Chapter One
The young hobbit paused at the top of the hill and looked at the vast fields and forests ahead of him. He turned around and admired the Shire from above it. He saw the beautiful gardens and the sun reflecting off the roof of his very own hobbit hole. He breathed in the fresh country air. Life was good. He had come home, not so long ago, and quelled the rumours that he had been killed in Mordor. He had returned as a hero, though he remained firm in the belief that he had accomplished nothing. The fellowship had. He saw Merry and Pippin run across the road, Merry carrying a live chicken under one arm. The butcher and his rather angry looking dog were chasing them. Frodo smiled and sat down, encircling his arms around his knees. He was suffering from a definite anti-climax. He had seen more of middle-earth then most of the hobbits in the Shire put together, and he longed for another adventure, however small. He looked further into the distance and saw Sam hard at work on his garden. He felt a pang of guilt. Sam could not go through another ordeal like the last. His bravery and loyalty had got him through the previous one, but he was so happy to be back, there was no way that Frodo could tear him away from the Shire again.
Sam wheeled his wheelbarrow through the narrow country pathway and was met by Gandalf. They started a short conversation, which Frodo watched in a daze. Sam walked away, leaving Gandalf standing there. Almost intuitively, Gandalf turned, looked Frodo in the eye and waved. Frodo smiled and waved back. The wizard turned towards Frodo's home and walked on in his steady, confident pace. Through habit, the hobbit lifted his hand upwards by his neck, only to realise the truth and let it drop down to his lap. He always used to fiddle with the ring when he got nervous or anxious. He had liked the way the smooth curves had felt under his fingers, liked the sense of security it gave him. This was more than a little ironic, as if it was not for the ring he would have stayed in the real security of the Shire instead of setting off on his journey. Frodo stood up and set off back down the hill.
When he reached his hobbit hole and went inside he set down the strong Ash branch that had helped him to climb the hill and took off his cloak. He entered his living room and found Gandalf sitting in his favourite armchair, bigger than the rest because Frodo had had it specially made for him. He was smoking his pipe, and had a look of deep thought on his face, although Frodo was sure that he was aware of his presence. The hobbit walked across the wooden floorboards and sat on his chair. He rested his head on his hand and waited for Gandalf to speak. "You are beginning to get restless, Frodo." This was not a question, but a statement. "I saw it in your eyes two days ago at the celebration, and hoped that it was not true. Then I saw you today and knew what you longed for." Gandalf sighed and replaced his pipe in his mouth. Frodo was lost, not knowing what to say and not wanting to disappoint Gandalf.
He opened his mouth to speak, but words failed him. Gandalf aided him, "Do you wish to leave the Shire?" "No I do not. I love the Shire; it is my home. I do not wish to leave it, but I do not deny that I am beginning to become restless." Frodo continued, "Everything that happens in the Shire is so...predictable, so..." He looked up at Gandalf who, to his surprise, had a bittersweet smile on his face. "You are so like your uncle, Frodo. He too suffered from this impatience you yourself are feeling now." He searched Frodo's startlingly blue eyes for a long moment. "It will pass." He stood up abruptly. "If not," He lifted his hat a few inches from his head, combed his hair through with his fingers, and replaced it. "There is always the Merry and Pippin to liven up your day." He smiled a reassuring smile and walked out of the room, calling "I will be seeing you soon, Mr. Baggins. I'll be seeing you soon," leaving Frodo to sit and think about why he was feeling this way. * As Gandalf strode down the uneven pathway, he was worried. He knew that when Bilbo had felt that way, he had never got over it. He had even been thinking of revisiting the more mysterious parts of middle earth again well into his old age. He had never been content, not until he died. He saw this restlessness in Frodo tonight, and he wondered if what he said was true. If this feeling would pass, and not linger like a sour smell for the rest of the small hobbit's days. Gandalf had his doubts.
The young hobbit paused at the top of the hill and looked at the vast fields and forests ahead of him. He turned around and admired the Shire from above it. He saw the beautiful gardens and the sun reflecting off the roof of his very own hobbit hole. He breathed in the fresh country air. Life was good. He had come home, not so long ago, and quelled the rumours that he had been killed in Mordor. He had returned as a hero, though he remained firm in the belief that he had accomplished nothing. The fellowship had. He saw Merry and Pippin run across the road, Merry carrying a live chicken under one arm. The butcher and his rather angry looking dog were chasing them. Frodo smiled and sat down, encircling his arms around his knees. He was suffering from a definite anti-climax. He had seen more of middle-earth then most of the hobbits in the Shire put together, and he longed for another adventure, however small. He looked further into the distance and saw Sam hard at work on his garden. He felt a pang of guilt. Sam could not go through another ordeal like the last. His bravery and loyalty had got him through the previous one, but he was so happy to be back, there was no way that Frodo could tear him away from the Shire again.
Sam wheeled his wheelbarrow through the narrow country pathway and was met by Gandalf. They started a short conversation, which Frodo watched in a daze. Sam walked away, leaving Gandalf standing there. Almost intuitively, Gandalf turned, looked Frodo in the eye and waved. Frodo smiled and waved back. The wizard turned towards Frodo's home and walked on in his steady, confident pace. Through habit, the hobbit lifted his hand upwards by his neck, only to realise the truth and let it drop down to his lap. He always used to fiddle with the ring when he got nervous or anxious. He had liked the way the smooth curves had felt under his fingers, liked the sense of security it gave him. This was more than a little ironic, as if it was not for the ring he would have stayed in the real security of the Shire instead of setting off on his journey. Frodo stood up and set off back down the hill.
When he reached his hobbit hole and went inside he set down the strong Ash branch that had helped him to climb the hill and took off his cloak. He entered his living room and found Gandalf sitting in his favourite armchair, bigger than the rest because Frodo had had it specially made for him. He was smoking his pipe, and had a look of deep thought on his face, although Frodo was sure that he was aware of his presence. The hobbit walked across the wooden floorboards and sat on his chair. He rested his head on his hand and waited for Gandalf to speak. "You are beginning to get restless, Frodo." This was not a question, but a statement. "I saw it in your eyes two days ago at the celebration, and hoped that it was not true. Then I saw you today and knew what you longed for." Gandalf sighed and replaced his pipe in his mouth. Frodo was lost, not knowing what to say and not wanting to disappoint Gandalf.
He opened his mouth to speak, but words failed him. Gandalf aided him, "Do you wish to leave the Shire?" "No I do not. I love the Shire; it is my home. I do not wish to leave it, but I do not deny that I am beginning to become restless." Frodo continued, "Everything that happens in the Shire is so...predictable, so..." He looked up at Gandalf who, to his surprise, had a bittersweet smile on his face. "You are so like your uncle, Frodo. He too suffered from this impatience you yourself are feeling now." He searched Frodo's startlingly blue eyes for a long moment. "It will pass." He stood up abruptly. "If not," He lifted his hat a few inches from his head, combed his hair through with his fingers, and replaced it. "There is always the Merry and Pippin to liven up your day." He smiled a reassuring smile and walked out of the room, calling "I will be seeing you soon, Mr. Baggins. I'll be seeing you soon," leaving Frodo to sit and think about why he was feeling this way. * As Gandalf strode down the uneven pathway, he was worried. He knew that when Bilbo had felt that way, he had never got over it. He had even been thinking of revisiting the more mysterious parts of middle earth again well into his old age. He had never been content, not until he died. He saw this restlessness in Frodo tonight, and he wondered if what he said was true. If this feeling would pass, and not linger like a sour smell for the rest of the small hobbit's days. Gandalf had his doubts.