A/N: Really now, is it necessary to tell you that Bill is not mine?
Book-verse
~ Bill ~
Nothin’ in my life was as wonderful as the day when I came under the care of Samwise Gamgee, for my Sam would never let anythin’ happen to me.
Just as my years with Bill Ferny were the darkest of my life, so my years under Sam’s care have been the brightest. The Shire’s a place of beauty and peace and I’ve only light duties at my age. Givin’ rides to Elanor and Sam’s other children isn’t even to be considered work, merely a joy and the will o’ my Sam.
But I’m getting ahead o’ myself. Let me go back some years and retell my tale from there. It all began, really, when I came under the cruel care, tyranny more accurately, o’ Bill Ferny as a three year old colt.
He fed me only occasionally, leaving me untended in favor of a night at the inn with a mug o’ ale most times. I lost weight and strength, was misused and made t’ work twice as hard in my weakened state. I learned t’ hate ‘im. With the small corner o’ my heart still whole, I hated ‘im.
Then a forgetful, bumblin’ ol’ man, Butterbur by name and the keeper o’ the inn, bought me for twelve silver pennies, buying me for the most peculiar but likable crew as ever I’d known.
Four hobbits and a man, off on a journey to Rivendell, the home o’ the Elves, while pursued by strange riders upon evil black horses, such as I’ve never seen elsewhere. Fearful beasts they were, and completely unsociable. I know, for I tried talkin’, but they only snorted at me in return.
Howsoever, I’m strayin’ from m’ story. The four hobbits were Shirefolk and the man was a ranger of the north, Strider by name.
The day we left Bree, a first for myself, we were seen off by as big a crowd of snoopers as ever I did see. One o’ the last was Bill Ferny who shouted insults and what have you over his fence.
My dear Sam got heated and sent an apple streakin’ straight for Ferny’s nose with a swish and a wham when it hit. Even I, who know nearly naught ‘bout the speech of men and had lived with Bill Ferny, was horrified by what came from behind that hedge. That man had a colorful way of expressin’ hisself, he did.
Well, we made the journey to Rivendell, lasting several days, days in which I gained strength and mended my broken spirit.
We spent some awful time in these horrible marshes, with bugs makin’ an awful racket and the hobbits complainin’. Then we came to the fearful place where we were caught by those black riders I was speaking earlier about. Freaky they were.
Howsoever, one of the hobbits, Frodo, got hisself stabbed and was thenceforth placed upon my back. He was a light little hobbit, with less meat on his bones than any healthy hobbit of Bree, that’s for sure. Most unnatural he seemed to me, but that’s merely the opinion of an uneducated country pony, and I mustn’t say aught against Mr. Frodo, as he’s my Sam’s most favorite of hobbits.
We made most of the rest of the journey just in that like, until we were met by a kindly, beautiful Elf riding upon a very friendly beast named Asfaloth. Kind animal that, a real Elven horse, for sure and certain. Spoke real fancy like with an accent strange to me.
He told me he was not too well versed, whatever that means, in the Common Tongue, which is, I’m assuming, what I speak. I asked him what he spoke, and he replied, Sindarin, the tongue of the Elves. Strange words for a poor country pony like m’self, for I had always held to the belief that a tongue was in your mouth and not a common thing among a group of people. But he said he meant language. Why he didn’t just say so in the first place, I don’t know. But I’m ramblin’ off the story yet again.
Anyway, Frodo was put upon Asfaloth and they ran for the river when them black riders showed again. They made it too, and when those spooky black fellas tried t’ follow, they was washed downstream by an amazin’ flood that came and went out of nowhere like, and it looked almost like a herd o’ horses runnin’ ‘em down.
Then we reached Rivendell, and my Sam turned me in with the Elven horses, although he came to see me a great deal. Those Elven horses, they’re big folk to my mind. Very tall, but with kindness and generosity to match. They’ve got to be the most proper and polite beasts I’ve ever had the pleasure o’ meetin’.
After a time, we left Rivendell, but not to home. No, there was a lot more to it than that. We left in the company of Gandalf, an old wizard I had seen come and go about Bree time and again; also Strider and the four hobbits, plus an Elf, a dwarf and another man.
Sam took very good care of me on the road, but I also took a great fancy to the Elf. Legolas, he called hisself, and he spoke that same as Asfaloth. Sindarin they call it, unusual and unknown to me, but the most pleasantest talkin’ ever I did hear. Whenever he spoke, I just wanted to run and play, unmindful of where we were or what was happenin’.
Anyway, we made a frightful journey, travelin’ quite a ways before bein’ stopped on a mountain by a blizzard. Nothin’ could keep us warm and when we finally made it down from that terrible place, I dreaded even the thought of snow.
It was decided to go through these mines and everyone, Legolas especially, although only to me, spoke of them with fear and horror, so perhaps it was a blessin’ that Strider and Sam turned me loose before goin’ in.
My Sam was wishful o’ my continuin’ on with ‘em, but he was made to see that I shouldn’t go. So he turned me loose, free to go where I wanted, but I wanted my Sam and Legolas. I would have stayed, only this huge, creepy monster jumped from the nearby water and started grabbing the hobbits. This scared me so terrible that I lost all thought and fled, leavin’ my Sam to go on without me.
I ran from the monster and from the sound of dogs, howlin’ in the night. It was enough to spook even one o’ them Elven horses in Rivendell, it was. I was plenty spooked and glad merely to slip by unseen.
Long months of hunger and toil followed. Months in which I managed, at last, to find my way back to Bree. I was thin as a cricket’s back leg when I stopped at the door o’ the Prancin’ Pony where forgetful ol’ Butterbur was.
The kindly ol’ man took me in and stabled me well, keepin’ me until, one glorious day, my Sam turned up at my stall door, as happy as I was, bidden’ me good mornin’. I was never more excited in m’life. Sam, my Sam, was back.
We then set out for the Shire, headin’ towards what was to be my new home. But it wasn’t beautiful then, no sir. It was dark and filthy. A worse sight I hadn’t seen since the inside o’ Bill Ferny’s stable.
Speakin’ o’ Ferny, we met him at the gate, we did. Rude he was before turnin’ cowardly. He was runnin’ scared from two hobbits with short swords when he passed me by. Perhaps I shouldn’t o’ done it, but I can’t regret reachin’ out and lambastin’ him good with a hind hoof. Nothin’ had ever felt so good, and my Sam even praised me for it.
My Sam left me in the best stable nearby (which wasn’t very nice considerin’ where I’d stayed while in Rivendell) while he and his friends did whatever needed to be done in order to rid their home of all riffraff and what have you.
Yes, sir, once my Sam finished his cleanin’, then his plantin’, then his tendin’, then his prunin’, the Shire was the beautiful place I now call home.
When he married sweet little Rosie and they began havin’ kids, I was Sam’s only pony. He would ride no other, and I wouldn’t o’ had it any other way. On the day when Mr. Frodo left on a ship for some unknown place across the water, I was there, carryin’ my Sam in his grief back to his home here at Bag End.
Long years have passed and things have changed, but I still have my Sam.