Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings is owned by J.R.R. Tolkien, his family, New Line cinema, etc. I have written this for my own enjoyment - and who knows, maybe yours?

Credit: www dot Tuckborough dot net and Encyclopaedia of Arda

A Pony’s Tale

Chapter 5: All Good Things Must Come To An End

Bill the Pony’s POV

Bill was trying to enjoy the brushing down, really he was, but his groom obviously thought he was digging for mithril amidst the pony’s thick coat. He turned his head and glared at the squat figure of the Gimmy.

Stop it!

But the Gimmy seemed to be having a grand old time digging the blasted brush several centimetres into his neck before dragging it down his back in swift, sharp strokes.

These visits by his former nemesis had started the day after his poor tummy had miraculously healed (he was very grateful to the flowery man for all his efforts) and the pony was still not thrilled about them. Still, at least the furry being wasn’t quaking by the stall door anymore, as he had for the first few days. The ridiculous pot he wore had been abandoned after the pair’s first unfortunate encounter and the mini-man had seemed reluctant at first to tempt the pony with the remaining bush of hair he sported.

Not that Bill would ... not after the last time. Yuck!

At first, the pony had been vastly amused to see the acre-wide clearing he’d managed to create on the creature’s head, but a few frowns from Sam in his direction had quickly pulled his gaze from its contemplation of the shiny patch. And now, in an effort to bond, he had to suffer the torture of an hour long grooming from the Gimmy - every day.

Was he trying to ’offer the golden bridle’, perhaps? Be the pony’s friend?

Not a bad thing really, all things considered. You could never have too many friends, in his opinion. But this new friend had a very unfortunate habit that made the pony want to yank the rest of his hair out and be rid of him for good ...

He sang.

Now, Bill enjoyed a good tune as much as the next pony, but really, some people just weren’t able to carry one that well! Where in Middle Earth had he learned to croak like that? Did the men of the East subject their steeds to daily doses of the brash squealing as a punishment for bad behaviour? Was the pony to be subjected to this unnatural hollering for hours (or days) on end during the very long walk he and his Sam were shortly to take?

Perhaps a stroll back to the welcoming arms of Ferny was not such a bad idea after all. He might miss his little master with the many pots, but at least there’d be no danger of a warbling mini-man trying to made his ears explode.

Annoyed, he ripped a piece of hay from his bale, in the hope it would distract him.

Stupid Gimmy!

Of course, he probably wouldn’t have been quite as annoyed with the destroyer-of-ponies‘-ears if the pretty mare had returned from her travels. She’d been gone for nearly two whole weeks and Asfaloth the Arrogant had been throwing him triumphant looks for much of her absence. The prissy elf horse obviously knew where she was - but wasn’t saying.

Bill very much hoped the superior steed’s tail fell off.

Ouch! He turned his head to glare at the clumsy Gimmy again. What in the name of elven oats was that insufferable man of the East doing? He was supposed to be grooming him, not scraping the top layer of skin off his back.

His Sam walked over to the Gimmy and gave him proper instruction. Thank goodness for that: at the rate the clueless crooner was going, Bill would be carrying his master’s supplies on his bare spine when they left for ... well, wherever they were going to. He hoped it wasn’t anywhere East.

The strokes on his back became less fervent, if not exactly gentle, and Bill whickered in gratitude at his little master as he returned to sit on the upturned bucket by the stall door.

The Gimmy launched into another round of caterwauling and Bill moodily decided that he didn’t want any more friends, thank you very much - most of them were overrated, anyway. Apart from his Sam and the other Little Folk. And the elves (except the pretty blond one who‘d hurled insults at the pony’s posterior a fortnight ago). And the nice flowery man, too. Not to forget his one true love, as well (wherever she was).

Which reminded him - where was the wizard? He’d not seen hide nor hair of the wrinkly one for days on end. How was Bill supposed to ask him for a favour when he never came around for tea and gossip?

Not that Bill actually drank tea. Disgusting stuff, by the smell of it.

He pulled his thoughts from the questionably favourite drink of his Sam to regard the little one instead with his docile gaze. Perhaps if he willed his master to take him to the wrinkly one, it would work? Concentrating very hard, he gave it a try:

Take me to the wrinkly one. Take me to the wrinkly one. Take me to ...

He tried for five whole minutes before he felt his eyes beginning to droop.

No! He wasn’t supposed to send himself off to sleep! Tossing his head to wake himself up, Bill whinnied loudly, causing the Gimmy to stop his ministrations and jump back in alarm.

Which also had the added benefit of putting an abrupt stop the mini-man’s singing.

Sam rose from his bucket and came towards him, reaching out to pat his head. His little master with the many pots said something to the Gimmy and before Bill knew what had passed between them, he was being led out of the stall and out through the stables.

Oh goody! It worked ...

Very pleased with his new powers of suggestion, the pony trotted happily along with Sam and his new friend at his side. Buoyed with the possibility of seeing the wrinkly one, and therefore capturing the heart of his chosen mate, a little tune of his own buzzed its merry way through his head (no doubt inspired by the not-so-bad-actually songs of the Gimmy).

We’re off to see the Wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Awes ...

But, wait - why were they going left? No! Right, go right!

They were leading him to the field - if they got him through the gate, his future happiness with the pretty elf mare would be no more than a wild fantasy.

Bill stopped in his tracks. It was time to take a stand for lovelorn ponies everywhere!

Confused, his currently pot-less master tugged gently on his mane to urge him forward, but the desperate pony was having none of it. He turned his head round to the right and saw the stables stretching behind him. Beyond them, he knew, was the courtyard, and if Bill could just get there without getting caught, he’d be free to roam the grounds and look for his very own walking love potion ...

Hopefully.

Swinging his head back to his Sam, he lowered it and gently puffed on his neck, making the little one giggle. Sam automatically released his hold on Bill’s mane.

Which was exactly the chance he was looking for. With a sudden spurt of energy, the pony whipped his body around (causing the Gimmy to yell in fright) and made a mad dash for the courtyard.

He could hear the others calling out for him to stop, but really, sometimes a pony had to do what a pony had to do! His future children would not thank him for giving up so easily on their mother. Galloping passed the stables, he spotted the wide courtyard. The sight of it made him almost giddy with joy and, as he entered it, he saw a few elves staring at him in wide-eyed disbelief for a few seconds before they began to make a mad dash towards him.

Well, that wouldn’t do. There was no way he was going back to his stall mere seconds after escaping from it - his future family were depending on him! Swerving to the right to avoid the first of his would-be captors, he galloped across the courtyard and spotted the path that led out over the bridge. Dismissing it as a likely hiding spot for a wizard, he swerved to the left, dodging the outstretched hands of the Fair Folk and the cries of his little master. The Gimmy appeared to have given up and was watching the unfolding debacle with some amusement from the safety of the stables.

Bill swivelled his ears for any sound of the gruff grey wonder that was his one hope of a happy future. He galloped across to the gardens after catching the laughing voices of the other Little Folk. Maybe they would know where the wrinkly one was?

Speeding across the grass at a pace that would leave the gloating goat in the corner stall green with envy, he passed the elegant structures of the elven dwellings and, upon rounding the corner, spotted three of the other little ones sitting on a large yellow blanket.

Excellent!

And they spotted him, too. Their shouts of surprise (and the yells from the party in pursuit behind him) drew a crowd of curious faces to the windows of the rooms above. Several gaping inhabitants watched in astonishment as he came to a halt by the dark-haired one and whinnied urgently.

Lacking the ability to communicate verbally, Bill attempted to use his mystical mind powers to get his master’s master to do what he wanted him to. He lowered his head and stared deeply into his wide eyes.

Where’s the wrinkly one, little friend? Take me to him now!

And, amazingly, it seemed to work, for two heads popped out of one of the windows above - and one of them was the wizard’s!

Overjoyed at his good fortune, the pony began to skip happily in front of the three Little Folk before he remembered what he was actually there for. Stilling his hooves, he raised his head to the wizard and decided to test his amazing psychic powers on him, too.

Come down, wrinkly one! Come and make me happy ... you know you want to!

The Great Grey Hope merely blinked at him.

Bill tried again.

Please? I’m desperate!

No luck. The wrinkly one just stared at him in bemusement and then, to Bill’s chagrin, he heard the sound of elven voices calling out from behind him. Frustrated, he began to gallop around the garden as not one, not two, but half a dozen elves, four little people and one laughing Gimmy chased him.

It was hard work avoiding so many eager hands - the elves, especially, were very fleet of foot and he had quite the job avoiding them. But the thought of the doe-eyed mare nibbling gently on his ears was enough to keep him on his toes ... well, hooves. Bill nimbly side-stepped and eluded any grasping finger that so much as hovered in his direction.

Until the flowery man appeared.

Relief at the sight of a kindred spirit carried the delighted pony in his direction and he came to a jarring halt before his helpful friend. The flowery man put a cautious hand on the side of the pony’s face and Bill tried desperately to make his greatest wish known.

Get the wrinkly one to come down! I need a wife!

The flowery man took a step towards him while the crowd of long-distance runners at the pony’s back finally came to a grateful stop. He began to whisper soothing elvish words and Bill was extremely annoyed to note that his deliverer only intended to lead him safely back into captivity.

Which was, of course, absolutely out of the question.

He lowered his own head and glared at the scented one. Time to try a little man-whispering of his own.

Listen to my voice, flowery man. Feel its soothing power ... you are relaxed ... you are happy ... so happy, that you will do anything I say: get the wrinkly one down here - now!

The man ignored him.

Well, that wasn’t very nice. It was all very well for him to act smug - he’d already secured his elven bride. But where was his compassion? His sense of kinship with a fellow suitor? Couldn’t he at least appeal to the wrinkly one on Bill’s behalf?

Annoyed at his lack of progress, Bill began to snort and stamp his feet restlessly. This reaction to his pretty words came as a surprise to the flowery one. The man’s flow of elvish became intensified in response, but Bill was in no mood for a good airing today (he hadn’t touched Gimmy hay for over two weeks) - all he wanted was a word with the wizard!

Giving up on the not-so-appealing flowery man, he pulled his head from his grasp and trotted back to the wrinkly one’s open window, followed by the wary gazes of a dozen sets of eyes.

But the wizard was gone.

Oh, no! The Great Grey Hope had vanished in a puff of smoke ... or however wizards vanished. And now Bill was doomed to a bachelor’s life with nothing to look forward to but the merciful absence of a singing Gimmy.

Dejected, he hung his head and trotted back to his Sam, allowing himself to be led quietly back to the stables.

At least his little master loved him.

And, unlike the tone-deaf haystack, his master could carry a tune.

*~*~*~*

Several weeks later, Bill the Pony stood in the courtyard again. This time, though, he was fully loaded with packs and rolls and listening to the grave tones of the Elf King of Imladris. A large crowd spilled on to the open area to see the little group off on their travels.

Not his pretty mare, though. She’d ridden off to Lothlórien with her master and would not be back before he left. This had come as a severe blow to the pony when Asfaloth had finally told him two weeks ago (the prissy elf horse had enjoyed his misery).

But he had recovered his spirits nicely in the weeks that followed - eating himself into a nice round shape and building his strength for the impending journey.

Anyway, females were fickle, he knew that. Why, there had been another pretty mare in Bree not so long ago who’d constantly fluttered her eyelashes at him when he used to pass her (hauling the load of rocks Ferny was so fond of), but she deserted him for the scare-mongering steed who’d lied to him about flesh-eating Gimmies.

Perhaps Bill was just too nice? The ladies seemed to be fond of mysterious males that could spin a tale or two and he was anything but.

In that case, it might be a good idea for him to go on this very long walk with his little master (who was now carrying the pots again). He’d be able to see a bit of the world, get some much-needed experience of real life and - who knew - maybe even meet a pretty filly he could call his own?

One who recognised a good catch when she saw it.

Satisfied that all was not lost, Bill observed his travelling companions. His beloved Sam was there, along with the other Little Folk; the not-for-very-much-longer-flowery man stood tall and proud, gazing wistfully at his immortal love (which rankled the pony somewhat); the Gimmy leaned on a very long axe, scratching furiously at his scalp under the pot-helm he was once again sporting; the pretty blond elf was standing as far away from Bill as the courtyard would reasonably allow; another dark-haired man (not smelly) stood prone and serious beside him; and last, but not least, the Great Grey Vanishing Act had finally made his presence known.

Oh, well. If these were his travelling companions, Bill would do his best by them and defend them from the dangers of the wild. It was just his way.

The Elf King finished his very serious talk and, with a final toss of his head in farewell, Bill turned to follow his companions out the courtyard and across the (really quite scary) narrow bridge.

Farewell for the present, Imladris Fair! Farewell nice elves - thank you for your care. Drop dead, Asfaloth.

And that was the last of Bill the Pony’s adventures in the home of the elves.

But his adventures in the wild, were just beginning ...

THE END

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Author’s note: Sorry about the lengthy delay in posting this final chapter - it’s inexcusable and I humbly apologise. My only defence is that I got caught up writing another tale and sometimes, when that happens, it won’t leave me alone until I get a healthy start on it.

So I hope this makes up for the wait. I may do another Bill story in the future, if you like, but for now, I hope you are content with this.

Don’t be too hard on poor Bill about the ‘drop dead, Asfaloth’ comment - that’s my fault. I couldn’t resist it. Bill’s far too nice a pony to want anyone to roll over and snuff it!

Thank you so much to all of you who have read this, and thanks even more to those who took the time to leave a review (it‘s never too late to do so). Your words of encouragement make everything worthwhile.

Kara’s Aunty ;)