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Frodo had done his best to put aside his questions. He knew Bilbo was concerned, and he feared his abruptness might have offended Mirimë. Yet though his distress over his doubts lessened, the doubts themselves did not. He needed answers.
He had searched through volumes of Elven lore in Elrond and Celebrian’s library. It had been interesting, and it had helped improve his language skills, but there were no answers among them to his questions about hobbits.
He decided to put his thoughts aside, and take a solitary walk. Perhaps the beauty of the Blessed Isle could soothe him. There were places he had yet to explore in the few months since their arrival. He packed up some food and drink, and told Bilbo he was going for a ramble.
He wandered inland for some distance, and by mid-morning found himself in a pleasant grove of slender, pale-barked trees, whose variegated leaves left a dappled shade on the cool grass below. It seemed to him it might be midmorning and time to stop. It was early for elevenses, but he had missed second breakfast. He sat with his back against one of the trees, and drew out his flask, filled with a light Elven mead, a pear, some flatbread and cheese.
“Is there enough for two?” asked a familiar voice.
“Gandalf! Yes, sit down and join me.”
“Bilbo told me you’d gone walking.”
Frodo shot his old friend a look.
“I thought you might have some questions for me,” Gandalf said.
Frodo realised he could unburden himself now. “Gandalf, tell me truly: why were hobbits not included in the Great Music? Were we just a hasty solution, brought about when Isildur did not destroy the Ring?”
Gandalf laughed. “Not included in the Great Music? Whatever makes you think that, Frodo?”
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