Chapter Two: Gandalf the Grey

Gandalf had chosen an awkward time to come to the Shire. He arrived at Bag End the week before Yule, intending to celebrate the holiday with his old friend Bilbo. But when he rapped on the door, Bilbo took a long time in answering, and when he did, he immediately put a finger to his lips.

"Hush, Gandalf. Come in. I'm glad to see you, but Frodo is very ill. You'll have to be very quiet."

The wizard's face was full of concern. "What is the matter with the lad?"

"He's always had such a sensitive stomach, you know." Bilbo's voice trembled a little. "He started throwing up two days ago. Hasn't been able to keep anything down since, except a little herbal tea. Doctor Proudfoot says it's the influenza, and that it's been going around the north farthing. They've lost six lads and lasses up there."

Gandalf patted Bilbo's slumped shoulder. "He will be all right, Bilbo. He's very strong, and he has the Baggins stubbornness in good supply."

Bilbo nodded. "I must get back to him. Make yourself some food, or tea. Whatever you like."

"May I see him?" Gandalf asked.

"Oh, of course. His room's this way."

Gandalf hadn't seen Frodo since Frodo was a lonely, high-spirited prankster living at Brandy Hall, in the months before Frodo's adoption was finalized. He had been taken with the boy at once, and he had been delighted to hear that Frodo was coming to live at Bag End. Now Frodo was in his tweens, but as he crept into the room, Gandalf was struck by how small he still seemed. Frodo lay curled up in bed, shivering, his dark curls sticking to his sweaty forehead. Bilbo knelt at the tween's side and began to stroke his cheek gently.

"Frodo, lad, look who's come to see you."

Frodo opened his startlingly blue eyes. "Gandalf."

"Hello, Frodo. Your uncle tells me you've caught a touch of the flu."

Frodo nodded. But the movement was too much for him, dizzy as he was, and he retched violently. Bilbo pushed a basin in front of him and held his head as Frodo vomited. Hardly anything came up. When Frodo stopped gagging, tears were running down his scarlet cheeks.

"My poor boy." Bilbo murmured. He took the trembling tween in his arms and held him close, stroking his wet hair as Frodo cried.

"M' so tired, Bilbo!" he sobbed.

"I know, Frodo lad. Shh. Now let's rinse your mouth out. That's it. Gandalf, hand me a clean nightshirt for him–in the top drawer–that's right. Thank you. Now, Frodo, we'll get you all cleaned up…just relax…there you are."

Bilbo tenderly washed Frodo's face and changed him into a clean nightshirt.

"Want to sit up." Frodo whispered.

Bilbo stroked his hair. "All right, lad. Just take one spoonful of this nice tonic the doctor left. Can you swallow it all for me? That's it. Good lad. Now, easy does it."

Gandalf helped Bilbo sit the tween up, and he sat holding Frodo's tiny hand in his rough one while Bilbo went into the next room for another blanket to put around Frodo's shoulders.

"I'm sorry I threw up when you were talking to me, Gandalf." Frodo murmured. He was leaning his head on the wizard's arm, closing his eyes.

"It's all right, Frodo. This is not the first time I've helped to nurse a sick hobbit."

"Did you hear that Pippin is sick too?"

"Pippin Took?"

"Yeah. I'm worried about him, Gandalf. You know he's never been strong."

The wizard rubbed Frodo's back gently. "Do not fret about your cousin. He will be all right. He is often ill, and he always pulls through, doesn't he."

"Uh huh." Frodo put his other feverish little hand on top of Gandalf's and snuggled a little closer. Gandalf kept patting and rubbing the hobbit's back. He didn't let on how Frodo's news about Pippin had worried him.

Gandalf had met Pippin Took when Peregrin had attended Bilbo's birthday party, back in September. Pippin and Merry Brandybuck had found Bilbo's birthday cake in one of the outdoor kitchens and effectively demolished it. Gandalf had discovered them sitting on the table, short legs stretched luxuriously out, stomachs distended, with frosting in their curls and cake still being stuffed in their mouths with grubby hands. Both children had stared at the huge wizard, and Pippin started to cry with fear, which made Merry yell at Gandalf to leave his cousin alone and stop scaring him. Gandalf had sat down in a chair, taken Pippin on his lap and spoken gently to him, explaining that he was Bilbo's friend and that Pippin didn't need to be afraid. When Pippin stopped crying, Gandalf sat Merry on his other knee and then explained to them that they shouldn't have eaten the cake–an idea that was rather hard for both of them to wrap their heads around. When they were truly sorry, Gandalf magicked up another cake, and the three of them marched outside to deliver it to Bilbo as everyone sang the Birthday Song. Since that day, Gandalf had harbored a particular fondness for Peregrin, even when the hobbit drove him mad with pranks and tricks. Really, Gandalf had never seen his like in the thousands of years of his life. Pippin was incredibly mischievous. And yet he had a heart of gold, and never meant to hurt anyone. And he was a fighter. He had been born weeks early, and almost every cold he caught ended up with him having to stay in bed for weeks, battling inflammation of the lungs. He had had pneumonia twice already in the four years he had been alive. Gandalf wondered how sick young Pippin was this time, but he didn't want to upset Frodo by asking for more details.

The wizard's thoughts were interrupted by the squeak of door hinges. He looked up and saw a round brown eye peering into the room. He smiled and beckoned reassuringly, and a chubby little hobbit boy tiptoed into the room.

"Hullo." he stammered, standing on one foot and scratching his head of brown curls. "Beggin' your pardon, but how's Mr. Frodo?"

Frodo opened his eyes at the sound of the lad's voice and smiled. "Sam."

He held out a hand, and the boy hurried to take it and pat it reassuringly.

"Mr. Frodo, how are you feelin' now?"

"A little better, Sam." Frodo closed his eyes again.

Sam looked up at Gandalf, obviously nervous. "Hope I'm not gettin' in the way, sir."

"Not at all. Now what is your name?"

"Sam Gamgee, sir. My father's the one as works for Mr. Bilbo."

"Oh, of course. I met you when you were a baby, though you might not remember it. You've grown up."

"Yes sir." Sam was still patting Frodo's hand, and Frodo was more relaxed than Gandalf had seen him since he had arrived. He smiled down at Sam.

"I believe Mr. Frodo feels better when you are around. Sit up here, on the edge of his bed."

Sam gladly leapt up and sat beside Frodo. He began gently stroking Frodo's hair.

"Sorry you're sick, Mr. Frodo." he murmured. "Anything I can do to help?"

"Sit here with me, Sam." Frodo whispered through his cracked lips.

"Course I will. Just as long as you like." Sam said gently.

Frodo smiled.

Bilbo came into the room again, and Gandalf went to rest after his long journey, and Frodo was moved about and prodded and poked and coaxed to eat, and he swallowed various tonics and had his hot water bottles changed, but through it all Sam was right there. He held Frodo's hand and even helped to feed him his medicines, and soon Frodo fell into a quiet sleep.

Sam had gone home for supper, and Bilbo to lie down, when Frodo woke again.

"Bilbo?" he murmured.

"Bilbo has gone off to rest for a while." Gandalf said gently, beginning to stroke the hobbit's feverish brow. "I will stay with you until he returns, if that is acceptable to you."

"That's fine." Frodo whispered. "Can I have a drink of water, Gandalf?"

"Of course, my dear boy. Easy now. There."

Frodo swallowed and closed his eyes again. "Gandalf…I had the most interesting dream. It was beautiful. I think I saw Faerie."

"Faerie?" Gandalf repeated. How strange. Faerie was the name hobbits used in folk tales to refer to what little knowledge of Valinor remained to them.

"Yes." Frodo was leaning against the wizard, fingering the hem of Gandalf's sleeve.

"Really? Tell me about it."

"I was on a ship." Frodo murmured drowsily. "It was raining a little, and then the rain started glimmering all silver, and then it rolled away and I saw the most lovely country, with white beaches and green woods, and a tower, like a lighthouse, all shining and beautiful."

Hearing such a description, even from a fever-stricken hobbit child, made Gandalf's heart ache with homesickness. "That sounds lovely, Frodo." he murmured.

He would have left it at that, but he couldn't deny the sudden feeling that struck him. Tell Frodo about Valinor.

"Do you want to come and sit with me for a moment?" he asked gently.

Frodo nodded.

The wizard picked him up, wrapped him warmly in a quilt and carried him to a rocking chair that Bilbo had brought for him. Sinking down in the chair, he sat the little bundle of hobbit and blankets on his lap and began to rock, slowly, so as not to disturb Frodo's stomach.

"Did you know that Faerie is a real place?" he asked.

"Really?" Frodo's eyes opened, and he looked up at Gandalf, a smile creeping across his flushed face.

"Yes, really. Its real name is Valinor. It lies on the continent of Aman, and it is the most beautiful place in the world."

Sensing a good story he hadn't heard yet, Frodo snuggled closer and closed his eyes again.

Gandalf began to rub the hobbit's back. "The capital city of Valinor is called Valmar, city of bells. There are many bells indeed, and they ring all day, softly, which fills the air with music. Many powerful beings live there, and so do many Elves, and everyone is happy there, except when they see the sad things that happen in the rest of the world. Then they weep, for they care for us very much. They watch over you when you are ill, and when you are hurt or sad, and they hear the prayers of the people here in Middle Earth."

"They do?" Frodo murmured.

"They do."

"Then I'm going to get better." Frodo said trustingly. He moved closer with a little sigh, and then he was asleep.

Gandalf held the tween gently as he slept, rubbing his back and thinking. Why had this little boy had such a vivid dream about Valinor? He was very ill, certainly, but that alone would not explain it.

"I wonder what this portends." he muttered to himself. "He is a jewel among hobbits. His heart is very pure, and he seems to be wise beyond his years, and very selfless, caring about his sick cousin even when he is ill himself. I hope that his doom is not a hard one. There are some hobbits who are too good for this world."

A. N.

Ah, we're getting the h/c in already :) and don't you love the baby hobbits! *hugs aggressively* Let me know if you're enjoying the story! Its tone will change a lot throughout but if you become less fond of it overtime you can always come back & read the chapters you like again :)