32. A Journey With Gandalf

Frodo was having a very pleasant dream. Just like any proper hobbit dream, this one was about food. He was sitting at the kitchen table in Bag End... although the kitchen itself seemed to be the one from Brandy Hall... In any case, Frodo was unconcerned with his surroundings, for there were several dozen warm, fragrant apple pies stacked in great piles all around him.

Frodo inhaled deeply, savouring the scent of spiced apples and sweet, flaky crust. Beginning to salivate, he pulled the first tart toward him and dug in with the large wooden spoon that was conveniently in his hand. The pie was perfect, neither too hot nor too cool. Frodo chewed slowly, thinking with satisfaction of the many delicious tarts still waiting to be eaten.

Quite suddenly there came a shaking at his elbow, and Frodo dropped his spoon.

“Time to get up, lad!” exclaimed a sickeningly cheerful voice.

“I wasn’t finished, Uncle,” Frodo protested, opening his eyes reluctantly as Bilbo lifted the pillow out of his hands.

“Good heavens!” Bilbo said in astonishment, noticing that one corner of the pillow was damp and crumpled. “Were you chewing on your pillow, Frodo-lad?”

Frodo yawned and sat up. “I was having the most marvellous dream, Uncle Bilbo,” he grumbled.

Bilbo laughed. “So it would seem! Well, I do apologize for interrupting, but we’re leaving in twenty minutes and I thought you might not wish to be left behind.”

“Leaving... oh!” Frodo sat up suddenly. “Gandalf!”

“Yes, indeed; our little adventure is about to begin,” Bilbo said. “I’ve already packed for both of us and informed Hamfast, so you need only get yourself dressed and fed.”

Frodo nodded and swung his furry feet to the floor as Bilbo hurried out of the bedroom.

Twenty minutes later, a very groggy Frodo emerged from Bag End into the early dawn light. The dark-haired tweenager stumbled a few steps into the garden before he tripped over something and nearly went sprawling.

“Ouch! Mind where you’re steppin’, sir!” Samwise got up from where he had been tending the begonias and rubbed the arm that Frodo had trod on.

“Oh, I am sorry, Sam!” Frodo exclaimed when he realized what had happened. “Did I hurt you?”

“No harm done,” Sam replied cheerfully.

Frodo yawned and stared. “Sam, what time is it? Why are you up so early today?”

Sam looked up in surprise. “Why, it’s just past six, Mr. Frodo,” the younger lad said. “And my Gaffer starts work about dawn every day. ‘A gardener gets up with the sun,’ he always says.”

Frodo groaned. “I’m glad someone is enjoying this.”

“Oh, but Master Bilbo says you’re goin’ on an adventure with Mr. Gandalf, sir!” Sam exclaimed. “Surely you expect ta enjoy that!”

“No doubt I shall, if I ever wake up enough to see what’s happening.”

“Frodo-lad! Time we were away!” Bilbo called then.

Frodo glanced up to see Gandalf had finished hitching Hwesta to the wagon. Bilbo was already on the seat beside Gandalf, and Gaffer Gamgee was handing up the last of their provisions.

Frodo looked back at Sam, suddenly regretting that he had to leave his little friend for so long. If only Sam were older, his father might have allowed him to come. “I’ll see you in a few weeks, Sam,” Frodo said softly.

“I’ll keep the place in good order for when ye come home, sir,” Sam replied, getting to his feet. The sandy-haired child smiled at Frodo, but there was a certain strain in that round face.

Frodo forced himself to smile back; he was rather stunned to realize that Sam would miss him as much as he would miss Sam.

Sam returned to his work and Frodo went to the front gate where the others were waiting. The sky was lightening rapidly, but Frodo closed his eyes and yawned again. Why did adventures always have to begin at dawn? He didn’t care what the Gamgees thought; it was much too early for any sensible hobbit to be about.

“Mind yourself, young master!” came a startled exclamation.

Frodo opened his eyes quickly; he had nearly walked straight into Hamfast. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Gamgee,” Frodo said, turning red to the tips of his pointed ears.

Bilbo and Gandalf both laughed. Hamfast remained respectfully silent, although his lips twitched suspiciously. Frodo grimaced and clambered into Gandalf’s wagon. Gandalf reached out to grab the back of Frodo’s waistcoat when it looked as if the half-asleep tween might slide back to the ground.

“Most hobbitfolk like to sleep a bit late, but I’m afraid Frodo considers dawn to be the middle of the night,” the old hobbit commented with a wry smile as Frodo settled himself on the rear seat.

“Fear not, Master,” said Hamfast as he untied Hwesta from the rail. “’Tis a tweenaged habit that he’ll soon overcome. Why, my Ham and my Hal were the same way, sir.”

“I pray you’re right, Gaffer.” Bilbo glanced fondly over his shoulder at Frodo, who was now stretching himself out on the rear bench as though ready for a nap.

Then Hamfast handed the reigns to Gandalf. The wizard spoke a few words to his steed and they were off, trotting briskly down the lane.

When Frodo awoke, the sun was high in the sky and shining brightly.  He did not recognize the stretch of land in front of him. The last sight he could recall was of the farms on the outskirts of Hobbiton; now he could see a few farms scattered about on the softly rolling hills, but they were unfamiliar.

Bilbo and Gandalf on the bench in front of him were speaking in quiet, serious tones.

“And you were there how long ago?” Bilbo was asking.

“In Erebor? Why, just last winter that was,” Gandalf said. “Dwalin asked to be remembered to you. His brother would have as well, I am certain, except he was rather busy making elaborate plans. He intends to found a new colony for the Dwarves, you see. Can’t get the poor fellow to talk of anything else.”

“Would you be speaking of Balin, son of Fundin?” Frodo piped up, unable to stay quiet any longer.

Bilbo and Gandalf both turned their heads briefly to look at the blue-eyed lad behind them.

“He’s awake,” Gandalf commented to Bilbo.

“So it would seem, although one cannot always tell,” Bilbo replied, ignoring the indignant huff behind him. “Quite an unforeseen development, wouldn’t you say?”

“Indeed,” Gandalf murmured. “Why, I had quite forgotten we had another passenger! Pity we’ve already eaten second breakfast. Or at least, pity you’ve already eaten it. I do hate to see such an endearing little creature go hungry.”

“Yes, quite a shame, really,” Bilbo added. “Those sausages and apple tarts I made were exceptionally tasty, though I say it myself.”

“Apple tarts?” Frodo’s eyes lit up at this bit of information, and he immediately began rummaging in the back of the wagon.

“Yes, dreadful pity, there not being a single bite left,” Bilbo continued as though Frodo hadn’t spoken.

“Found one!” Frodo exclaimed happily. “No—found three!”

“Hm. Must have miscounted,” Bilbo said, arching an eyebrow at Gandalf.

“And a fine thing you did, my friend,” Gandalf said. “I didn’t much relish the thought of being mauled to death by a hungry Halfling, especially one made cranky by an interruption to his sleep.”

Frodo didn’t say anything; he had learned by this point that Gandalf was a dreadful tease, and Bilbo certainly enjoyed his bit of fun.

Besides, the tween’s mouth was occupied with the aforementioned apple tarts. The jostling of the cart made matters difficult, but Frodo thought he managed not to make too much of a mess.

“Here now, Frodo-lad, you’ve got crumbs everywhere,” Bilbo said then, having decidedly non-tweenaged notions about what constituted a mess. “Let me find you my kerchief...”

The old hobbit began rummaging through his pockets while Frodo sighed. Bilbo tended to be somewhat lax in his standards of housekeeping, but he was downright fastidious when it came to personal grooming. Frodo didn’t see any need to look like a gentlehobbit out here on the road where there was no one to see them, but he waited patiently for his uncle to finish searching.

“Oh dear, oh dear,” Bilbo muttered. “We left in such a hurry, I forgot to pack my handkerchief!”

“What, again?” Gandalf said, raising one bushy eyebrow. “I should’ve thought you’d have learnt your lesson the last time...”

Bilbo merely glared at Gandalf.

“Oh, Uncle Bilbo!” Frodo finally exclaimed in exasperation. “How can you think of such things at a time like this? We’re having an adventure!” It was nearing midmorning, and Frodo was clearly beginning to perk up.

“Yes, ‘Uncle Bilbo’!” Gandalf added, smirking. “We’re having an adventure! Now cease your worrying and try to enjoy yourself.”

Bilbo grumbled good-naturedly but settled back on the wagon seat, apparently resigned to Frodo making a mess of his clothes.

The day passed enjoyably for the three companions. Gandalf set an unhurried pace, stopping for a leisurely picnic at elevenses, luncheon, and afternoon tea, and Bilbo kept things lively by telling stories and making up new songs. They reached Overhill in the late afternoon and stopped for an early supper at the local inn.

Frodo had been to a number of the villages near Hobbiton, on short trips with Bilbo, but he had never been to Overhill. He looked about with great interest as they passed through the bustling market. The town was smaller than Hobbiton, but it was a favourite stopping place for hobbits travelling to and from the North Farthing.

Gandalf elicited a fair number of stares and excited whispers at the Inn; Big Folk were a rare sight so deep within the Shire. A party of Overhill Boffins at the next table recognized Bilbo, and so it wasn’t long after the three departed that Gandalf was identified by one grumpy old gaffer as ‘that barmy conjuror who dragged Mad Baggins off to parts unknown, a good many years back.’

They crossed into the North Farthing a few hours after leaving Overhill, and Frodo was delighted to see the terrain grow wilder and less populated; now it was easy to imagine he was off in the far reaches of Middle Earth, having an adventure with Bilbo and Gandalf.

They made camp a short distance off the road, which was now little more than a dirt track. Frodo decided that nothing could be more blissful than sleeping out of doors on a cool spring evening, between his uncle and a cheerfully crackling fire, with the stars overhead twinkling brightly on a field of deep blue, and Gandalf looking up at them, peacefully smoking his pipe on the other side of the camp-fire.

On the second day, they passed a few scattered, out-of-the-way farms that looked scarcely large enough to support one family. A small number of hobbits chose to live in near-isolation in this part of the Shire; most of the North Farthing towns were to the northeast, although there were several small villages in the Bindbole Wood and beyond.

Mostly Frodo saw tall wild grasses moving softly in the breeze, and the occasional goat or sheep, but these soon gave way to larger shrubs and trees. By nightfall, the three companions had reached the fringes of Bindbole Wood itself. They made camp in a clearing, but it was too dark for Frodo to get a good look until morning.

The third day was spent travelling through the forest. It was rather like the small wooded areas that Frodo played in near Bag End, only much more extensive. The tallest trees arched high overhead, their leaves allowing the sunlight to filter through. There was plenty of space between trees for Hwesta to find her path, but the underbrush was thick, and it crunched underneath the horse’s hooves with every step.

This was to have been the day that Bilbo and Frodo parted company with Gandalf and turned east to Buckland, but the two hobbits were enjoying themselves so much that Bilbo decided to accompany Gandalf another two days.

They would not leave Gandalf until they encountered the Oatbarton road, which would take them southeast, to the East Farthing and Buckland. The Oatbarton road, of course, was on the very fringes of the Shire, past Bindbole, and Frodo was beside himself with delight at the prospect of travelling to the northern edge of the Shire.

By the fourth afternoon they were well past Bindbole wood, but the terrain was still forested and becoming more hilly. Frodo was sitting up front with Gandalf while Bilbo dozed on the rear bench of the wagon.

Frodo had gleaned a wealth of new stories from Gandalf over the course of the last several days, and he looked forward to telling them all to Sam as soon as he got home. At the moment, however, Gandalf was humming softly around the stem of his pipe, and Frodo was watching the scenery. The sun was shining unusually hot for early spring, but the thick canopy of trees overhead made hobbits, wizard, and horse quite comfortable.

“Gandalf, what are those mountains straight ahead?” the tweenager asked suddenly, noticing the hulking shapes for the first time past the tops of the trees. He knew many of Bilbo’s maps by heart, but it had been years since he’d studied what lay north of the Shire.

“The Hills of Evendium,” Gandalf replied promptly, taking his pipe out of his mouth.

“Is that where you’re going?” Frodo asked curiously. “What is up there? Are there any hobbits?”

Gandalf laughed. “Give an old man the chance to answer, Frodo,” the wizard replied. “I am indeed bound for the Hills. I have an... engagement to keep, in a small village of Men up there.”

Frodo fixed wide blue eyes on his companion, clearly hoping for more information.

“It is the village of Annuminas, on the shores of Nenuial. Lake Evendium, if you like,” Gandalf added.

“Truly?” Frodo exclaimed. “That’s the source of the Brandywine river, is it not?”

“Indeed it is.”

Frodo continued to regard Gandalf with interest. “And you have friends up there, in—Annuminas?” Frodo stumbled a little over the pronunciation.

“I have friends everywhere, my dear hobbit,” Gandalf said, eyes twinkling. “And these particular friends were kind enough to give me the loan of this wagon, in fact. I promised to return it next time I was in the area.”

“But that is not the engagement you spoke of, is it, Gandalf?” Frodo asked shrewdly.

Gandalf chuckled. “No, my boy, in fact it is not.”

Frodo waited for Gandalf to elaborate, but the wizard merely smiled enigmatically and offered no further information. Frodo suppressed his curiosity with an effort; it would be rude to ask when Gandalf was clearly determined not to tell him anything about his business in Annuminas, but it all sounded so terribly interesting...

“Is my rascal of a nephew questioning you to death, Gandalf?” Bilbo spoke up suddenly from behind them, having woken from his nap.

“He is a very inquisitive young fellow,” Gandalf rumbled. “Most unnatural for a hobbit. Most unnatural indeed. You must be a dreadful influence on him, old friend.”

“And I learned from the most dreadful influence of them all,” Bilbo said dryly. “Frodo-lad, would you like to get out and walk for a bit?”

Frodo nodded eagerly, and Gandalf obligingly brought Hwesta to a halt. Bilbo had decided it wasn’t good for an active tweenager to sit in a wagon for hours on end, and so Frodo spent part of each day on foot. He could go where he pleased as long as he kept pace with the wagon and could find his way back when he got tired.

“Don’t stray too far today, lad,” Bilbo said as Frodo climbed down from the wagon. “There isn’t much of a path here, and you may have trouble finding us again.”

“I’ll be careful, Uncle,” Frodo assured the old hobbit. He turned and walked in among the trees until he could just see the wagon every so often, through gaps between branches.

Frodo enjoyed these solitary walks; he sometimes made up adventures for himself, or pretended he was a wild and mysterious Ranger of the North, as he had done with Samwise on many occasions over the years. But mostly the tweenager let his mind wander, thinking of nothing in particular and enjoying the peace of a forest in early spring.

He supposed that relative to the size of all of Middle Earth, he wasn’t really that far from home, but it certainly felt as if he was a great distance away. Certainly he knew of no other hobbits who had been so far north, to the very borders of the Shire.

The thought made Frodo smile, and he began to hum one of Bilbo’s walking songs. He was off on an adventure, with his uncle and a wizard! He supposed something dangerous or exciting had to happen before it could properly be called an adventure, but Frodo didn’t let that bother him. He had seen new and uninhabited parts of the Shire, and that was more than most hobbits aspired to.

Frodo stopped humming and looked around. Had he strayed further from the wagon? He could no longer hear the noise of the wheels and clopping hooves. How long ago had he last heard them? Frodo reproached himself for his inattention. He turned slowly around, trying to catch a glimpse of the wagon through the trees, but saw nothing but forest: trunks, branches, shrubs, and undergrowth as far as the eye could see.

“Unlce Bilbo?” he called. “Gandalf?”

There was no reply. Frodo shrugged and walked back to where he thought Hwesta’s path had been, but he saw no wagon either ahead or behind. The tweenager looked around uncertainly. He knew Bilbo would expect him to meet up with the wagon fairly soon; Frodo had already been walking about twenty minutes, and he never stayed out of sight longer than half an hour. Frodo decided to keep walking in the same direction for another few minutes, hoping that the wagon had simply turned aside to avoid some obstacle and would appear again soon. He was not particularly alarmed; he knew Bilbo and Gandalf were close by and would find him eventually, but he hated to worry them.

After walking for awhile longer, Frodo stopped again. He thought he heard voices, but they were coming from the direction opposite to where he expected the wagon to be. Frodo frowned, wondering how Bilbo and Gandalf could have gotten on his other side without his seeing them.

The tweenager hurried toward the voices. He was rather shocked that his normally reliable sense of direction appeared to have deserted him.

As he grew closer, however, Frodo was able to make out the words and tones of the speakers; he thought uneasily that the rough, coarse voices did not sound at all like Bilbo or Gandalf.

Frodo stopped his careless approach just in time; another few steps and he would have been visible to the strangers. He had paused behind a large flowering shrub, and could see that the two speakers were tall, rather rough looking Men. The sight made his heart race. Young hobbits were taught to be wary of outsiders, and Frodo wondered apprehensively what business these Men could have at the very edges of the Shire.

Frodo had once been lost in the woods when he lived at Brandy Hall, and he’d encountered a Man who had been very kind and brought him home. But these did not seem at all the same sort of Men, and so Frodo’s hobbit sense won over his natural curiosity. With his best hobbit stealth, Frodo began to creep silently back the way he had come.

But the tweenager halted in his tracks when he caught a snippet of what the strangers were discussing:

“Jus’ shut yer mouth an’ listen, Strasser!” growled one of the Men. “I’m tellin’ ya, the Shire’s the place, unless yer wantin’ to go back to Bree.”

Fear rose in Frodo when he heard this. Were these two planning some mischief against the Shire? Curiosity surged within him again, and he positioned himself determinedly behind the bush. If these Men intended harm to his kind, he wanted to know about it. He would listen to what they were planning, and then he would tell Bilbo and Gandalf; they would surely know what to do.

Frodo crouched down silently until he was completely hidden. He could see between the broad leaves, and the late afternoon sun illuminated the Men well enough that he could observe them easily. They both had long, scraggly brown or grey hair growing all over their heads and chins; their hair and skin were smudged with the dirt of long travel, and their clothes were in tatters. Frodo noted with a jolt of alarm that each one carried a short but wicked-looking sword, but what frightened him most was the cruel expression on each rough-looking face.

“I told ya a hundred times, Chattin,” the second Man, whom the other had called Strasser, snapped angrily. “No one’s ever found the Shire; such a place don’t even exist, maybe! An’ Bree’s gotten too hot fer the likes of us. There ain’t no prospect for thievin’ round there no more. ‘Sides, we was run outta town, in case ya forgot! The rope’s ready to be swung, if we ever show our faces there again. We hafta think o’ someplace else!”

“An’ where’d that be, eh? We’re too wanted down south to go back there,” Chattin answered darkly. “I’m tellin’ ya, we shud go an’ find the Shire! Didn’t you see ‘em in Bree? The Halflings? Small, rodent-like things they were. They kept talkin’ about goin’ back to their land, west o’ there. Why, I’ll bet we’d find plenty o’ livestock an’ riches, from the way them little rats were talkin’!”

“We don’t bloody well know where it is,” growled the other, grinding his teeth together.

“We ain’t gonna have food for more’n two days anyhow,” said Chattin. “What’ve we to lose, huh? Let’s jus’ start walkin’!”

They continued in this vein for a little while longer, but Frodo had stopped listening, so alarmed and frightened had he become. These Men were clearly ruffians of the sort he had been warned of all his life, who on rare occasions over the years had strayed into the Shire, stealing crops and doing harm to hobbits that interfered with their nefarious deeds.

He had to slip away and tell Gandalf, before these two left this uninhabited area and discovered they were in the Shire already! Undoubtedly there was nothing Bilbo could do against such foes, but surely Gandalf would wield his powerful magic against them and keep the Shire safe.

Frodo rose to his feet as silently as he could, trying to ignore the way his heart was pounding. Turning away from the scene, he began to creep back the way he had come. The arguing voices had quieted, and there was no telling how long he would have before the unsavoury pair finally decided to leave the area.

As he was edging away, a large, cold hand, too big to be a hobbits’, gripped his shoulder, stilling him in place. Frodo’s heart froze in his chest.

“Well, what’ve we got ‘ere?”

Strasser and Chattin are the creations of the awesome BellaMonte; she very kindly gave me permission to use them here, and even wrote much of the outline and dialogue for the ruffian scene. These characters originally appeared in her story, "Treasures," which can be found at fanfiction.net.  Please note, “Anchored” is most definitely not in the same canon as “Treasures,” i.e. in my universe, the events of “Treasures” have not and never will happen.