Further to The Matrix Reconsidered

Otho Bracegirdle the Hobbit sat on the soft grass, his back
resting comfortably on a tree trunk. It was a warm, sunny day
and the tree gave welcome shade. In one hand was a clay pipe
with some of the Southfarthing's best smoking weed; his other
hand held a mug of good 1420 vintage ale. Curled up languidly
in his lap was a comely lass, Camellia Took of the Great Smials.

"Now then, stranger," he said to the tall man in the long
black coat standing before him, "You say you're a wizard
by the name of Neo."

"That's right."

"And you come from a great city far underground made
of sheet metal. Sounds right uncomfortable to me,
nothing like a proper 'obbit 'ole."

"Perhaps not, but it's _real_."

"And this isn't?" replied the Hobbit, indicating the surroundings,
fertile fields rich with hops and barley.

"No, it isn't."

"Well it looks awfully real to me," said Otho. "Next I suppose
you'll be telling me _this_ isn't real either," raising his glass
to Neo and taking a long swig of ale.

"No, it's only a simulation. Well, it looks I've come to the wrong
place. The word in Bree is that a certain O. Bracegirdle might be
interested in going on an adventure."

"Ah, that'll be me nephew Orin. More than 'alf like a dwarf, 'e is,
even taking a dwarvish name to 'imself. I been looking after 'im,
you see, since 'is natural parents went adventuring, seeking some
outlandish place going by the name of Zion. That's been, oh, five,
maybe six months ago -- said they'd be back real soon, but naught's
been seen of them since."

"It is from Zion that I have come. I know of them, and they
are well."

"Well, that's a different story. Look, why don't you sit yourself
down here and make yourself at home. Cammie, where's our
manners? We've neglected to offer our guest a glass of ale
at least, and can I interest you in some pipeweed, Mr. Neo?"

"No, I don't smoke, but some of your famous ale would be
welcome."

Camellia gave him a smile, arose and left them.

"If you'll just rest here a short while Orin will be along
presently; he's been off at the neighbours, sharpening their
sickles for the harvest."

Neo found it difficult to unwind, but he sat down by the
tree and even went so far as to remove his sunglasses.

"It's pleasant here," he commented.

"Aye, that it is. Now while we're waiting for Orin, perhaps
you could tell me a bit more of where you're takin' 'im,
He'll be eager to go, I know well enough; misses his
folks 'e does, of course."

Neo smiled. "Where shall I begin," he mused.

"Doesn't really matter, perhaps. I know things can't be
as they were, before our Frodo and 'is Sam left for foreign
parts, dealin' with the Dark Lord and all. Everyone 'ad
'oped we'd all get back to normal after that, but things
never can be, can they. Young people nowadays, getting
outlandish ideas in their 'eads about adventures of their own;
strange folks like yourself comin' and goin', meanin'
no offense, mind."

"None taken, although I see your point. Of course King Elessar
himself made the Shire off-limits to strangers and troublemakers.
I have a visitor's permit, of course. Well, Otho, it's a big world
out there. And if some folks want to go and see it for themselves,
it wouldn't be proper to hold them back, would it."

"No, no, that it wouldn't. But see, my great-grandfather first
settled here, oh, maybe 200 years ago. Came from an awful place,
or so 'e always said, name of South Central Los Angeles.
Folks always 'hurtin' each other with loud magic weapons,
dragons always flyin' over'ead, 'specially at night, 'e told us.
Dragons with firey white eyes, shinin' right in folks' front
windows. You could 'ear their wings, makin' a whop-whop-whop
sound, and their angry roar. They served a mighty dragonmaster
named Ell-ay Pea Dee. Now it makes good sense why he'd be willing
to risk an adventure escaping from such a place to come here
where life is so peaceful and safe. But it plain beats me why
anyone in their right mind would take the trouble to go _there_!"

By this time Camellia had returned with several pints of ale
and a glass for Neo. He sniffed the bouquet and took a drink
with pleasure.

"Would you like an explanation?" he asked.

"Well, I must confess you've got my interest up, so I suppose
I would. Being a wizard and all, I suspect you know enough
to satisfy my curiosity."

Neo paused. "I can tell you as much as you want to know.
Maybe more. Stop me if you think this knowledge would burden you."

"That's fair enough."

"All right. You, Otho, and everyone you know, are captives."

"Captives, as in prisoners?"

"Yes."

"Whoever they are, they're awfully nice folks for prison wardens
I must say, to keep us in such a fine style. But for all that
are they still our enemies, then?"

"No, they're not enemies. In a way, they're friends."

"Other 'obbits then, in high places?"

"No. They're... I can only call them Magic Powers."

"Friendly magic powers, you say. Naught to fear from them, then."

"No. Not from them. Are you interested to know who made
the Magic Powers?"

"Aye."

"People made them. People older than your great-grandfather.
Far back in time."

"I see. So we're all prisoners of our own ancestors,
or by their craft."

"Yes, that's pretty well the size of it."

"Well, better them than orcs is all _I_ can say."

Camellia giggled.

Neo had finished his beer. "It's getting late. It's been nice
talking to you, but I can't stay. Perhaps you can help me
find Orin."

"That's easy enough, just follow the track there, cross
the bridge up ahead and take the first left. That'll lead you
to Master Hardbottle's place, a little less than a mile.
Orin'll be there, unless something unusual came up, which I doubt."

"Thank you," said Neo, getting up to go.

"There's just one thing, ah, Master Neo, if I may address you
as such."

"Call me plain Neo, or Mr. Anderson if you would prefer."

"Very well, Mr. Anderson, I must say you've given me a powerful
lot to think about, enough for me to digest for quite a spell.
I hope you won't think it too forward of me, but perhaps later on
I might want to know a bit more, just enough to rest easy,
so as to speak -- of course it's Orin I have in mind. I know it's
no use holding 'im back, he's always been a headstrong type 'e 'as,
but of course I can't help feeling concerned. Would there be
a way to enquire?"

"Yes. Just send a letter, addressed simply to Neo, in care of
the Prancing Pony, Bree. I could give you a way to contact me
more quickly, but I suspect that the Post is about the pace
you'd be most comfortable with."

"Hmmm, I must say that's pretty well the truth."

"And by the way, you need have no fears for Orin. He may be back,
or he may not, but I'm sure he'll let you know what's on his
mind. We'll be coming back this way shortly so you can say
goodbye."

"Well you can't say fairer than that, Mr. Anderson, and there'll
be another pint waiting for you if you're so minded."

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