26 - 31 August, 3017

In the August before Frodo's forty-ninth birthday, Gandalf returned to the Shire. For many long years he had been neither seen nor heard from. And if the typical inhabitant of this green and quiet country remarked upon this at all, perhaps they thought him gone for good.

As it was, the old wizard blew in with a late afternoon storm, his cloak billowing like the wings of a great bird, his brows as lowering as the grey clouds now scudding across the ragged sky. Thunder followed in his wake.

When Frodo came round the front of Bag End, having seen to the outer latchings of the shutters, he was no more surprised than if a troop of elves were approaching his door leading ponies laden with bags of gold and jewels. The full basket of produce he'd rescued from the garden dropped forgotten at his feet.

"Hallo! Gandalf!" A wide smile lit Frodo's face. "Did you bring this storm with you?"

Glowering fiercely, Gandalf clapped one hand to his tall hat and strode up the path, pushed along with a scatter of leaves by a sudden gust of wind. "If you have any decency about you at all, Frodo Baggins, I suggest you open your door at once. I do not wait upon silly conversation when I may be snatched away at any moment!"

Laughing with delight, Frodo grabbed his basket and flung open the great front door as the first drops of rain fell with a loud splatter upon his doorstep. And as they both rushed through on a great crack of thunder, the deluge began.

Within the front hall, all was snug and bright. Two tall lamps burned on either end of a large side table and one more stood waiting on a smaller table at the entrance to the parlor. There was a toothsome smell of fresh baking on the air and the comfortable warmth of a hole well-prepared to withstand the worst of weathers.

"Where in this wonderful world have you been, Gandalf?" Frodo took the wizard's well-worn cloak and hung it carefully on the halltree. On another day, he might have remembered that it is rude to stare, but now he was far too happy to worry about such things. "One could have supposed you had deserted us for good!"

Gandalf placed his staff and traveling pack in the corner, then straightened with a sigh. A little smile crooked the corner of his mouth. "Desert you? My dear hobbit! Never to see this quaint country again, with its delightfully simple inhabitants whose worst problems consist of who should not be invited to the next birthday party? Come now, I am not so distant as all that!" Then he drew his brows together and stood as tall as the ceiling would permit. "And now... Where are your manners, Mr. Baggins?"

Shaking with laughter, Frodo bowed quite graciously. "My apologies, dear friend. But you have given me such a start, I hardly know what I am doing!" He picked up the basket of vegetables and waved a hand toward the parlor. "It is just time for tea and the fire is lit, so come sit down, put up your feet, and I shall fetch everything we need."

In no time at all, a fine tea was laid out on the little table in front of the fire. There was ale and red wine, a fresh-baked apple tart, and tangy cheese scones with raspberry jam to top it all off. And when not a scrap was left, they settled back in their chairs, sipping hot mugs of tea and listening to the storm blunder its way to the south.

"You must forever surprise me, Gandalf. Just when you are least expected, here you come, striding up my path as if you'd been gone only a week and not years and years." Frodo took a sip of tea and sighed. "It's been so long, I really did think you might have forgotten me."

"Oh, no. Forget you? I think not." There was a certain grimness to Gandalf's smile. "You are far too hard to forget, my dear hobbit, so I shan't think of trying!" He chuckled softly before reaching into a deep pocket for his pipe. "But tell me of yourself, tell me how you've been keeping. I wish to hear all the news of the Shire and don't think that anything, however small, is unimportant." Pipe filled, he sat back in his chair. "For instance, how is that young Sam Gamgee?" Glancing up from under thick, bushy brows, he puffed the pipe to life.

Frodo turned toward the fire, his face gone still and pale in the flickering light. "Sam. Yes. Well, he still works for me. Although I don't..." Drawing a quick breath, he looked back and smiled slightly. "Sam is quite well, as is the Old Gaffer. I could have no better neighbors, no finer..." He hesitated and the hand holding the mug trembled a little. "Of course, you know Sam is a dab hand at most everything he tries. And the plants seem to think him better than the sun for growing. I believe I am the envy of Bagshot Row." He laughed abruptly and turned back to the fire. "There is very little round Bag End that Sam can't fix or at least try to. And I fear I've grown far too...dependent on him. So, I've taken to sending him off several days a week to do for some of the other neighbors." Frodo seemed mesmerized by the flames. "He should be...somewhere else..." His voice died away and the smile with it.

Drawing deeply on his pipe, Gandalf sent a tiny silver smoke ring to hover above the fireplace. His voice was barely a murmur. "It's not unusual to grow dependent upon one who becomes dear to you."

With a jerk, Frodo sat up and shook his head. "No. No more talk of my affairs." He leaned forward with narrowed eyes and looked the old wizard up and down. "You are looking quite your old self, which is more than wonderful, and I wish first of all to hear your tale. Likely, you have been to the bottom of the world and back and that should be good for several days worth of stories." Frodo's jaw tightened for just a moment. "Tales from the Shire can hardly compare to the doings of a wizard."

Gandalf heard the quiet desperation in Frodo's voice and forebore to press him, yet nothing escaped those wise old eyes and ears. "Ah, well, as for me, I am merely passing through from one bit of business to another, and there is not much to tell. But I think I shall stay on a few days, just to see what sort of mischief you've been up to."

Then Frodo laughed, this time more like himself than not, and, despite his words to the contrary, Gandalf launched into a tale of errant dwarves and lordly elves that lasted far into the evening. He had very little time to spend in the Shire and a great deal to set right. But for now he must watch and wait as only a wizard can.

---

"Oh, I expect I shall spend as near a week as possible at Bag End, my dear Frodo, for I need the rest and relaxation." The kitchen table was littered with the remains of a delightful breakfast, which had included more than adequate amounts of scrambled eggs, fried bacon and tomatoes, and thick toasted oat bread with sweet butter and honey. "I have been places and done things for which my feet hurt and my old bones ache. And this is the best place I know of to recover."

What he had longed to say were words of joy and congratulation, words that had sung through his mind and lent wings to his feet through the weary leagues of his journey to Hobbiton. And instead, he had found Frodo caught between a terribly stubborn rock and a virtuous hard place, both of his own making. It was a sore disappointment.

"We shall have many a good coze, Gandalf. I miss those. I miss you." Frodo sat at the kitchen table, slowly rubbing his restless hands together. The last slice of buttered toast lay untouched upon his plate. "I miss Bilbo. I miss... Oh, I miss the way life used to be: simple, uncomplicated..."

"And when would that have been?" Gandalf leaned back in his chair and frowned. "I don't ever recall there being such a time, my dear Frodo. Life is never uncomplicated. Just think of Bilbo and remember how suddenly complicated things can happen!"

"I wonder what's he's doing, how he is." Frodo stared at the forgotten piece of toast. "I should like to talk to him."

Gandalf smiled. "I expect you shall, one day."

"Shall I?" Shaking his head, Frodo pushed back from the table and began to clear up. "I wonder..."

Through the open front door, a fresh breeze idled down the hallway, carrying with it the pleasant sound of birdsong and the scent of newmown hay. From down the hill came the sound of voices, indistinct and cheerful as folk went about their morning chores. It was a fine day, with the promise of good weather for some time to come.

Inside the warm kitchen, Gandalf sipped the last of his coffee in silence, watching Frodo scrub each dish with single-minded determination before putting it away. "Will Sam be by today?"

Frodo set a vine-wreathed plate gently into the cabinet. "No."

"Why not?" Gandalf's finger traced the pattern in the old oak table as it twisted and curved on its path from one side to the other.

When Frodo finally answered, the barest breeze might have carried his voice away. "Because he shouldn't." He sucked in a breath. "That is, he doesn't really need to. And he's very busy elsewhere."

"Is he?" Gandalf sighed and stood up, stretching his arms wide. "I should like to see him. I am quite fond of Sam. I had thought you were as well." He paused only long enough to push his chair in, then strode out of the room.

Behind him, Frodo leaned hard against the counter and shut his eyes. And only the silence was witness to the hot tears dripping slowly into the dishwater.

---

For the rest of that day and the next, Gandalf waited and watched. Frodo would not be an easy nut to crack and to press him would only bottle him up tighter. And based on all that Gandalf suspected, that could well prove fatal, not only to Frodo himself, but to all he held dear.

For the thing that troubled Gandalf most of all, the thing that fed most of his fears, was not the silence that had grown so deeply within Frodo nor the melancholy that seemed to surround his heart, but that Frodo remained as youthful in appearance as he had on his thirty-third birthday, with none of the proper signs of age that should have been visible by now. So much like Bilbo it was, that something in his wizardly innards grew cold, suspecting far more than the happy circumstance of inheritance at work. And in his heart lay the certainty that if ill times were ahead, he must find a way past Frodo's stubborn shell. So much depended upon it.

So much depended upon Sam.

---

"Frodo, it seems to me that your hedges could use a good talking to. They are taking over your garden path."

It was the afternoon of Gandalf's fourth day and a fine sunny one it was. Gandalf and Frodo sat on the front step sipping strong summer ale, having just come from a quiet ramble to Overhill and back. Frodo had been mellow and talkative, chatting of various doings of his wide-spread kin, telling tales of his favorite cousins and their outlandish behavior. Especially riveting had been the Tale of the Runaway Wheelbarrow, in which some scheme of Pippin's had gone awry, involving a pig, a nightshirt, two pumpkins and, of course, Merry. So Gandalf had spent quite a long time laughing and had finally had to sit down to catch his breath.

And now here they were, side by side, watching the perfect afternoon unfold. For several minutes Gandalf had considered how best to draw Frodo out and had finally decided to test the waters. "It's not like you to let your hedges have their way. This might be a good time to get Sam back up here, don't you think? He could clip to his heart's content and I could have my visit with the lad."

Frodo clasped his hands together, clenching them between his knees. "Please..." His shook his head and when he looked at Gandalf, the misery was plain upon his face. "I know you care about me. I know you even mean well." Frodo turned back to stare down the path to Bagshot Row and shuddered. "But I know what I'm doing. I don't need to discuss anything. With anybody." His voice had started to rise. "So please..."

And it was then, as the sun settled to the west and shadows lengthened across the golden fields, that the figure came trudging round the turn in the path to Bagshot Row. The weight of the world seemed to rest on his hunched shoulders as he pushed a small cart loaded with tools. His head hung down and even from so far away, Gandalf could see the heartbreak in the sturdy young hobbit.

With a little cry, Frodo jumped up and stood trembling, staring for agonized seconds at the lone figure before turning swiftly to push through the front door.

Heart aching, Gandalf watched Sam march slowly home. It wouldn't be charitable to wish a curse upon stubborn hobbits and the failures of wizards, but he was sorely tempted. Time was running out and he had yet to find the words to unlock Frodo's heart. Rising slowly, he gathered up the forgotten mugs and followed Frodo inside.

---

By the next morning, Frodo had reclaimed his serenity, even going so far as to bake Gandalf's favorite gooseberry cobbler and, while they ate it, to enumerate at length, as only hobbits can, on the qualities of a good sweet-egg pie. But none of this could fool a wizard who had seen more things, both in and beyond Middle Earth, than any hobbit at any time could possibly imagine.

But no matter how gingerly Gandalf probed, no matter how discreet his comments or questions, Frodo remained impervious, shut as tight as the lock on his cellars.

Short of violence, Gandalf suspected that even he, with all of his wizardly skill, might fail.

---

And so came Gandalf's last day at Bag End and Frodo, pale and silent, did his best to smile. "It seems all good things come to an end at the last, don't they? I wish you would not go yet." He placed a full tray down on the little table and picked up the tea pot from its place near the fire. "I admit I haven't been the best of company, but it has done me a world of good to see you again. I shall go on quite well now."

They sat once more in the comfortable parlor where Bilbo had entertained unexpected visitors so long ago. Gandalf sighed. There was very little comfort here now. "I know there is much troubling you and I only wish to help." He watched Frodo cut into the fresh ham and cheese pie. "You should have had Sam here all along and I don't see why you can't..."

The knife clattered onto the tray. "Gandalf..."

"I wish you would trust me, my dear hobbit." Gandalf spoke with some asperity. "In my experience, you must allow life to lead you where it will, although the path may seem strange and unlooked for." He took the plate Frodo offered and picked up a fork. "Far be it from me to tell you your business..." He ignored the soft snort. "...but when your heart tells you a thing, you should not pack it up with the cracked dishes and shut it away in the cupboard. You should listen with both ears and then shout your answer at the top of your voice."

Frodo remained silent, but his eyes showed lines of weariness and he slumped back in his chair. "There is much you know of the world, Gandalf, but as you say, this is not your business and if harm comes of..., of ignoring your advice, it is to no one but myself." He pressed his lips together, then spoke with some heat. "And as for Sam, he is young, he has things to do with his life, he shouldn't spend it with an old hobbit like me. I could never ask him..." He drew in a deep breath and reached for his cup.

"Sam is 38, far past his coming of age and quite capable of making his own decisions. You are not the only one involved here, can you not see?"

But Frodo only turned his head and would say nothing more. And Gandalf's heart was heavy.

---

At half-past one, Gandalf took his leave.

They walked down the path to the little front gate together and as Gandalf stepped through, he paused for a moment, drinking in the sight before him: the snug, well-tended holes and cottages, the abundant gardens filled with a colorful harvest that spoke of a comfortable winter to come...and the sorrows of the past washed painfully through his heart. These were innocent, kindly souls. With no thought of the dangers that lay very little further than their own well-trodden paths.

And Frodo. If even the half of what Gandalf suspected came to pass...

By Manwë's Breath, he must try one last time. He turned and dropped one hand on Frodo's shoulder.

"Frodo, my lad, I love you dearly. But you are far more than the simple hobbit you think you are." He squeezed gently. "Yes, indeed, you are a fine, upstanding gentlehobbit, my dear Mr. Baggins. But to forsake your own happiness for all the wrong reasons is not to be noble. And to be the direct cause of the unhappiness of someone you love..." He frowned, lifting his gaze to the round green door he'd placed his mark upon so many years before. That was a tale he'd thought finished. And yet... Looking back at Frodo, he held him with a gaze both fierce and gentle. "Just when we expect things to remain the same forever, they have a nasty way of proving us wrong, even in such a place as this. Remember, Frodo, there is always a choice. You may hide from love when it comes knocking upon your door. Or you may invite it in for tea and cakes and a good long story." A strange smile played about his lips for a moment before he sighed and straightened up. "Clasp his heart to your own before it flies beyond your ability to call it back."

Frodo's eyes were full of anguish. "But if his heart doesn't wish..."

"Frodo, look around you." Gandalf flung his hand toward the lush garden, the rampaging hedges, the thick green grass. "Must we walk Bag End inside and out and observe the rest? Love is shouting at you from all sides. Open up your heart and listen to it." Folding both arms round his staff, he drew himself up, his eyes glittering under thick bushy brows. "I believe you are as stubborn as an old dwarf I once knew!"

There was color in Frodo's cheeks and, for just a moment, he couldn't meet the old wizard's eyes. "All right, Gandalf. All right." When he looked up, his eyes were bright with unshed tears. "A part of me still suspects you are wrong and I shall regret saying anything. But I shall listen..." He took a deep breath. "...and if all seems as you say it is, I shall speak."

Gandalf's fingers brushed lightly against Frodo's cheek. "That is all I ask. And remember, speak plainly. No beating around the bushes!" He chuckled and lifted his pack.

"I still wish you needn't go so soon." Frodo stuck his hands in his pockets and looked down the path, staring at the view across The Water. "Your roads all seem to be very long and they seldom end here. I shall miss you."

"And I shall miss you, my dear Frodo. Now cheer up, for I shall be back before you know it!" He turned away to step down the lane.

"One more thing, Gandalf."

The wizard stopped and turned. "Only one?"

"Just one." Frodo smiled. "Did you listen?"

For several seconds, Gandalf stood gazing at Frodo in silence, a gleam of silver flashing briefly in his eyes. Then very softly, he said, "Yes. Yes, I did." And with a whirl of his cloak, he was gone, striding quickly down the lane toward Hobbiton.