Anyone who has spent any time in the Prancing Pony has probably heard a few snatches from the tale being told by the resident Minstrel, but have you ever stopped to listen to the whole story? On a quiet night, I got her to tell me the whole tale, which she wrote originally to tell her children over breakfast, and I wrote it down. I might not have gotten every word exactly as she spoke it, though!
The Minstrel's Tale
Once there was a very brave hound, and very clever, so clever he could sweep his master's floor and cook breakfast for the lady of the house; or at least that is what he claimed when he was talking to the other hounds about town. In fact, while he was quite brave, he was mostly only clever at making up stories of his own adventures. He would tell the pups, gathered around the fountain, high up on the hill overlooking all of Bree-town, how he had tricked the moon into giving him a saucer of milk, and how he'd scared a troll right out through the town gates, and how he had built his own dog-house out of sticks and bits of stone and sealing-wax; and if any of the pups did not believe him, what a fierce barking and growling would ensue, and snapping of teeth, and huffing and puffing, so that the pup would have to give in and admit in front of all the other pups that it must be very true indeed!
This hound kept two Hobbits as pets, or at least that is how he thought of it, and what he told the other dogs. They were very wealthy and had a large house with a grand view of the houses and farms of Bree, and kept many fine things in it. Most of which, if you believed the hound's stories, he had been the one to find and bring to them, for he had a very keen eye for beauty. Being a wise and sensible hound, though, he knew the Hobbits would rather not know that he could speak, for Hobbits can be very old-fashioned about such things, and prefer to have everything just so. Therefore, the silly old hound would not speak, save but to bully or brag, yet when he'd spy his master's toes all a-woolly, with a single yip he would call silence to all the other dogs, that the Hobbits would not be put off their luncheon.
One fine day in autumn, the hound was telling a tale to the young pups, who had only been born that summer and so would believe almost anything, about the family of lynx who lived in a hollow nestled into the stones of Bree-hill, where they kept a nest full of eggs. Soon, he insisted, there would be a hatching and then there would be many baby lynxes scurrying about the place. (Hounds and dogs of all sorts very rarely keep company with any sort of cat, and so, they believe the most outlandish things about one another, which is the source of most of the great enmity between them. If you were to hear the follies cats believe about dogs, the hound's thought that lynxes hatch from eggs would seem quite sensible!)
The hound told the tale of the lynx, while the pups gathered around, listening raptly and only occasionally pulling on and biting one another's tails. 'There were two of the small two-legs,' he said, referring to children of the Hobbit kind, 'who came upon the nest, and being curious they peeked inside, and then without warning, the lynx were upon them with the wily moonlight dancing in their cruel, cruel eyes. The two-legs would have been gobbled up and eaten top to bottom! But being the bravest of all hounds, I rushed in and set to, and believe you me, the lynx were licking their wounds when I returned the two-legs to their home before the moon set!'
So fervent had the hound been in telling this tale, though, that he had not heard his master's wife, the lady of the house, creep up, for as everyone knows, Hobbits have a natural talent for moving unheard, even by clever hounds, and especially by hounds that only thought themselves to be clever. Away the pups scattered, running so fast as to tumble one over the other, wagging tails flying every which way! There was much yipping and whining that night. But as for the hound, where could he run away from the lady of the house, of his own house, now that she knew he could speak words as plain as any Hobbit?
He pleaded that she keep the secret. If his master were to know, what manner of trouble there might become would be beyond the imagining of even the bravest hound! And after much pleading, and turning up of his watery eyes -- for he was not very clever, but as skillful as all Hobbits are at moving quietly, so too are all dogs skilled at tear-filled pleadings -- she agreed, but only if he would fetch for her the lynx-eggs that she might cook them for a fine breakfast.
Just before dawn, the hound crept back into the house, head and tail both hanging low, and set at her feet a white egg, round and smooth and perfect as any hen's egg -- for as the Hobbit-lady could tell instantly, that is precisely what it was. 'And how came you to fetch me this lynx-egg?' she asked, eyes twinkling mischievously.
The tale the hound told was harrowing, full of cunning and wile as he snuck under cover of cloud-darkened moonbeams to the clutch of the lynx under Bree-hill, how he spotted the eggs shining softly in the silver illumination, but just as he was about to snatch them, a bird called and the lynx just outside the hollow awoke. 'And then there was a fierce fight! Claws and teeth, barking and growling, fur above and below! No Hobbit-eyes could have followed the struggle! But being an extremely clever hound, I knew it would not do to hurt the lynx too fiercely, though I could certainly do so, for then there would be no more eggs! So I turned and exposed my belly so the lynx would think that I was beaten, and not notice I was right beside the nest, and the way was clear. 'Cry uncle,' I did say! And when he did, the treasure I grabbed and ran far away-away. I stole the treasure and ran far away.'
Well, as far as the hound could tell, the lady of the house believed every word of his tale, and she was quite impressed at his cunning and his bravery both. But then she frowned. 'You said there were eggs -- not an egg, but eggs; but you only brought one?' she asked.
The hound's tail, without him knowing it, curled up under him. Quickly he thought of what to say. 'It was our accord that I would fetch the treasure of the lynx, and I haven't got all of it, but I did fetch you a lynx-egg! You must honor the bargain!'
But she was not convinced. The lady of the house cried, 'Then you will go right back out and fetch me another!'
((I was aiming to write in the style of J.R.R. Tolkien's writings for his children, e.g., Roverandom, while including all five of the Minstrel's randomly-spoken lines exactly as written. I hope you're amused by the story as much as I was by writing it!))
