Written for Marigold's challenge 13. The challenge was to write a story concerning Frodo's first meeting with Gandalf.

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters you recognize in this story.

Quest for the Truth

Gandalf stared gravely down at the hobbit that lay before him. He had only seen him since he was injured. He knew nothing of him but that he was Bilbo’s cousin, the one cousin Bilbo had seen enough potential in to want to adopt him. Still, Gandalf felt a strong sense of concern; he felt that this young hobbit may have an important part to play in life.

The hobbit had been here in Rivendell for several months already, and there was still no sign of nearing conciousness. As to why, even the wisest elf could not tell. Solely Eru knew. They had spent hours trying to revive the hobbit, but in the end they had decided to leave him be.

Gandalf had protested, and aimlessly he remained, a sense of duty keeping him there. He wiped the hobbit’s fevered brow with concern. He grew warmer by the minute. “Frodo Baggins,” he called softly. “Frodo Baggins, awake.” No response. He wished the ones the elves had sent for would arrive. It had been a fortnight since they had.

At last Gandalf sat down, solely because he was tired. Perhaps a brief nap… The wizard closed his eyes and tried to relax, but he was interrupted by the sound of a tapping on the door. A persistant rapping it was, so loud Gandalf could not simply ignore it and give himself to slumber, so he stood. “Who is it?” he asked while opening the door. “Ah, Galadriel. You have come at last. And Celeborn. Come in, my lord and lady.” He stood beside the door to provide them room to enter. “If you cannot help him, I fear no one can but himself,” he commented as Galadriel pulled up the chair beside the bed and clasped Frodo’s hand in her own.

“We will see what we can do. It is a curious thing that Elrond and his kin could not help,” she noted, looking at last to Gandalf. “What has caused this?”

“We were hoping you could find that out. Bilbo, a clever hobbit though he may be, was rather sketchy in the details he put forth in his letter. I see signs of life in Frodo, and I see he may yet live, for he may have yet a part to play before he leaves, but I cannot see beyond that, my lady. Neither can the Lord Elrond.” Gandalf stood near the end of the bed and peered anxiously at the hobbit who still lay unmoving beneath the golden ceiling from which the light radiated, giving a hint of gold to the dark hair.

Galadriel sat a moment, taking in the rather useless information, and finally she put down Frodo’s hand. “Fear not,” she said, “for he does yet have signs of life. Fear not until fair Lothlorien’s light begins to diminish from this world as her inhabitants seek places of refuge away from the world of men.”

“He will live then?” asked Gandalf, tilting his head.

Celeborn stepped forward. “Yes, he will live. A few more days and his battered body will be healed enough to allow him free of the sought place of refuge and captivity. We shall say nothing more. Now, we have business to attend to with the lord of this city.”

“Thank you, my lord, and my lady,” replied Gandalf courteously as he opened the door for them. “Good bye.”

“Yes, goodbye, for now, Mithrandir.” With that the lord and lady’s billowy cloaks floated in the air, being lifted in their haste.

With a sigh of relief, Gandalf closed the door. He walked over to Frodo. “What happened, lad? Only you and your cousin know. I shall return after I send news of this to Bilbo. Wake not while I am gone.”

Frodo’s eyes opened, and he squinted as the blurry world came into view for the first time in five months. The golden rays of the sun glinted off his hair. He lifted his arms, stretching. Pain was the first and last feeling he felt before sleep took him.

"Has anything happened during my brief absence?” Gandalf asked as he made his way into Frodo’s chambers.

“Yes, Mithrandir. He awoke one morning a fortnight ago, but he quickly took back to his sleep,” reported the elf that had oft stood guard during Gandalf’s absence.

Gandalf sighed. “Thank you, mellon.” He reached Frodo’s bed and looked at the red-faced hobbit with sadness. “Will you awake, I wonder, and how soon? Galadrel and Celeborn prophesied your awakening, but it has yet to happen.” He sat on the ebony chair, placing his arms limply on the golden armrests, sinking into the soft cushioning, welcome to the wizard who had spent many days traveling to the Shire and back again.

The wizard was nearly asleep when he heard a movement. In an instant, he was up on his feet and to the bedside. “Frodo Baggins?” he said quietly, in fear of scaring the hobbit back to slumber.

Frodo moaned, and his eyes fluttered open. “Where am I, Bilbo?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

“I am afraid I am not your cousin. I am Gandalf the Grey, and Bilbo has left you in my care,” Gandalf explained, saying it slowly, thought pouring into every word.

“Gandalf?” Frodo asked, still blinded by the light that brilliantly shone through the window. “I’ve heard of you. Where am I, and what day is it?”

“You are in the house of Elrond, and it is midday of the fifth day of the seventh month.”

“How can that be?” Frodo asked in disbelief, still shielding his eyes.

Gandalf moved toward the windows and began to close the shutters while speaking. “That is information I could not find out. Bilbo was oddly not at home when I returned, and just a note was left on the table saying he had gone on an adventure, but it was dated over a month ago, a little before he brought you here.” He paused before adding, “I was hoping you would know.”

“An accident?”

“That would be my guess. You were in a state of being unconscious for at least a month. We are glad you are back with us, Frodo.”

Frodo at last placed his arm beside him, as the sun was no longer in his eyes. He sighed and laid silently deep in thought, his brow furrowing more and more with each minute’s passing. “I cannot recall one, and I cannot dwell on these thoughts much longer. It hurts.”

“Is there anything you would like to do?”

“Eating would be nice,” Frodo said, rubbing his stomach with his left arm, which he noted was beginning to hurt. In fact, everything was beginning to hurt slightly.

Gandalf laughed. “I will see to that. Just like a hobbit – Food on the mind from the moment he wakes to the moment he falls asleep.”

“That may be the case,” Frodo replied with a wide smile, which faded more and more as pain began to increase. Gandalf noted this as he stepped outside to speak with the elf on duty. Joyous voices sang as the elf spread the news, and Gandalf returned to the room, shutting the door behind him.

“Is there anything else you would like to do – or to talk about?” Gandalf asked, leaning against his staff while casually sitting in the chair. He looked to Frodo majestic, yet friendly. His cleaned robes, made of the finest materials, added to this idea.

“Yes, actually, I would like to take a walk outside.”

“I cannot permit that at this time, but perhaps later.” Gandalf smiled as Frodo’s eyes rolled upward as he thought.

“In that case, I think I should like to ask you some questions about your Adventure with Bilbo,” Frodo told Gandalf with a whimsical look on his face.

Gandalf managed to straighten his face. “Ask, and it shall be given to you.”

“Why did…”

TBC…