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.

Credit: www dot Tuckborough dot net, www dot equine-world dot co dot uk/horses_care/grass, ezinearticles dot com, The Naturally Healthy Pet dot com, animalcorner dot co dot uk/farm/horses/horse_about, Equine World UK.

Note: I have extrapolated various nuggets of wisdom from the above sites, but note that my interpretation of them may be flawed as I am (unfortunately) not an equine expert. I do know, that a horse/pony rolling on the ground is NOT a good thing as it can twist their intestines, so if you see a horse doing this, call a vet, fast! It’s also not a good idea for them to move too much when they’re suffering from colic, either. I have only used these here for humorous effect, but - for goodness sake - don’t take it as gospel!

A Pony’s Tale

Chapter 3: Blowing in the Wind

Bill the Pony’s POV

Bill swallowed his last mouthful of red hay just as the elves hauled the Gimmy out his stall.

Tasty!

And what a pity he hadn’t the opportunity to swipe a few more mouthfuls before the little man’s rescue! Unfortunately, Sam had thrown himself between the pair before he could make the next attempt which facilitated the hay-head’s liberation by the elves.

Spoilsports!

His rueful gaze followed them as they carried the mini-man out the enclosure. Never mind. Perhaps there were more Gimmies in Imladris? If only he could convince the elves to have a look, then bring them to the stables; maybe line them up (without their pot-helms) in front of his stall, so he could just help himself? What a lovely idea!

He smacked his lips loudly, having enjoyed his impromptu meal, and wondered if he’d get the opportunity to taste more soon.

The only thing that spoiled his current happy mood, was the fact that his Sam had not stayed longer. Still, his little master must have felt guilty for trying to turn him into a walking buffet, for he’d remained long enough to soothe him (after a lot of finger-waggling and pointing at the Gimmy) and then patted his head. Only then had he left to chase after his companion.

So now, apart from his stablemates, Bill was alone again.

Feeling watchful eyes on him, he glanced at the opposite stall to find the mare it housed watching him with dewy eyes.

Well, hellooo there, pretty elf horse!

He tossed his head proudly to let her better admire him. No doubt she was impressed by his bravery - after all, living right next door to Asfaloth (with his preening ways) must be insufferable. What did that show-off ever do except prance, dance and stare at his own reflection in the water trough? She must be yearning for a little adventure with a dashing stranger, and Bill was just the pony to provide it! He wished his stall door was open, so he could trot up and down before her and show his potential, but Sam had closed it firmly behind him.

The mare blinked, but Bill (in his moment of self-delusion) misinterpreted it.

She had winked at him! Aha! He knew his spectacular victory against the bushy barbarian would not go un-rewarded. Not only had he bravely defended himself against a terrible foe and graciously accepted the (possibly) profuse apologies of Sam for his little oversight, but now a fair maiden of elven stock was making definite overtures to him.

Well, this day just kept getting better and better!

Oh, if only he could go to her, nibble gently on her ears and whisper sweet nothings to the pretty thing (this would have the added benefit of enraging the glossy goat in the next stall). She would realise that her life so far had been empty until that moment! Swear her undying devotion to him (being an elvish horse, that would be a very long time)! They would pledge their troth before the Gimmy’s hair even had enough time to grow back and provide a decent wedding feast (though he was sure the elves would be obliging enough to accommodate them with some oats).

As he gazed dreamily into the mare’s eyes, he lost himself to wild fantasies: a pony and an elven mare, star-crossed lovers galloping across open fields, defying the conventions of the land with their happy union, while the prissy elf horse was left in their sparkly dust, bleating about the unfairness of it all.

Talking of prissy elf horses …

A loud thud and an even louder whinny interrupted the delicious contemplation of his future mate and, extremely annoyed, he swung his head to the left to find his adversary glaring at him. What was wrong with him? It wasn’t as if he had ever shown an interest in his lovely neighbour. Why, he probably thought himself far too elegant for her and fancied his chances with one of those Mearas he was always blabbering on about! Why should Bill be denied his chance of happiness by an uppity social climber?

He snorted in the white steed’s direction.

Mind your own business, oaf!

Returning his attention to the pretty mare, he decided to be bold and make his intentions clear before Asfaloth could ruin the moment and frighten her off. He winked back at the lass, then flashed his teeth, hoping she wouldn’t misinterpret it for a threat.

See, my lovely? These pearly whites will defend you from Gimmies everywhere. Let them be my gift to our children!

Before he had the chance to gauge her reaction, Glorfindel entered with another dark elf and strode towards Asfaloth’s stall. His elven friend disturbed Bill’s view of his potential bride when he opened the mare’s stall.

No! Don’t take her away, silly elf - I was making progress ...

His silent protestations were ignored as the elves saddled their steeds and left the stables within a matter of minutes. Bereft without his mate, he was left alone to contemplate the (hopefully) shiny future that lay before him.

At least the morning outing in the field gave him the opportunity to plan how he to capture the elven mare’s heart. He found himself hoping the smelly man might wander by for a visit - after all, he would understand Bill’s plight, for he had the great fortune of securing the love of an elven maiden himself. How had managed it, though? Since their arrival in Imladris, the man had been considerably less unkempt (and far less smelly), so possibly a good wash had been all that was needed to secure her affections. Or maybe he’d shared his oats with her? Then again, the now flowery-scented man was great friends with a wizard. Perhaps he’d saved himself the necessary encounter with hot water and just had his friend cast a spell on her, instead?

That was it! Bill had to find the wizard and convince him to use his magic on the lovely mare (and his long stick on Asfaloth - just for good measure)!

He cantered round the large field happily, wondering what his chances were of jumping the fence and seeking the wrinkly one out before the elves had a chance to stop him. However, his morning run ended with his return to the stall and no Gandalf in sight.

As the day progressed (with no further sight of his intended), Bill began to experience a growing discomfort. There was a definite gassiness in his abdominal region which became increasingly uncomfortable, and as that day spilled into the next, the unpleasant sensation grew worse. He shifted restlessly in his quarters, desperate to have some relief, and the evening found him considering a roll on the ground. But the stable master must have sensed his discomfort for he confiscated his feed. Left with nothing to eat and no spouse to comfort him, he surrendered to the oil rubs and massages that were deemed as therapy and sincerely hoped that the next morning found him a few pounds lighter.

But no such relief was forthcoming. On the second morning after his encounter with the Gimmy, his abdomen felt so swollen that he did take a roll on the ground. Thank goodness Asfaloth and the pretty mare weren’t there to watch him kicking his legs in the air as if he were making some futile attempt to walk on the ceiling!

He was convinced it was the Gimmy’s fault. His hay-head was poisoned! He had scoffed a goodly amount of it and was now paying the price for his folly! It was all the same to him that the stable master had already told him the hay-head had no intention of eating him (he knew from the start that his Sam was a good master). That information was no good to him now.

Glumly, the pony lifted his head as an elf opened his stall door. He didn’t feel like company, thank you very much. Not even the sparkly elf’s. He’d rather be alone. The elf scratched his nose, but Bill ignored him.

He wished he hadn’t charged at the pot-helmed ... thing (he had been told what the being’s race was, but couldn’t pronounce the word - that happened sometimes: even the fair speech of the immortals wasn‘t completely comprehensible. Bill wished elves could whinny, or snort, even. That would be very helpful).

Perhaps he shouldn’t have chewed on the red hair either? After all, the little man was only trying to be helpful, apparently ...

A loud gurgle filled his ears and he shifted uncomfortably. Thank goodness his tasty hay had been confiscated; the sight of it right now might reduce him to tears!

His morose contemplations were interrupted as the elf led him out the stall, down the stables and outside. Oh good, he was going to the field. Perhaps a breath of fresh air would make him feel better? And if he was lucky, he might see his Sam strolling about the grounds! He had missed him that morning when he hadn’t shown up.

Allowed to roam freely over the wide expanse, Bill resisted the urge to trot and kept his pace to a steady, plodding walk. No point in jarring his tummy. He wondered what Sam was doing at that moment. Maybe his little master would come by to see him while he was on the field and he could show him how much his behaviour had improved?

But there was no sign of anyone other than the elf who’d led him outside.

Until Asfaloth appeared.

Still, if the power-pony was back, that meant his beloved must be, too! But where was she? Nowhere in sight, apparently - just Glorfindel’s horse. His spirits sank further.

For goodness’ sake! Just what he needed - a showdown with the prissy elf horse. And just when he wasn’t feeling his best, too. If the singing steed thought he was weak, he’d never hear the end of it! Why couldn’t they take him somewhere else? This field wasn’t big enough for the both of them!

Deciding that it was necessary to project an air of normality, Bill bravely upped his pace and began to trot (as far to the other side of the field from Asfaloth as possible). If he pretended that he was perfectly happy and healthy, perhaps he could convince even himself?

Alright, then. He tossed his head defiantly as Asfaloth regarded him from the gate. The sun shines, I have a warm stall, I will not be the main course for a ravenous Gimmy and my betrothed is pining in anticipation of my speedy return to the stables. I am feeling very good indeed! See how I skip happily around the field, tree-lover? Skip, skip. Skippety, skip.

The white horse broke into a trot of his own, his long legs carrying him farther than Bill’s could. Running in the same direction as the pony, he quickly overtook him and Bill snorted in annoyance.

Show off! Well, he could certainly match the arrogant mule’s pace, bloated or not!

Increasing his speed, he soon found himself merely a metre behind the snowy creature. That’s it, look back in wonder. See what a mere pony can do!

He was almost past Asfaloth’s flank, when the horse began to canter, taking him further from the pony’s reach.

Why that overgrown, airy fairy, plague of botfly! Was he challenging him?

As the horse rounded the corner of the field, his smug gaze caught Bill and the pony whinnied in frustration before breaking into a canter of his own.

Two can play at that game.

The chase around the field provided him with a distraction from both his raging belly and his earlier sorrow at missing both his mare and Sam (and his newborn contemplation of making peace with the Gimmy). But as the faster pace continued on (with him more often than not left staring at the gaping rear of the horse’s generous posterior - Asfaloth had kindly raised his tail), his stomach began to protest at the added strain of his locomotion.

He tried to ignore it. He would not let that insufferable prancing donkey show him up in such a manner - he must endure this for ponies everywhere! What was a bit of discomfort when the reputation of his kind was at stake?

Ignoring the increasingly uncomfortable rumbles of his digestive system, he daringly upped the ante by flying into a gallop, which carried him past the astonished Asfaloth.

Hah! See how I run? Catch me now, if you can, wargling!

His efforts at self-deception into his current state of health proved quite effective - for a few minutes. Lost in the sensation of speedy delight (and showing the affronted horse his own posterior for a change), he galloped the length of the field in a haze of superiority, ignoring the observing elf‘s look of alarm.

I am King of Imladris! Prince of Ponies. Watch me frolic while you trail behind me in an envious shame! Hah, I scorn your attempts to put me in my place, prissy elf horse!

But his thundering pace was not to be maintained for long. As he turned into his third rotation of the open space, the gurgling in his belly became more insistent and he began to sweat like a panicked Gimmy.

Oh, no! What was happening?

Asfaloth had, by this time, bypassed him and was racing around the field while the pony’s hooves were beginning to falter.

No! He could not allow that glorified nag to overtake him. He’d never be able to look him in the eye again (not that he looked into his eyes that often, if he could possibly help it). Bill tried to maintain his motion as the smug creature travelled the length of the field again (allowing him another unfortunate view of his rear), but it was becoming impossible and by the time Asfaloth had overtaken him a fourth time, his protesting stomach forced him to stop.

He staggered to a halt as the dark elf ran over to assist him.

Oh my, but his belly hurt! He was completely unable to take another step, lest he burst open. Make it stop, nice elf. Ouch! Ow!

The bloated sensation had travelled from his stomach to his hindquarters, but was not moving any further down, and when the elf caught up to him to lead him off the field, every step sent a sharp spike of pain shooting through him. Bill was extremely annoyed with himself - if he’d known that Gimmy hair could cause this much discomfort, he’d have stuck to pounding at the little man’s boots instead!

Talking of little men …

They had just approached the gate of the fence separating the large field from the grounds, when the now-flowery-scented man came towards them, accompanied by a pretty, blond male elf and none other than the Gimmy himself.

But Bill was currently in no state to entertain company, let alone attempt to make friends with the worst haystack he’d ever had the misfortune of encountering.

Go away!

The flowery man approached and called out to his dark-haired handler, pointing at Bill, while the pretty elf glared at the Gimmy (the Gimmy was alternating between glaring back and throwing cautious glances in his direction - as well he should. Bill was not feeling very favourable towards him at present; this was all his fault!).

Another gurgling bellowed through his form as he was led out of the field to stop in front of the flowery man - thank goodness he had used water in the past few weeks, for encountering his former stench at this moment would have sent the pony fleeing back to the loving arms of Bill Ferny. He had enough to worry about without having to gasp for air, too. His belly clenched and he feared that if he didn’t get relief soon, he might pop. Bill the Exploding Pony. He didn’t much like the sound of that (although Asfaloth would probably neigh in delight at the spectacle of Bill-bits gently floating to the ground, noxious nag!).

His handler halted with him to speak to the flowery one, and he fervently hoped that they would not be kept there long. The man stepped towards him and scratched his nose gently, but he could not enjoy it as much as usual, nor did he feel inclined to discover how he‘d successfully wooed his bride-to-be - not yet anyway. The man placed one of his hands on the side of Bill’s head and spoke gentle elvish words.

Now, really! Did he look like he fancied a chat? His gassy belly was swelling to such proportions that he could barely put one leg in front of the other, and the silly man wanted to discuss the affairs of the day? He glanced at the blond elf and the Gimmy, hoping they weren’t here for a lengthy conversation too; but to his relief they were too busy glowering at each other.

Hmm, interesting. A Big (and little) Folk version of his own relationship with the prissy elf horse?

The prissy elf horse must have been reading his mind, for he heard his clopping hooves behind him and was forced to move out the way to allow him through the gate. His stomach protested violently while he swung his form round, glowering at Asfaloth as he swanned past (looking victorious). Unfortunately, his new position placed the blond elf and the Gimmy directly behind him, which would not have concerned him greatly had they not started bickering with each other.

And the flowery man still had his hand on his head, too. Oh, well. He obviously wasn’t going to leave until Bill let him have his say, so he tried to ignore the squabbling pair and his bubbling intestines and listened to the flow of elvish. It was quite comforting, actually, once you gave in to it. The man’s voice was really quite soothing. A warm sense of peace began to infuse him, relaxing his tensed muscles as the warmth of peace flowed over him.

Ooh, yes, that’s nice … keep going.

The warmth flowed down into his roiling belly and fought the demons that lurked there as he relaxed further - and considering the growing ruckus behind him, that was quite a feat. What on earth were those two arguing about? Not that he cared, really. It felt as though the toxins of the Gimmy hair were finally about to flee his body. And if the squabbling mini-man didn’t move soon, he might get the dubious pleasure of having them gifted back to him.

But the Gimmy did not get his hair returned to him in this most unfortunate of manners - though as the combination of his movements to allow Asfaloth passage through the gate and the steady flow of healing words coursed through him, an enormous blast did emanate from his nether regions, providing him with unimaginable relief …

… at the same time as the roar of Gimmy laughter and the din of elvish yells resounded behind him.

He turned his happy head towards the sound, a move mimicked by the flowery man and the dark-haired elf, to find his former snack rolling on the ground in mirth as his windblown, filth-strewn enemy seethed in rage.

Oops!

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Author’s Note: My mojo abandoned me within the last week, leaving me some difficulty in attempting the next chapters of both these fics.

However, after lengthy negotiations with it (and its very scary looking union rep), I have promised it an increase in salary and fed it haggis, neeps and tatties (it is Burns’ Night after all), so for the moment we appear to have called an uneasy truce.

Kara’s Aunty ;)