It could have happened like this…

If you want to read the beginning of the story, please read my first story – Until the Moon shall Rise. It has a romantic and dramatic ending, probably what did happen, while this one has an alternate and more humorous ending. Both were mentioned in Chapter 1 of the Fellowship of the Ring

Until the Moon Shall Set

All was peacefully quiet, except for the murmur of the river and the rhythmic dip of oars on the water. A nightingale sang out sweetly, and a cricket gave a resounding chirp, while ripples of mirth still issued from the inviting colony of Buckland steadily drifting out of sight.

The hobbits sat facing each other, conversing on various matters of little importance but relishing their time alone.

“I really don’t feel comfortable attending these boisterous social gatherings where drunkards infest the place, swearing and talking profanity – and all the women’s talk is centered on what types of flowers to select for the spring gardening retreat,” Primula was saying with a hint of disgust in her voice. Drogo grunted in agreement.

“I can’t say I was too pleased with the vittles neither,” he added, burping under his breath. “Of course, there’s naught a barrel of beer in the Shire that can surpass that of the Green Dragon.”

Primula laughed – a high tinkly laugh, like a fresh spring of water flowing down the mountain side into the first lights of dawn.

“You and your beer!” she said, giggling again. “Remember the time when we were over at Will Whitfoot’s house to sign some papers, and he offered you a mug of beer?”

Drogo tensed as Primula continued to rattle on.

“…and you asked for more because you thought it was so good? And then you started to burp! And slobber!” Primula was in hysterics by now. “I was so sure you were drunk! And Mayor Whitfoot just sat there smiling, because he had added extra alcohol to it! Oh dear!” She wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes and looked up at Drogo. She was startled by what she saw. Drogo was no longer smiling tenderly at her with hearts in his eyes. He looked furious and menacing.

“How dare you!” he hissed. Primula backed up in her seat a little, beginning to be frightened. She gave a little shaky laugh.

“Why, Drogo, you know I didn’t mean -”

“Hold your tongue my pretty!” Drogo was glaring at her in the most uninviting way. “No one insults me and gets away with it! Do you know who my father was?”

Primula gaped at him, not trusting herself to speak.

“I bet you don’t! You don’t even know who my father was!!! My own wife doesn’t know who her father-in-law was!”

“Drogo!” squeaked Primula. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to offend you, honest! Your father was a delver, wasn’t he?”

Drogo lost the flame in his eyes for a moment and sighed, looking down. “Yes, he was a delver.” He glanced up sharply. “But what does that have to do with this?!”

Primula looked at him oddly. “Are you all right, honey?” she asked, laying a hand gently on his knee.

“AHHHHHH!” Drogo yelled, swatting her hand away. “You daughter of three crocodiles!!! What do you take me for, a helpless baby?!” He stood up, rocking the boat dangerously and glowering down at Primula. “I’ll teach you to back talk me!”

Primula clung to the gunwale, looking up at Drogo out of a deathly pale face, yet with a strong determination in her eyes.

“If that’s the way you want it,” she said, quiet and sinister. “EEEEUUUPOOKA!!!” she raised the war cry, leaping on Drogo’s legs and grappling to tip him out of the boat. Drogo was quite taken by surprise. In went his head, while Primula tried to loose his hands which were gripping the side of the boat for dear life.

Out of desperation Primula sat on his legs and wacked his knuckles with a fish bonker. A stream of bubbles floated up from where Drogo’s head was as he let go. An evil sneer of triumph disfigured Primula’s face. But as she reached for the oars, a vice like grip latched on to her hair, and slowly, firmly pulled her into the river, regardless of her screams.

So it was that Drogo and Primula both drowned because of their selfish ambitions; they never once thought of poor Frodo, sleeping peacefully back at home, who that night became an orphan.

Print Friendly, PDF & Email