31. A Happy Reunion

March 7, 1395

In just a few minutes, Gandalf and his two hobbitling companions were nearing the Hill and Bagshot Row. Sam had been chattering a mile a minute, for Gandalf had quickly put him at ease.

“So, May managed to clean up all that flour, did she?” Gandalf was saying with a twinkle in his eye. “The girl must have been quite a sight, to be sure!”

“Oh, aye, sir!” Sam replied with relish. “And when me mum came in an’ saw her, she said, ‘Why, May, you’re so awful messy, I thought you were Sam-lad for a minute there’!”

Gandalf laughed loudly along with Sam, and Frodo smiled. The older lad had been far quieter than his chatterbox friend for the duration of the wagon ride, and Sam worried suddenly that he had overstepped his bounds in addressing the wizard so familiarly. Had he offended Gandalf and upset Frodo?

In fact, such thoughts couldn’t have been further from Frodo’s mind, but he was in such a state of fascinated excitement that he hardly noticed when Sam fell suddenly silent. In truth, Frodo was wild with the slowly-growing hope that Gandalf had come to take Bilbo on another adventure, one that Frodo himself might take part in; this was the only thought behind the hopeful stare he fixed on the wizard.

Few things escaped Gandalf’s notice, and one would have to be obtuse indeed to overlook that blazing blue gaze. An interesting boy this Frodo would turn out to be, undoubtedly. Gandalf looked forward to finding out what fascinated the dark-haired hobbitling so. But missing his other companion’s cheerful chatter, Gandalf raised a bushy eyebrow at Sam. “Come now, Samwise. You can’t leave an old man hanging like that!” the wizard said. “You’ve told me of Marigold and May, and now I wish to hear of your other sister and your brothers.”

Sam looked up and grinned, relieved that he hadn’t offended the wizard. “Well sir, next eldest is Daisy. But she’s a good deal sillier than the other two lasses, if ye follow me, Mr. Gandalf.”

“Indeed?” asked Gandalf.

“Most surely,” Sam replied. “Why, when poor Mr. Frodo here first came ta Hobbiton, Daisy was telling us every hour, seemingly, what a fine colour his eyes were, like the summer sky or somesuch.”

Frodo’s preoccupation seemed to resolve itself at this, for he grimaced at the mention of Daisy and went rather red.

“Hmm,” Gandalf said, and turned to look at Frodo. He put a finger under Frodo’s chin and tilted the boy’s face up to the fading afternoon light, peering interestedly at his eyes. “They are indeed a most striking colour,” the old wizard decided cheerfully.

Frodo, if it was possible, went even redder.

Sam laughed. “She doesn’t talk about poor Mr. Frodo no more, Mr. Gandalf, but I know she’s still just as silly as ever. I’d bet my Gaffer’s taters on it!”

Gandalf laughed uproariously, for Frodo’s face was still the colour of a pickled beet, although the lad was fighting not to smile now. “Indeed, Miss Daisy is quite decorous these days, and hates to be reminded of... any undignified behaviour,” Frodo put in finally. “As do I,” he added under his breath, with a pointed glare at Sam. The younger lad only grinned back at Frodo, for Sam was fifteen now and found the whole thing dreadfully amusing.

They neared the turnoff for Bagshot Row, and Frodo belatedly remembered he was supposed to be directing Gandalf how to get to Bag End and Bilbo. But Gandalf clearly didn’t need any assistance, for he made the turn without prompting, all the while questioning Sam about his next eldest sibling, Halfred.

“So Halfred is to be a farmer,” Gandalf mused, guiding Hwesta expertly up the Hill. “And what of the eldest?”

“Oh, Hamson is in Tighfield, sir,” Sam said. “Apprenticed to me Uncle Andwise the Roper, is Hamson.”

“Tighfield, you say?” Gandalf murmured. “A fair-sized journey that must have been. How long has the young fellow been apprenticed?”

“Over three years now, Mr. Gandalf,” Sam replied. “He’s only got two more years ta train before he’s a Roper himself, according to his last letter. He’ll be of age then, too.”

“Oh!” Frodo exclaimed. “I hadn’t heard the end of his apprenticeship was set, Sam. Did you get a letter recently?”

“Aye, just yesterday, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said apologetically. “I meant ta tell ye the news this mornin’, but I clean forgot.”

“And what will young Hamson do with himself after his apprenticeship, Samwise?” Gandalf asked.

“Why, settle somewhere and practice his trade, I reckon,” Sam replied. “Oh, and get married, I suppose. That was the other part I meant ta tell you about the letter, Mr. Frodo! Ham’s been courtin’ a lass, and they mean to marry as soon as he sets himself up!”

Frodo exclaimed in delight. “How marvellous!” he said, his earlier discomfiture forgotten. “I don’t know anyone more deserving of such happiness. What’s the name of the lass, Sam?”

“Twofoot, I think he said, sir. Miss Henna Twofoot. Her dad is the local innkeeper away over there.”

“How responded your parents, Sam?” Frodo asked curiously.

Sam paused. “I don’t rightly know, sir,” he said slowly. “They don’t think much of our neighbour, Daddy Twofoot. I expect they’re not too sure o’ these Tighfield Twofoots, if ye follow me.”

“Indeed?” Gandalf said, tugging at his beard thoughtfully. Frodo, looking at him, was struck by the incongruity of finally meeting one of the mighty Istari—a doer of magic, a teller of tales, a haver of adventures—only to find him seemingly more interested in hearing about the mundane details of Hobbit life than anything else.

The wagon pulled up at Bagshot Row just then, and Sam hopped out to go in for dinner.

“Thankee for the ride, Mr. Gandalf,” Sam said politely.

“You are most welcome, Samwise,” Gandalf rumbled, and urged Hwesta back into a walk.

Without Sam’s cheerful chatter to fill in the spaces, Frodo found himself suddenly shy again in Gandalf’s presence.

“Warg got your tongue, young fellow?” the wizard inquired at length, rolling a squinting grey eye in Frodo’s direction as they ascended the Hill to Bag End.

“No, sir,” Frodo replied, ashamed of his unpardonable rudeness. “It’s only... well, I wasn’t expecting to see you is all!”

Gandalf chortled at this, although Frodo failed to see the joke. “My dear boy,” he intoned sternly, “I am a wizard. You are not supposed to expect me.”

“Oh,” Frodo said weakly, feeling rather out of his element.

“Just wait until you see your uncle’s reaction—or did you say he was your cousin?” Gandalf said, chuckling again. “I daresay he is not expecting me, and I quite look forward to his response.”

“Indeed he is not expecting you, sir,” Frodo replied. “Although one never really knows with Bilbo...”

But Gandalf wasn’t listening anymore; he was chortling to himself again as they pulled up in front of Bag End’s front gate. “Oh yes,” the wizard murmured, with a manic twinkle in his eyes. “When a wizard comes calling, one must always expect... the unexpected.”

A smile slowly spread across Frodo’s face as he looked at Gandalf. Those peculiar words sent a thrill of excitement tingling down his spine, for they seemed to promise a definite break in the quiet life that Frodo had never considered at all dreary until today.

Gandalf winked at Frodo. He picked up a long staff that had been lying unnoticed at their feet and hopped down from the wagon, quite spry despite his advanced years. The wizard tied Hwesta’s reigns to the gate as Frodo clambered down after him.

“Come along, then!” Gandalf said briskly, leading the way up the path. He raised his staff as if to knock on the door.

“I live here with Bilbo, Mr. Gandalf; I can open the door,” Frodo said. “You needn’t knock.”

One corner of Gandalf’s mouth lifted as he looked down at the tweenager beside him. “I really think I’d rather knock, all the same,” he said. “And call me Gandalf, if you please.”

Frodo smiled shyly at this invitation to familiarity and stepped aside to allow the wizard access to the door, still puzzled as to why he wanted so badly to knock.

“Thank you, Frodo,” Gandalf said politely, and raised his staff once more.

Frodo nearly jumped out of his skin a moment later when Gandalf’s staff first made contact with the door. BANG! BANG! BANG! Three resounding knocks echoed through the front garden and, undoubtedly, through all of Bag End.

Frodo stared at that staff; if he had only been watching and not listening, he would have said Gandalf only tapped it against the door very lightly.

His amazement was cut short by quick footsteps padding into the foyer on the other side of the door. As the footsteps came closer, Frodo began to make out words.

“Now who could that be, banging down my door and rousing half the Shire, no doubt—” Bilbo was muttering crossly as he fumbled with the knob on the other side.

The door was flung open quite suddenly. “Now what in the name of Elbereth do you mean by trying to break down my door? Can’t a decent hobbit take a nap anymore, you—” Bilbo stopped in mid-tirade when he saw who was standing on his front step, and his scowling face transformed into an expression of joy. “Why, Gandalf! Gandalf, you’ve come back!” Bilbo exclaimed in delight.

“Hullo, old friend,” Gandalf said warmly, stooping to embrace the hobbit. Frodo was still standing beside the door, out of Bilbo’s line of sight, but he hated to interrupt the reunion and was content to remain unnoticed for now.

They broke apart laughing. “Well, I am happy to see you,” Bilbo said then, trying to sound stern and failing miserably. “But that was an unpardonably rude way of knocking, you old scoundrel!”

Gandalf chuckled. “I was offered a more appropriate way of gaining entrance, but I thought, living among such unadventurous folk as you have been doing all these years, you could do with a good shaking up.”

“Well, I shall never forgive you for it. Now come in and have a cup of tea!” Bilbo said. “Supper’s almost ready, so we’ve time to catch up. It has been too many years, and I have some surprising things to tell you!”

Gandalf’s eyes flickered briefly to Frodo, whom Bilbo had still not noticed standing beside the door and now smiling impishly. “Now really, Bilbo, do you imagine you could have anything to tell me that I would not already know?” Gandalf rumbled. “You forget, old friend, that I am a wizard and know everything!”

“Ha!” Bilbo exclaimed, grinning. “You may try and fool me, but you’ll never guess this, Gandalf, for I have gone and done something entirely unexpected.”

“Nay, I know it all nonetheless,” Gandalf said dismissively, “and I shall prove it.”

“Well then, let’s hear it, although I still say you’ll never guess,” Bilbo challenged, smiling indulgently.

“Very well,” Gandalf said, and proceeded to clear his throat. “You have adopted an heir, a young lad by the name of Frodo Baggins, a cousin orphaned in Buckland fifteen years ago and now aged about twenty-six summers, I should say. He is very learned for one so young, and reads and studies extensively on many topics, including Elvish. He likes to climb trees, and has often handled ponies in the past. He’s a quiet lad, but very kind to those in need, and he is far braver than he thinks he is. He has earned the loyalty and affection of one Samwise Gamgee, and others as well I should think. Oh, and he quite enjoys living here with you, Bilbo, but is secretly hoping you’ll take him on an adventure!”

Bilbo could only stare for a moment, in total shock. “Why, Gandalf! How in the name of Elbereth could you have found out I’d adopted an heir, and know so much about Frodo?”

Frodo’s jaw had dropped sometime during the recitation, and he closed it slowly. He supposed that an extremely perceptive person could have deduced all that information from things he or Sam had said today, although he was mystified as to where Gandalf had gotten some of the more embarrassing notions. In any case, hearing it all laid out like that was extremely unnerving.

Gandalf was clearly enjoying himself. “Have I not yet persuaded you of my omnipotence?” he said teasingly. “I do believe there are some points I forgot to bring up. Let me see, did I mention that his eyes are as blue as the summer sky?”

Frodo was unable to hold back a snort at this, and Bilbo turned quickly and spotted the boy.

“Aha! So you’re not omnipotent; you’ve already met!” Bilbo cried.

“Quite so, quite so,” Gandalf admitted sheepishly.

“Although I have difficulty believing Frodo would describe the colour of his own eyes in such a fashion,” Bilbo said sceptically.

“Er, yes. That came from another source entirely, as it happens,” Gandalf answered evasively. “Now then, I believe you said something about tea!”

“And supper!” Frodo put in, for he hadn’t eaten since Sam’s picnic lunch and he was famished.

Bilbo laughed. “Well, come in, the both of you, and we shall see what we can do. Mind your head, Gandalf.”

“He tells me that every time I come,” Gandalf muttered to Frodo.

“That is because you never listen, old friend!” Bilbo retorted over his shoulder as he led the way to the kitchen, just before Gandalf stepped inside and promptly collided with the chandelier.

Gandalf grumbled and rubbed his forehead, stooping even lower to pass through the doorway to the kitchen.

“Why, Frodo-lad, what happened to your poor knees?” Bilbo exclaimed, catching site of the tweenager’s skinned knees as Frodo walked past him.

“Well...”

Bilbo efficiently cleaned and bandaged Frodo’s knees, although the tween was somewhat reluctant to explain how he had sustained the injury. Tea was a merry affair, as was supper which followed about ten minutes after tea. At Bilbo’s insistence, Gandalf finally related the circumstances of his first meeting with Frodo, who was most embarrassed to have his quick thinking in stopping Hwesta praised so enthusiastically.

“I always thought this boy would be a good one to have around when there are rampaging beasts to be tamed,” Bilbo said when Gandalf had finished. He winked at his nephew, but no one could deny the proud smile that lit up his face.

After supper Gandalf went outside to feed and settle Hwesta in the grass over the Hill for the night, and then he joined his hosts in the sitting room. Gandalf and Bilbo got out their pipes, and for hours Gandalf regaled the two hobbits with tales both noble and outlandish.

It was nearly eleven o’clock when Gandalf noticed that Frodo, who had been sitting beside him on the couch, was leaning rather heavily on his arm. The fire in the hearth had died down to glowing embers, but there was enough light for the wizard to see that the boy’s eyes were closed, and his breathing deep and even. Gandalf raised his bushy eyebrows at Bilbo. “Perhaps it is time to retire?” he whispered.

Bilbo nodded and put down his pipe before standing up from his armchair and carefully shifting Frodo off the wizard. “He likes to sit up late, but I suppose he’s had a long day,” the old hobbit replied with a fond smile for the sleeping Frodo, now slumped against the side of the couch. “I suppose you’d like to stay in the room you used last time?”

Gandalf nodded in assent. “I’m afraid it will be just the one night, though. I am on my way North in the morning.”

“Only one night?” was Bilbo’s dismayed reply. “I do hope you’ll stop here again soon, then. I see you all too rarely.”

“Why not come with me?” Gandalf suggested in a whisper. “The boy as well; I do get the impression he would like a little adventure. At least as far as Bindbole Wood, and then you can turn back.”

“Bindbole is not too far out of the way of Buckland,” Bilbo mused softly. “Frodo has never been on such a long journey, but I daresay he would welcome the excitement. After we part company, Frodo and I could stop in to see his cousins at Brandy Hall; he hasn’t been back there since he came to live with me.  If I send word by post first thing tomorrow, it should arrive in Buckland before we do.”

“A fine plan,” Gandalf whispered. “Can you be ready to leave in the morning?”

“I suppose I can; you’ve certainly given me practice at leaving in haste,” Bilbo replied with a wry smile. “But I don’t know how Frodo will feel about such an abrupt departure.”

“I can be ready, Uncle!” Frodo whispered. “And why are we whispering?”

Gandalf and Bilbo turned in surprise to see that Frodo had awoken and was watching them intently, his blue eyes shining with excitement in the firelight.

Bilbo laughed. “We were whispering because you were asleep, young hobbit!” he said in a normal tone.

“I wasn’t!” Frodo protested.

“You were, and no wonder. It is past eleven o’clock.”

“Excellent!” said Frodo, stifling a yawn. “Just the right time for second elevenses!”

Bilbo’s mouth twitched. “I don’t believe such a meal has ever existed, Frodo-lad,” he said with a straight face. “But if you wish to invent it, you may go into the pantry and find yourself something to eat. Gandalf and I are going to bed!”

Frodo got up and headed back to the kitchen, pausing in the doorway to look back at Bilbo. “Are we really going with Gandalf, Uncle?” he said hopefully.

“We are indeed,” Bilbo replied, motioning Gandalf out the other door and toward the bedrooms. “That is, if you are able to get up in the morning! Don’t stay up too late, lad.”

“I won’t,” Frodo answered, and as soon as his back was turned, broke out into an enormous smile.