Gandalf got up with a groan, one hand seeking support from his staff, eventually managing to stand straight. He was busy smoothing his robe and brushing away leaves and small twigs that were stuck in the folds of it. Frodo sat still, waiting, but his eyes shot up at him and fire was kindled in them at once when the wizard waved at him.

“Come, Frodo! We’re heading to Bag End now.”

Frodo broke into a grin. But he was not quick enough to move so Gandalf picked him up, grasping him easily under his arms, and half threw him on to the passenger seat of his cart.

“There, up you go! We shall not delay. We have to bring this good news to Bilbo immediately. He is so worried.”

Frodo shifted to make himself more comfortable as Gandalf clicked his tongue to get his horse to move. It strode forward in a relaxed but steady gait.

Gandalf knew they were actually closer to Buckland than to Hobbiton but he had a hunch that the problem would be more easily solved if Frodo met Bilbo first. He was not sure about this but he prayed.

Few words were exchanged during the journey, with Frodo busy inside his own thoughts, eyes flickering once in a while to every direction. The light was back. And when those eyes strayed to Gandalf and met the wizard’s, they would soften and Frodo would smile shyly and turned to look in another direction. Sometimes soft hums escaped his lips and then it was Gandalf’s turn to smile. The young hobbit was happy, Gandalf could see that. Why wouldn’t he? He had reason to be.

# -- # -- #

The steady rhythm of the cart and the cool touch of the wind lulled Frodo and gradually his eyes felt heavy. The long journey with Finbar and the emotional jitters caused by his conversations with Gandalf exhausted him as well. Without realizing it, Frodo pulled himself closer to Gandalf and leaned against the wizard. Gandalf sighed quietly and let Frodo rest for a while before deciding that it would not be safe for the hobbit dozing that way. He whispered to Frodo, and while the hobbit seemed initially reluctant to obey, he finally moved. Gandalf stopped the cart to give Frodo a chance to get up and jumped to the back of the wagon. When Frodo lay comfortably on top of a rough sheet and quickly fell back into slumber, Gandalf encouraged his horse to resume its steady pace.

Gandalf could almost hear Frodo’s even breaths amidst the horse’s clickety-clacks and he smiled to himself. The sooner they got to Bag End the better, especially in this worsening weather. Gandalf hardly noticed the change at first but the wind blew harder and grew chillier. He tightened his robe to himself and glanced up, noticing the clouds had become thick and dark. No, it couldn’t happen again, he thought. The rain that fell down several days ago had been heavy enough and given him trouble in finding a shelter. However, he had not cared too much at that time. He had not been with a lad who had suffered a great deal.

The grey wizard almost made his horse bolt forward before he remembered Frodo sleeping in the back. He forced himself to calm down and, feeling backwards, he reached for the coarse sheet under Frodo and pulled it up to cover the hobbit. Frodo muttered in his sleep but soon he was jarred awake by the movement.

“Gandalf?”

“Ssh, Frodo, go back to sleep. I’m just…” Gandalf was not allowed to finish his words as thunder cracked loudly, drowning out his voice, and the rain that followed poured down in torrents.

“Frodo!” he was shouting now. “Get under the sheet! Now!” He could not risk glancing backwards as he concentrated on his attempt to run as swiftly as he could to get out of the rain, but the fact that he heard nothing from Frodo could mean that the hobbit had ducked under the cover to protect himself. Gandalf could only pray the fabric was thick enough to keep the hobbit from getting soaked.

# -- # -- #

Thunder rumbled and lightning cracked alternately as Bilbo peeked out of the window. He grimaced and shivered a little as the cold wind seeped into the hobbit hole. Bilbo sent a silent prayer of gratitude that he was tucked safely inside, yet he could not forget that his lost nephew was still out somewhere in the rain. Bilbo ducked and withdrew to his desk though what he wanted to write or read flew away out of his mind. He took out his journal and quill eventually as the need to scribble something to avert his thoughts away from the source of his dismay got the better of him.

The gentle hobbit had managed to recount what had been happening in the past days and what things he had surprisingly learned about Frodo from his other relatives. He let his quill spill its ink freely as events came pouring out one by one, filling up the coarse pages of the book. Then a bang suddenly hammered on the front door, almost making Bilbo jump out of his skin.

“For the Shire’s sake! Who might that be?” He half shouted half muttered to himself and moved back carefully so as not to knock his chair down. Another rap this time softer was heard. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” called Bilbo out, as loudly as he could against the sound of the heavy rain outside. He brought his short legs nimbly to the door, and his mouth dropped open unwittingly as he saw who was behind it: a totally drenched wizard with an unmoving small frame in his hands, shrouded in a ragged and similarly sodden blanket. Bilbo could feel him starting to tremble as the coverlet fell away a little revealing a livid face with eyes tightly shut but lips half parted and as ghastly grey as the rest.

Body thrown forward, Bilbo stammered, “Is he – is he still alive?”

TBC