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.
Being the Third Part of . . . .
With The Rising and Setting of Anar
The three walked on a wide path running parallel to the Brandywine. Drogo and Primula held hands while Gandalf held his staff, and they made their way slowly along the smooth dirt road. Gandalf said nothing for a time; he seemed to be thinking on matters Drogo didn't want to get involved with, but feared he had little choice.
At length, Gandalf spoke:
"Do you remember the commotion over Bilbo's disappearance not so long ago?"
"Oh, aye," Drogo nodded, for how could he not. He had just had his Coming of Age when Bilbo had suddenly come back from his adventures in the Outside. He remembered the spectacle at Bilbo's and the furious Sackville-Baggins getting 'cheated'--and not for the last time--out of their precious Bag End. Though he had been Primula's friend for many years before, it had been around this time that he officially began to court her.
Primula nodded. "We even heard of Bilbo's fame way over here in Buckland."
The wizard nodded. "Do you recall what he did when he was away?" he asked.
Drogo shrugged. "There were so many rumors intermingled with truth that by the time I heard the tale I am certain I couldn't tell you."
Gandalf nodded in understanding. "There wasn't any one thing Bilbo did, for he did many a heroic thing on that journey. But what is beginning to concern me is one seemingly harmless thing."
"What's that?" Drogo asked curiously.
Gandalf was silent and Drogo was uncertain whether the wizard planned on continuing or leaving both he and his wife in suspense for the rest of their days. It must have been something truly dreadful, whatever his Cousin Bilbo did, for Gandalf to get worried over it, for very rare is the case when wizards ever get concerned.
"Did he ever mention a ring to you, Drogo?" Gandalf asked finally, but so long did this question take that the hobbit was unsure whether it had anything to do with his earlier statement.
"A ring? No, I am afraid not. Anyway, Bilbo and I were never all that close, he being so 'Tookish' and all, and as my mother forbade such. But even now, as we talk now and again, he's never mentioned a ring to me." Drogo shook his head. "I have never heard about any ring, not in any of the tales about him."
"I suppose that is good news then," Gandalf said.
"What does a ring have to do with us, Master Gandalf," Primula asked curiously, wondering if Drogo was comprehending the wizard any better than her, though she doubted it.
"Quite a lot, my Lady," he murmured almost to himself, "Quite a lot."
"Forgive me, Gandalf," Drogo said finally, "but I am afraid I do not--"
Gandalf held up a hand and the hobbit immediately ceased. "On his journey, Bilbo came across a ring. It was quite a simple bauble, pretty in its own little way, and useful when one wished to escape from a particularly nasty circumstance. It gave its bearer the power to vanish."
"Vanish?" Primula was intrigued, for magic had always interested her and, indeed, this ring sounded magical.
"Yes, vanish," the wizard nodded. "Whenever Bilbo slipped it on, he had the uncanny ability to disappear from sight. Useful, indeed, when Orcs and such were about," he mused. "Bilbo never found any particular reason for mentioning his discovery to the rest of us--the Company and I. That in itself was not altogether special but the little fellow actually went to great lengths to hide it from us."
"Odd," Drogo frowned.
"Indeed," Gandalf agreed. "Bilbo was never the secretive type and with his sudden passion to keep the Ring hidden, naturally my curiosity flared--and with good reason. I soon got the truth from him--and the whole tale behind it. For the moment, the story is irrelevant and I shan't take either your time nor mine in its telling. But in its revelations I soon became suspicious!" his face twisted so fiercely that Drogo started in surprise and he felt Primmy's grip tighten. He squeezed her hand in reassurance.
"Eventually, I left Bilbo," the wizard continued, "for I had no proof behind my suspicions, and from the Shire I went. For a time I studied things--things that many would not comprehend nor see the significance within--and after a time I once again returned. I brought Balin this time, though I never shared my suspicions with either him or Bilbo. And the three of us had many a talk late at night by the warm fire of Bilbo's hearth. Stories of past adventure, and the like." He paused for a moment, frowning. "But something was different. Our faithful little hobbit had changed--or not changed at all as the case seemed to be."
Drogo was about to tell the wizard that he did not understand, until it dawned on him that perhaps he wasn't suppose to. He waited for Gandalf to continue.
"It was about that time that my beliefs became, for the most part, confirmed. There were still doubts to be sure, but not enough for me to procrastinate any longer."
The three walked in silence for a while--each having their own thoughts preoccupied. At length Drogo spoke:
"I am afraid I do not understand what this has to do with either my wife or I."
Gandalf stopped and looked down at Drogo, a great sadness hidden in his old weatherworn features. "What would you say, Drogo," Gandalf began slowly--quite deliberately, "if I were to tell you that the fate of Middle-earth rests solely in your hands?"
Drogo looked up at the wizard with confusion in his eyes, but, nevertheless, he answered Gandalf. "I would say that you have chosen the wrong hobbit, Gandalf--indeed, the wrong race. Surely if such great a matter should fall to anyone it would be you. Or an Elf at the very least," he added as an afterthought.
Gandalf laughed, "If that were true--that I might be the one to appoint the soul who must direct Middle-earth's fate! Nay," he smiled fondly at the hobbit, "Nay, not I, Drogo my lad. Not I. But if it was, then perhaps I should choose a hobbit regardless." Gandalf was thoughtful. "Indeed, you small folk can be stouter than the tallest of Men!" He shook his head. "No," the wizard suddenly looked grave. He peered down at the hobbit. "You, Drogo, none other. You and your wife."
Slowly, Drogo's dark eyes widened, "I am beginning to think you speak seriously."
"Are you?" the wizard tone was suddenly hard, "Good. Perhaps now we can go somewhere with this." Gandalf ceased walking and stared down at the two hobbits, their fingers still entwined. "I have never spoken so truly, Drogo, and I have never required such a straight and honest answer. Darkness is rising, I can feel it in my old bones, and it is terrible. Worse than anything any of your kind, gentle people have ever known. By chance, a great artifact has fallen into the hands of the most unlikely character, but one--I fear--who cannot for long bear the Burden. He is already getting old and evil has not yet shown itself--it may not for many years!"
"What are you saying, Master?" Primula asked in alarm. "Hobbit's have no concern with the Outside. We are a peaceful folk."
Gandalf looked down at her mournfully. "And none know that more than I," he spoke softly. He shook his head and turned from the two. His eyes fell upon the golden waters of the Baranduin, following its lazy current far off into the distance. His shoulders stooped from some unseen burden that, as the time drew nigh, he seemed reluctant to voice. His face was haggard and drawn--indeed, he looked his age. He swiped a gnarled hand across tired eyes and sighed in a deep and gusty breath.
Drogo watched the wizard with some apprehension, for the Gandalf of his youth had never seemed so tired--so old. Slowly, tentatively, the hobbit took a few uncertain steps forward.
"Gandalf," he spoke no louder than the whisper of the wind, and his voice was just as gentle. "Gandalf, please, I do not understand."
"Nor I," Primula whispered, her sapphire eyes watching the wizard in something akin to fear.
Gandalf's gray robes rustled softly as he turned to regard the two behind him. They seemed so very small in the morning sun; so small and insignificant. And yet, they were everything but insignificant. If Gandalf's fears held even the tiniest ounce of truth, then the two would have a horrible part to play in their world's fate, even if it was not a large one.
"Come," the wizard spoke hoarsely. He waved them down to the banks of the river and the hobbits followed without a word. "Sit," he commanded and the hobbits sat, though he himself chose to stand.
He closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and his words flowed forth:
"This was never what I wanted, but war and its consequences are rarely something one wishes for.
"Balin and I eventually left Bilbo by his comfortable fire at Bag End and though Balin returned to his own home, I remained in the Shire for a year or so afterwards. I searched every hobbit hole, every Inn; I talked with every gentlehobbit and lady I came across, inquiring details of one very old, very adventurous hobbit I was particularly fond of."
"Bilbo," Drogo said quietly.
Gandalf nodded. "Yes. Bilbo. You remember the Ring I mentioned? Well, here is the key to the upcoming Darkness and the destruction of our world."
Primula gasped but said naught.
Gandalf continued, "Yet, I knew Bilbo would never rid himself of the silly trinket nor give it freely away. And yet he must! for when the time comes the dear soul shall be too old and the burden too heavy, the shadows perhaps too close. Another must take it in his stead but that someone must be a fellow Bilbo could trust. He must freely hand over the Ring. Otherwise it should destroy him!"
"A ring?" Drogo asked, horrified.
"An evil ring," Gandalf said. "A ring that must never reach the finger of an evil creature that dwells in the South and East."
Drogo shivered. There was only one evil there, though it had remained dormant for thousands of years.
"What is there in the Shire, Master Gandalf?" Primula asked weakly. "Surely nothing."
"I am afraid you are wrong, my dear," Gandalf said gravely. "I found what I sought only five years ago, when word reached me that a young child was born in the Shire." He looked at Drogo and Primula. "The child was a Baggins."
The look on Primula's smooth, round face was enough to break the old wizard's heart. Her sapphire eyes held more pain than ever Gandalf had seen on any a living creature. He knew she understood. Knew that, even though naught had been explained, Primula understood the old man's meaning--his thoughts, his intents. But she was too overcome, and did not have the strength to say or do anything.
Drogo shook his head of curls. "I still don't understand. A child was born in the Shire--five years ago? What does this child have to do with anything." His eyes narrowed. "And what does it matter that this infant is a Baggins? There are many Bagginses; they are a great name."
Gandalf's features hardened. "Think, Drogo, think!" the wizard snapped. This is hard enough on me; must I hit the hobbit over the head so that he will understand? The words that followed were no louder than a hiss. "Your child is the One. He must bear the Ring, Drogo. Frodo is the Ring-bearer."
* * * * *
That night, Gandalf the Grey once again walked upon the well-trodden path of the East Road. His direction was the same, for he traveled west into the very heart of the Shire.
His mind was a turmoil, full of doubts and apprehensions. In his heart, he knew what it must come to. He had known for the last five years and Eru knew how he had fought with it. He had stayed up nights, wanting nothing more than some other solution. There had to be another way! A less painful way. But there wasn't.
In the end, Gandalf knew--as he had known from the start--that little Frodo was the only savior Middle-earth would ever receive. At one time it might have been Bilbo, but the hobbit was getting old and evil had not yet shown its ugly face. The Ring would not release its victim until it so chose, and that could only be if Bilbo's will was strong and he passed it off of his own free will. It would have to be someone the old hobbit trusted and there were few individuals of that sort. Many hobbits found Bilbo odd and queer and in turn the old adventurer was loath to make friends with people with such speculations. Gandalf knew he alone was close to Bilbo but he would not take the Ring. To even consider the notion was dangerous beyond belief. The Ring was dangerous beyond belief.
Yet, if there were none the old hobbit trusted, then Gandalf would just have to find someone he could trust. And so he took up the search.
The old wizard traveled from the East Farthings to the West Farthings and then on to the South Farthings and eventually even to the North. His search was in vain, however, as most who had heard of Bilbo were distrustful of his 'adventurous ways' and others Gandalf would not have trusted the safety of a rock in their care. No, none were right. None were closely related to Bilbo, and none were young enough.
That is, until Frodo was born. The child was as near as anything Gandalf could of hoped for. Bilbo was even now fond of the little tot, having visited Drogo and Primula about a year or so ago. He had enjoyed himself immensely. Gandalf had heard as much from a friend of his who kept an eye out for the peaceful Shire when the wizard could not.
"The babe is clear-eyed and immensely smart for one of his years," Aragorn had told the wizard. "I deem he is the one, Gandalf. None is more suited."
"Perhaps," he had mused at the time, but he was certain Aragorn told the truth of it.
Gandalf had spoken to the child's parents. He had said little, though, and would need to make clearer the matter on his return. A month should suffice, he deemed. In the meantime, he had much to discuss with a very old friend.
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