Disclaimer:  I believe everyone knows the drill.  I don't own Middle-earth, nor any of the characters created by Tolkien.  I do, however, claim several yet to come in this story, for Tolkien never mentioned such nor wrote about them.  I hope he forgives me this.

A/N:  Thank you for the wonderful reviews.  I enjoy your input.  Please don't hesitate to criticize.  This chapter is for my first three reviewers:  Tathar, Allly, and El.  Thanks for your time and I am glad that you are enjoying this tale that Gandalf never before saw fit to tell.

            Being the Second Part of . . . .

With The Rising and Setting of Anar

It had been twenty-two years since Gandalf the Grey had traveled into the Shire by way of the East Road.  It was the dawning of a bright September morning in the year 2973 of the Third Age that the wizard crossed through the Hedge and made his way to Brandy Hall.  His gray robes and silver scarf hung limp in the already stifling heat and his tall pointed hat lay low over his face to shadow his piercing eyes from the climbing sun.  His walk was interrupted by an occasional limp--whether from age or a long-forgotten wound, it is not known--and his long silver beard swished softly with each step.

            He climbed a rising hill, following a well-used dirt path, until he reached its top and was able to look down upon a great expanse of green turf.  The path he had walked upon disappeared beneath his feet, flowing naturally into soft grass until it ran the length of the hill and stopped at a cluster of smials, which Gandalf knew as Brandy Hall. 

            With a sigh, the wizard seated himself on an ancient stone, for his feet were weary from the long journey and they relished the thought of rest.  Gandalf sat for many moments, without a thought or noise to disturb the harmonious scene before him.

            Then laughter--like that of silver bells--rang out, and Gandalf tilted his head to better hear the sweet music . . . .

            Drogo Baggins caught the sweet laughter of his wife and a warmth enveloped his entire being.  He couldn't help but let his boyish features crease into a fond smile.   Again, the laughter came to his hobbit ears and his pace quickened as he suddenly realized where she must be.

            He rounded a corner of Brandy Hall and the Brandywine came into full view.  Down by its golden shores he spotted that of which he sought . . . .

            Primula stood knee deep in the cool water of the Brandywine--her skirts tucked up around her legs--and she held a wee hobbit child in her arms.  The toddler could of been no more than five--already walking, indeed even running, and quite fond of speaking unintelligible words, though he still enjoyed emitting gurgles and laughter.  Primula--her honey-colored hair glinting in the rising sun--balanced the small child on her hip, while struggling to stay upright as the cool water rushed past her legs. 

            The child clapped.  "Mine!  Mine!"

            "Yes, Frodo," Primula said with a fond smile.  She made her way to a shallow spot with little rocks.  "Here you are," she said happily, bending over and slowly setting him down, though still keeping a firm, yet, gentle grip upon his wiggling body.  Frodo kicked excitedly at the water as she lowered him, and laughed when the water rushed past his middle and up toward his bare chest.  Primula smiled and bounced him up and down, laughed out loud when his small arms flailed in uncontrollable excitement.

            "You like that?" she laughed happily.

            "Primula!"

            The hobbit-woman jerked in startlement and looked up at the sudden cry of shock.  Her surprise vanished, however, and she smiled at who it was, for such reactions were common from her sister.

            "Primmy, what do you think you're doing?" Asphodel demanded.

            "Why, teaching Frodo to swim, of course," she smiled down at her son but Frodo had ceased his splashing--always subdued into shyness when others came around.  Primula frowned slightly at this and lifted him from the water.

            "Teaching him to swim?" Asphodel asked in disbelief.  "Primmy, you can't be serious."

            Primula looked over at her sister.  "Of course I'm serious.  Just because you chose to keep Milo away from the water doesn't mean I will do the same with Frodo." Her gaze fell past Asphodel and a smile spread along her features.  "Besides," she turned back to her sister, "Drogo quite agrees."

            Asphodel's features hardened, but her mouth shut with a snap.

            "Aye, love!" Drogo called, passing Asphodel with a smile the sun could envy.  "Good day, sister-of-mine," he said warmly, "How fare you on this beautiful day?"  But his eyes had already turned to his wife and Asphodel's grumbles were lost on Drogo.  He ran down to the water and splashed heedlessly in, Primula laughing as water sprayed over her in glittering droplets.

            "Da!  Fishy, fishy!" Frodo clapped and held out his hands to catch the falling water.

            Drogo laughed--a deep throaty laugh--and kissed his son on the brow, the child's wet curls now falling into his large blue eyes.  "A fish, am I?  Aye, then you must be the worm," he reached for Frodo and Primula handed the grasping tot over.  "The sweet little worm that shall satisfy my hungry appetite!" and he buried his face in the child's chest, growling playfully.  Frodo squealed in laughter, threw his arms about his father's head and tried imitating the older Baggins by sucking on his father's forehead.

            "Mine, mine!" he giggled, his playfulness coming freely once again, for his thoughts had been pulled from the glowering Asphodel.

            Primula laughed pleasantly and Drogo looked up, a large grin on his features.  She bent over to kiss him lightly on the lips but he grabbed her and brought her close.

            Upon the bank, Asphodel threw up her hands in exasperation and stalked back up to Brandy Hall.

            Drogo helped Primula from the Brandywine, while Frodo clung to his back.  As his wife stepped from the water he felt a gentle touch upon the top of his head and then heard an over exaggerated smacking sound.  Primula looked over at Frodo then giggled as Drogo again felt and then heard a similar touch and noise.  "Frodo?" Drogo looked curiously at Primula but she had a hand over her mouth in a way to still the laughter.  "What are you doing?"

            Again the touch and again the smacking.

            "Kisses!" was Frodo's reply and Drogo laughed.  He brought his hands over his head and grabbed and pulled the child up and over his back.  Frodo shrieked and then laughed as Drogo tickled his son.  Primula watched this display fondly but started as a bell rang out from the large home up ahead.  Drogo ceased his tickling and glanced up.

            "Eat!" Frodo cried happily and struggled in Drogo's grasp.  The hobbit set the child down and watched as the toddler raced for the doors of Brandy Hall.

            Beside Drogo, Primula shook her head.  "He is your son, my love."

            Drogo smiled proudly, "Aye, that he is."

            "And he shall have your girth one of these days," she smiled, for her statement was laughable in its own way.  Drogo was quite slim for one of his race.

            Drogo laughed, "Yet hopefully your looks," and he kissed her.

            "He certainly has his mother's eyes," came an assured voice behind the two.  Both started and whirled.

            Behind them stood an old man, stooped and gray, a staff in one hand.  It took a moment for Drogo to collect himself, for it was rare indeed for men to be found in the Shire.

            "G-good day, sir," Drogo stammered. 

            "Perhaps not so good," the man murmured but neither hobbit heard him.

            Drogo peered hard at the old man, suddenly realizing he had seen this human before.  Memories from growing up in Hobbiton slowly came back to him. 

            "Gandalf, is it?" he asked uncertainly.

            "So you remember me," the man seemed pleased.  "That is well, for I remember you, Drogo son of Fosco."  A sudden twinkle came to the old wizard's eye and Drogo blushed.  Gandalf looked over at Primula.  "But I am afraid I am unfamiliar with your wife."

            "Oh, forgive me!" Drogo said, still a bit flustered from the sudden meeting.  "My manners are horrible today."
            Gandalf waved it aside, "Not at all."

            "Primmy, you remember tales of Gandalf the Grey?  I told you about him, did I not?"

            Recognition dawned in her blue eyes, "Ah, yes," she dipped her head respectfully.  "I've heard quite a lot about you, Master Gandalf.  My name is Primula, daughter of Gorbadoc, Master of Brandy Hall."

            "A pleasure, Lady," the wizard dipped his hatted head.

            There was a moment of awkward silence as Gandalf unabashedly studied the two.

            "Forgive my rudeness, Master Gandalf--"

            Gandalf waved a hand.  "Formalities can be such a tasteless and tiresome burden."

            "Gandalf then," Drogo nodded.  He was quite a moment, as though he had lost his courage, but then, "Is there someone you seek?  Perhaps I may know him and could--" Drogo was interrupted by a chuckle and he looked curiously at the robed man.

            "Yes," Gandalf nodded, "Indeed you do."

            "Yes?" Drogo seemed pleased at the prospect of helping the wizard.  "Who?"

            "You."

            Drogo was somewhat bewildered.  "Me?"

            "You and your wife," he nodded.  His tone was suddenly grave and the two hobbits looked at each other uncertainly.  "Immediately, if it is possible."

            "Immediately?" Primula frowned.  "The Elevenses' bell rang just moments before you arrived.  Surely we can wait until we've eaten.  Frodo has--"

            "One of your sisters will no doubt care for the child."  Primula nodded reluctantly.  "It is a most urgent matter."

            Drogo nodded, "Very well."

            Gandalf swept an arm past Brandy Hall, "Let us take a walk then."