A Wizard's Wish [Minas Tirith: Gandalf, Manwë]

Of five, only one returns.

The white-clad figure moved not a muscle, continuing his rapt contemplation of the slender shape growing once again in the Court of the White Tree in Minas Tirith.

“So it seems,” he commented after a long moment, a ring of smoke rolling out from between his slightly parted lips. Though he had the ability to converse with the unseen speaker purely through thought, he preferred to abide by the limitations of his mannish body, and- as a certain Took once told him- had grown fond of the sound of his own voice. He sighed in affection and melancholy, for this was yet another sign that his time in the mortal world was drawing to an end.

How?

“Unless I am granted wings, I daresay I will be returning by ship.”

A sullen silence was the response to his somewwhat mischievous statement. Then a strong breeze picked up his cloak and sent it flapping about him, and the sudden wind carried to his ears the sound of thunder rumbling over a distant Mountain.

Chuckling, he said softly, “I have learned now that there is nothing more perilous than love. Curumo fell to his love of self, and of power over those he perceives as lesser beings. Aiwendil has come to love Yavanna’s bounties. Alatar and Pallando ventured East and came never back; perhaps they found something there that they loved greater than even the hunts of Oromë.”

You remain as incorrigible as of old. The Wizard smiled at hearing the note of fond resignation. Strange are the turnings of fate, that it is the last-comer who prevails at the end. Many doubted your fitness for the task, and your roguish ways hardly dissuaded them of their views. You were always too stubborn, and too much of a wanderer.

"Then why did you call for me, at the council?"

Your memories return to you? Then you must remember that you declared yourself too weak for the task. I saw your humility of spirit, and knew without doubt that you would be the best suited of the five. And lo! You have done well beyond all hope, and deserve a fit reward for your long labours. What is your dearest wish, my old friend? I would fulfil it, if it is within my power.

In truth, he had not, thinking himself content with the destruction of Sauron and all his evil works and seeing the nobility of the race of Men renewed, but at that moment he knew without doubt what it would be, as if a shaft of light had landed suddenly upon a hidden treasure that had been long sought-after. It was fortunate that, aside from the ceremonial guards- who knew better than to meddle in the affairs of Wizards, especially in the early hours of twilight- the Courtyard was devoid of people, for Gandalf the Grey suddenly let loose a hail of laughter that rivalled the tinkling Fountain in its freedom and sweetness of sound.

“There is one thing I would ask for,” he managed to say at last, wiping tears from his eyes. “When I leave these shores, I wish to take a Hobbit with me.” He sobered a little, for his wish had solemn reasons behind it as well. “Perhaps two.” He thought of Frodo’s slow waning, imperceptible yet to the eyes of his hopeful friends. Time could still heal him, but Gandalf thought not. Who else was more worthy of the gift of passage?

A Hobbit? But why?

He was chuckling to himself as he took a last draught of his pipe. “Because, as I once told a Took, all Wizards should have a Hobbit or two in their care," he murmured lightly, and bowed to the White Tree before departing.