I do think we've picked a good one. Let's start our adventure off properly!"
And so the hobbits walked next door and happily settled down to order a swift half in the Sticky Wicket*.