Frodo woke up that morning, thinking nothing could improve the sweet, cloudless day. Until he was running breathlessly, arms flying in the air, towards a coach full of fireworks driven by an old man dressed in grey. Frodo had tormented himself so long with the prospect of Gandalf's return to the Shire, that he was forced to remove it completely from his mind, until he forgot to agonize over every minute the Wizard delayed.
Frodo made an effort at great Hobbit speed to get to the greeting mound, and either by kind calculation or fortunate chance, Gandalf halted his horse at the same meeting spot. Frodo stood on a hill carpet with grass, and was afforded good vantage of the Wizard's person. As Gandalf raised his well maned head and Frodo began to catch glimpses of his eyebrows over the wide brim of his Wizard's hat, he felt suddenly shy. Hot with eagerness to welcome Gandalf and panicked by what Gandalf might think of him, now that Frodo had changed in the missing years. In the end, he only managed to say, rather petulantly "You're late." And blush hard at the whining tone of his voice.
Gandalf looked up slowly, setting his devastatingly bright eyes on Frodo's face. Caught in the center of the Wizard's focus, Frodo watched Gandalf's lips move behind the wild growth of his whiskers and could only think in awe, as he always did: that was a magic-talented mouth. He caught something about a 'Wizard's timing', 'lateness' and 'precision', but it was the twitch at the side of those soft looking lips that brought him back, and set him off, cracking his head with laughter. Hearing the low hollering laugh from Gandalf, Frodo was relieved. He threw himself across his friend, for Gandalf could not become a stranger if they could still share these jokes with no punch line, only so many teasing glances.
Gandalf marveled at the size of the Hobbit landing in his lap. Frodo had grown no taller, of course. And his face was eerily the same as when he was in his tweens, as Gandalf saw him last, even if the heart melting childishness of his looks had transformed into a wholesome handsomeness. But he was much heavier and felt denser in Gandalf's arms. He felt the firmness of Frodo's stomach soon enough as he set the Hobbit down beside him. Even though he did not mean to, his hand seemed to naturally stray onto Frodo's person. Frodo stayed where he was put, with one hand wound about the side to keep from toppling out of the man sized carriage, he began to ask questions.
Such a strange temperament for a Hobbit, thought Gandalf, he hardly fidgets, keeps quite politely on his end of the seats, despite his obvious anxiousness for news of the greater world. And a Hobbit who wants to know what happens outside of the Shire! Frodo will have to be watched, though he gives clear indication that he is much in love with Hobbiton, Gandalf could not help but want to keep two eyes firmly on Frodo, lest he be swept off to some adventure without Gandalf!
"And where are you going, Wizard?" Frodo said, growing bold at last, a gleam in his eyes that mad Gandalf wary, for here was Hobbit cunning at work.
"To your Uncle Bilbo's house, where else?" Gandalf answered, guiding the coach through the green countryside.
"You mean my house," Frodo took over the reins from Gandalf's, whose fingers were stiff with reluctance. "There's my name on the post box, too."
"Vulgar little Hobbit," Gandalf wrestled the reins back from Frodo's hands. "I should speak to Bilbo and caution him against leaving his inheritance to such a young upstart."
"Say what you like, Bilbo is quite sold on me," and a shadow passed through Frodo's eyes, like a cloud over a deep pond, which disturbed Gandalf's heart. "He would leave me with all his treasures, but refuse persistently to let me go with him."
And the Hobbit looked so sullen and lost at the future that Gandalf's brows raised into a sympathetic frown. Gently, he gave over the leather tether and willow stick to Frodo, for he knew Frodo loved driving his buggy and sought to comfort him in what small ways he could.
"Sometimes, my dear Hobbit, we will disregard the ones we love, in order to love them better, at a distance," said Gandalf, thinking upon his own recent reluctance to visit the Shire. He felt as if the dust of the wider world clung to his robe front and he sullied the Shire with his presence, or brought it unfavorable fortune. Yet, it was only here amidst the Hobbits, that Gandalf could find respite from his journeys and worries. Gandalf thought of the tales of the giants of old, who to remain invincible left their hearts buried beneath ancient wells and lived far away from the organ that gave them life. He might have to ask Samwise Gamgee to go digging in Bags End and demand loudly for the return of his own heart.
Frodo of course could not guess the hopeless affection Gandalf felt for them and was hardly soothed by the sentiment Gandalf spoke. A rare angry grimace flashed over his face. "That is exactly the sort of thing I should expect you to say. Bad riddles. With nary a laugh in them!"
Quite affronted by that, Gandalf glared at Frodo. "Well, if you think so poorly of my conversation, I'm sure I can find my own way to Bags End. Or would you tell me the burrow sprouted arms and dug itself to a new home, in the middle of the night? As Hobbits are wont to do, when an unwelcome guest arrives."
Frodo looked at Gandalf with an attempt to slit his huge eyes to make them look mean. But he seemed so much like a rabbit trying to menace a wolf, that already, in his heart, Gandalf forgave Frodo his remark. There is more behind this patchy dialogue, Frodo seemed determined to catch meaning in the murk and bring it to Gandalf's attention. And just what is this preoccupation with Gandalf's comings and goings? Gandalf thought beautiful young Hobbits would have had better things to do!
"I'm not a liar, if that's what you imply with that mean line about Hobbits," Frodo said, but his voice was not harsh, he sounded quiet and sorry. "Most Hobbits keep faith with their promises, unlike Wizards I've known, who play with words, like dwarves with metal."
"You know a Wizard, and I'm not the best example of my fellows," Gandalf smiled with some confusion, Frodo was using an odd tone with him, a high lilting accent like he'd been spurned. This, Gandalf did not like, Frodo cannot know Gandalf's feelings, he cannot know the reason why Gandalf abandoned the Shire for the quest of finding Gollum, tramping around the wilderness with Strider for indeterminable lengths. "Wha is this about? I came as soon as I could."
"You said you would visit every year," Frodo cried and cringed at how like a wail his complaint was. But that is no surprise, his heart hurt from all the waiting he'd had to do, and the doubts he'd had to answer for himself. "But for nine years you did not! And when Bilbo sent you the invitation to his elventy-first, you did not reply until the sixth letter. Then you wrote that you would come presently, soon as pressing business is completed. So I hoped through the months and weeks, and you, foiling all my plans, turn up at the very last eve before Biblo's Party!"
Gandalf was silent for a while, thinking, then blinking, he looked to Frodo and his voice was warm. "I would that I were here with you and Bilbo all that time I was away, if I could. Tell me of those grand schemes you've plotted, what did they entail, Frodo?"
"Hide and Seek, in the short woods, that would have you lost for hours and the Hobbit children giggling loudly in the shrubs." Frodo gave a rather watery smile. "Picnics by the river where Bilbo could fail to catch fish and you fail to cook it bland. Napping in the afternoons, when you and Bilbo smoke such a lot of weed that the house looks a misty mountain at dawn. Storytelling at Dinner and Supper, veering for Merry and Pippin's woos and ahhs."
"I did not know, Frodo," Gandalf was inspired full of tender feelings. "That you missed me so. Or I would have put down the most urgent tasks and come to be with you." This Gandalf said in all honesty, for the answer to all his questions had been answered implicitly in Frodo's short account of his fondest wishes for them.
Frodo seemed shocked by that. He began to mutter nervously under his breath. ". . . seasoned fox . . . shan't let him know . . . teased forever. . ."
"What was that my dear Frodo?"
Frodo shot a dirty look at Gandalf and said, much too loudly: ". . . I wasn't pining after you!"
Gandalf's shoulders began to shake violently, for a moment his beard caught the shine off the ripples in the river and plated his entire person in merry silver, as he laughed. "I wouldn't dare suggest such a thing."
"You needn't say a word, Gandalf," Frodo grumbled. "You know that you are my very favourite, besides Bilbo. I made a pest of myself, begging him to repeat the invitations to you. Enduring Bilbo's jealousy, he always says 'Aren't I good enough company for you, favourite nephew? What do you want with that wandering Wizard. Please let me be your favourite, and tell me all your secrets. And even though, you've missed my birthdays in succession, yet each time I see you, you never let me get away before you know every dream in my head."
"Do you feel that I pry into your affairs too much, Frodo?" Gandalf said as the horse slowed down and was still sitting, chin in his hand as they came to a stop before Bags End. Frodo loved him, to be sure. But just what kind of love is it? And worse yet, why did Gandalf feel such a panic of desire to know precisely the nature of Frodo's mute longing of Gandalf's company.
Frodo sighed at the sight of Gandalf posing as a statue, and jumped off to start hurling the luggage.
"You've done it to him again, Frodo," Bilbo called out as he came out of the burrow, follow by Sam, who quickly went to help Frodo. "He'll be stuck like that for hours."
"I'll go ready his room," Frodo said rather quietly and walked away with Sam, heading for the back.
"Hail, Gandalf," Bilbo said with a sneaky grin, in a very sarcastic manner. "How are you my dearest Bilbo? I am well Gandalf. How are you? Why Gandalf you're as lively to talk to as the Town Hall!"
Gandalf shook himself out of his revelry, feeling far sheepish for losing himself in thoughts about Frodo (Frodo!), followed Bilbo into the burrow, managing to say, regularly, 'no, thank you' to the numerous offerings of food.
"But Gandalf!" Bilbo set the teapot down with a clatter. "You must eat presently, for it is Lunch."
With a start, Gandalf eyed the sun through the windows and though he dreaded to pronounce it, saw that the shadows were directly beneath the trees. He ought not have rushed the ride and interrupted a Hobbit Lunch, he had been too hasty in getting away from Frodo's oddly intense accusations of faithlessness. And now he was ensnared, for on precisely the word Lunch, Merry and Pippin rushed into the kitchen.
They came in, brandishing cutlery and plates, lifting the chains of spoons, not keys, from their belts and sat down, one on each side of Gandalf. And even before Hobbit buttocks touched wooden bench, Gandalf felt a dizzy spell coming up at the prospect of sitting between these two. Sam came to the table with trays full of food, cheese sandwiches, vegetable soup, cold ham and jelly meats, goblets of ginger ale and chilled juice. Slurping milk and grabbing at cakes, when Hobbit mouths were full they began to speak.
"Good to see you, Gandalf!" Gandalf made out through the mashed potatoes in Merry's mouth.
"We missed you, Gandalf!" might have been what Pippin meant behind his Coleslaw.
"Where is Mr. Frodo?" asked Sam, when he finished loading the table and sat down beside Bilbo. "He's not skipping Lunch again, is he, that's not healthy!"
That got Gandalf's attention.
"Skipping Lunch," Bilbo shook his head, wrangling a bread roll. "When word of this gets out, he'll be known as the queerest Hobbit in Hobbiton. Alas, there goes another bit of my old glory."
"I won't tell anybody, Mr Baggins!" Sam nodded earnestly, passing a big knob of butter to Bilbo on the tip of his knife. "Mr Frodo must have his reasons."
"I wonder," Gandalf drank the last spoonful of his soup. "Did you know, he asked me for a birthday present in the letter enclosed with your invitation?"
Bilbo shrugged. "If I were one of those Hobbits set in their ways, I'd say it was preposterous, asking for a present on his birthday. But I am not. So who am I to judge? But it is odd. Ah, how I love Frodo, he is always so . . . surprising!"
"You dolt on him," Gandalf, pushed his plate (full of fruit) to his left (for Pippin to grab) and his bowl (of honeyed cream) to his right (for Merry to lick off his fingers) and lit a pipe.
"Whenever I can," Bilbo was not in the least troubled. "He's a good scholar and does his chores willingly, helps me write out my chapters and even balances my books. Never runs around 'picking up stray vegetables' with these two (Bilbo pinches Merry and Pippin, who would've complained but Mr Baggins kept such a good table, their mouths were stuffed) and even helps out Sam around the estate. Truthfully, I rather enjoy his 'moods'."
"It must take a Baggins, to appreciate another," Gandalf puffed, Sam squicked when he looked over his cob of corn and saw the smoke float over Gandalf's head, in the shape of question marks, Bilbo laughed, spraying some crumbs.
"Well, I'm done," Gandalf stood up when his pipe was finished, and looked out the windows again. "It is now 1 o'clock, so I guess that'll give me two more hours before Lunch ends."
"Then, I'm afraid we won't be able to talk until Tea. I'll need a nap after Lunch," Bilbo patted his hand. "Are you sure you don't want to stay for the rest of Lunch?"
"I'm quite full, and as I recall, last time I tried a full Hobbit Lunch I quite embarrassed myself afterwards," said Gandalf, remembering the cramps, the stupor and the final degradation of emptying his stomach in a flowerbox. "I'll just go unpack in my room."
"Mr Frodo is there, would you take him, um, pie, that is, if you like, Master Gandalf, please?" Sam asked tentatively, Gandalf smiled at him and took the proffered plate.
Frodo was busily arranging a milk jug full of daisies on the bedside table when Gandalf stepped in. He came up and took Gandalf's staff and cloak for the closets, then without comment, began to sweep the floor. Gandalf watched him move the dirt around the dirt packed floor for a while. Noticing now how slender limbed Frodo was for a Hobbit, and the ruddiness on his full cheeks.
"Why do you want to be a Man, Frodo?" Gandalf said suddenly, as he sat down on the bed, the only place in the small hole where he could perch.
Frodo dropped the broom with a yelp and turned startled eyes on Gandalf, they were especially bright, like the sky after a hard rain, he'd been weeping.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Frodo turned his face out the window, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Bilbo told me you've been skipping Lunch," Gandalf said evenly.
"I, um," Frodo lowered his head guiltily, his dark brown curls dropped over his neck and chin.
"And you asked this of me," Gandalf took out a small package from his cloak. The parcel was covered in crimson paper and tied with green ribbons of silk, Frodo's eyes widened as he saw the beautiful present.
"Well, come and unwrap it," Gandalf patted the mattress.
Frodo needed no more urging, he clambered up the bed, which Bilbo had ordered long ago especially for the times when Gandalf visited, and scooted close, eyeing the gift and biting his bottom lip between his teeth. Frodo looked up to check Gandalf's face, the Wizard looked neither happy or upset, just a neutral expression as he handed Frodo the rustling parcel.
"It is very fine," Frodo said in a whisper as he touched the neat bows, savouring. "Thank you Gandalf."
Gandalf let out a weak breath and patted Frodo's curls. "You are very welcome, Frodo."
With infinite care and patience, Frodo untied the ribbons and pulled away the wrapping, his breath caught when he saw the pair of embroidered slippers. Dainty silvery things, that looked as if they were spun from cobwebs and dew, decorated with a pattern of coral and shells.
"Made by the Elves who dwell near the sea before the wind turns favourable for sailing West," Gandalf told him. "Soft and silky enough even for Hobbit feet that had never been clothed before. Do you like them?"
Frodo dropped his eyes and stared at the shoes in his lap. "Yes, I suppose. They are very pretty."
Gandalf drew back, gloom clouded his face, making the generous features look sharp. "You don't like them."
"I . . ." Frodo reached out for the Wizard's robe sleeve, tugging to appease him. "I asked for your Mathom. Say, a pair of your boots."
And Frodo looked at Gandalf's feet with a burning hunger in his eyes.
"But why?" Gandalf felt the urge to tuck his feet out of sight.
"Because, I wanted a token from you!" passion over came misery and Frodo blurted out the truth. "I wanted those awful leather prisons that have traveled with you. Those sacks of heels and laces, in which you tread through Middle-Earth and beyond. The boots you walk away from me in!"
"Frodo, for shame!" Gandalf retreated on shuffling feet and elbows as Frodo stood up on the mattress and menaced upon him.
"I wanted the intimate articles of Gandalf the Grey, so I can slip my Hobbit feet in your manly encasing and be with you, when you are off on your adventures with nary a thought for a foolish love-mad Hobbit," Frodo clutched the neck of Gandalf's robe, blue eyes a-blazing, with such bravery it shook Gandalf.
Frodo peered steadfast into the Wizard's eyes, feeling so daring that the crazed hammering of his heart felt like but a battle drum urging him on. And although he expected the most considerate refusal ever uttered in Middle-Earth and his stomach already rebelled with nausea at the pain of heartbreak, all Frodo could think of was how close he'd taken himself to Gandalf's face, the nearness of the Wizard's mouth and the trembling in his lower-tummy. Frodo breathed deeply through his nose and surged forward.
"Blisters," Gandalf hissed the word like a warding charm, his eyes squeezed shut, his hands tight fists by his side.
Frodo froze.
"Painful cuts, bleeding scrapes, blisters that rise with bubbles of puss, cracked heels and ugly dry skin on the side of your smallest toes," Gandalf listed blindly. "Shoes are infinitely unsuitable for Hobbits, you'd scarce get out the door before your calves cramp and you twist your ankles. Then Bilbo will chase me around waving his Sting, for giving ever an inappropriate gift to his beloved successor."
Gandalf knew he ought to be relieved when he felt Frodo's hands slip away from his torso and heard the springs of the bed creak as Frodo slipped off the bed, but he felt such a loss deep in his chest. And the small sigh Frodo heaved made his regret swell to high tide.
"You can open your eyes now," Frodo said.
But Gandalf did not want to, for he wanted to keep the vision he saw last, the intense look on Frodo's face, brows knitted as he professed his love. Gandalf knew, soon as he opened his eyes, he will see a new Frodo, one who would never look at him like a minute ago again, a Frodo who would never again ask him for anything, least of all the returning of love.
Gandalf felt something slither out from under his lashes, and though the tears quickly disappeared into his beard, he snapped opened his eyes, horrified. And then he did see Frodo, who was standing by the door, as if waiting politely to say 'good-bye, see you at Tea'.
"Please, Frodo," I'm sorry, don't go. "Have some pie with me?"
Gandalf paused, even being one of the Wise, sometimes he said the stupidest things!
"Okay," Frodo nodded, before Gandalf could take back the silly invitation.
They sat, a foot of space between them, on the bed Frodo had just newly sheeted and ate lamb pie, getting flaky pastry onto the pillows.
"I don't like you fasting," Gandalf said, sneaking a look at Frodo from the corner of his eyes. "Hobbits are handsome creatures when they are a little round."
"It's not that," Frodo gave a faint smile. "I just find not gorging myself at midday helps me with the numbers in the afternoon when I see to Uncle Bilbo's finances, they are rather tricky."
"Oh," Gandalf's cheeks heated a little.
"I didn't do it out of vain hopes of pleasing you, or anything," Frodo winked.
Gandalf found his mouthful hard to swallow. He let Frodo finish the pie and told him that he was a little tired from his journey and wanted a little rest. Frodo helped brush the crumbs from the bed, when his hand touched the abandoned Elven slippers, he hesitated.
"Please take it, Happy Coming of Age, Frodo," Gandalf said into his pillow, lying down on the bed with his back to Frodo.
He heard the sound of paper and silk, Frodo picking up the present.
"Thank you Gandalf," Frodo walked around the bed so that Gandalf could see, through a half opened eye, Frodo's hands clasping firmly onto the slippers, the sight made Gandalf wretched with longing.
"And because it is a habit for Hobbits to give presents on their birthdays," said Frodo. "This I had prepared for you, for some time."
And Frodo bent down and kissed Gandalf, rubbing his lips over the Wizard's mouth, swiping with tongue and biting delicately with teeth. And Gandalf opened his own mouth, because whilst it is only impolite to refuse to give a present to a Hobbit, one must never ever refuse a present from a Hobbit, on their birthday, especially when it is twice given.
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Twice Given by Poncing Ponies
Story notes: Thanks very very much to Kati and The Watcher for the beta.
