Title: A Cave Troll's Spear (1/?)
Author: easterlily41482
Pairing: Frodo/Aragorn; implied slash mpreg
Rating: PG (chapters may vary)
Summary: (For Lily Baggins). An unexpected stab by a Cave Troll's spear in Moria causes more than just a mark.
Disclaimer: I don't own it. I make no money from this.

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It was a dark and gloomy night. Cold rain poured outside and four shivering hobbits entered the Prancing Pony, soaked to the bone. Frodo sighed in relief and brought down his wet hood from his head and looked around. Inside there were a group of laughing and partying Bree-landers. There were Men, Dwarfs and even, why, even hobbits!

Frodo cautiously approached a nearby bar and looked up, struggling to make himself visible. He cleared his throat. "Excuse me?"

A short fan man with a red face turned around and looked with a confused face, trying to figure out where the voice came from and then gazed down to see the shivering hobbit. "Good evenin', little master!" He said bending down over the table. "What can I do for you tonight?"

"I…" he turned to his friends. "We're requesting for beds for four. We wish to stay here tonight." Frodo looked a bit nervous. "Are you Mr. Butterbur?"

"Aye, that's right! Barliman is my name. Barliman Butterbur at your service! And you four must be hobbits from the Shire." He began to look lost in thought. "Hobbits? Now, there was somethin' I was supposed to be doing. Yes, but I cannot remember what it was." He shook his head. "No matter. What are your names?"

"Mr. Took and Mr. Brandybuck," stated Frodo, gesturing. "And this is Sam Gamgee and I'm…Underhill."

"Underhill?" questioned Barliman, snapping his fingers together. "Now, there it was for a moment again, but now I've lost it. Never mind. Never mind now. It'll come back. Anyway, ugh, rooms. Right. I'll see what I can do. The truth to tell, we don't get many hobbits travelin' from the Shire these days. And I do not wish to turn you away on a night like this. Only thing is that it's so busy in the house tonight already. Haven't seen it like this in here for a long time. But it is like we always say here in Bree, it never rains, it pours." Barliman tapped his forehead. "Oh, now what was I goin' to say? Oh yes! I remember. It's just that it's so busy tonight. Can hardly remember what I've said and what I've haven't. Now. There was that party that traveled up from Greenway last night. And then there were those Dwarfs headin' West come this evenin'. And now you've all come along from the Shire? If you weren't hobbits, I doubt I could house you tonight, but, we've got a couple nice hobbit sized rooms available in the north win'. They're located on the ground floor, with round windows and…"

"Excuse me, Mr. Butterbur, but it is with most urgency that I must ask you. Do you know somebody by the name of Gandalf the Grey?"

Barliman gazed at Frodo confused. "Gandalf? Gandalf?" Then an identity came into his mind. "Oh, yes! I remember him. Elderly fellow. With a great long gray beard and always wearin' that pointed hat."

Frodo smiled and nodded. "Is he here?"

"Is he here? Gandalf, here?" thought Barliman. "Come to think of it, I haven't seen him come to visit in at least three months. Anyway, I suppose you'll want some supper before headin' on your way to your rooms. Have a seat at that wooden table over there in the corner and I'll be out to serve you as soon as possible."

Frodo turned to his friends as Barliman took off with a tray of ale in one hand. Sam stared into his master's eyes and then said softly, "What do we do now?"

A loud snarl of laughter echoed the Prancing Pony that evening and the three hobbits sat close together at a wooden bench near a corner. Sam was continuously looking around the room, acting like he was nervous.

"Sam. He'll be here. He'll come."

"Get out of my way!" called a drunk Man as Merry approached the table with another mug of ale and joined the other three hobbits already seated at the table. Pippin looked at it with curiosity.

"What's that?"

Merry's smile beamed as he showed Pippin his mug of ale. "This my friend, is a pint."

"It comes in pints?" exclaimed Pippin, Merry nodding and mumbling into his mug. "I'm getting one."

"You've had a whole half already!" scolded Sam, pouting, watching Pippin head off to the bar once more. He then turned his face to look back into the corner where he had spotted a Man in the corner, staring and smoking a pipe. The Man was still there and he was still staring. He nudged Frodo. "That fellow's done nothin' but stare at you since we've arrived."

Frodo gulped and turned his head and stared at the Man. He had a tall tankard in front of him, and like Sam had observed, he was smoking a long-stemmed pipe. His legs were stretched out in front of him, which were covered by high leather supple boots and he wore what seemed to be either a black or a dark-green hood that hid his face. Suddenly he reached out his hand and got Barliman's attention. "Excuse me. That man in the corner, who is he?"

Barliman turned his head and then looked back at Frodo. "Him?"

"Yes. I don't recall you introducing us to him."

Barliman put his head in closer and whispered, "He's one of them Rangers. Dangerous folk they are, wanderin' the wilds. Never says very much. He disappears for a month or a year and then turns up again. Come to think of it, he was showin' up a lot in spring lookin' for somebody. What his right name is I've never 'eard, but 'round here, he's known as Strider." TBC