Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, nor do I loan the locations. I have borrowed them from the great Professor and his Estates, and I promise to return them relatively undamaged.
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Prologue21 Foreyule, S.R. 1302
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"Master Thain, one of the Big People is waiting for you in the entry-hall. He says his name is Gandalf."
"Gandalf?" the old hobbit mused, a smile tugging at the corners of his wrinkled mouth. "Gandalf! Ha!" Apparently, the semi-public dining hall was not important to this particular diner, as his shout filled the cozy, fire-lit smial with sound. A hush was imminent, and so it spread as if his pronouncement had been 'Fire! Flee!' instead of the confirmation of an unexpected guest.
The child who had brought the message winced noticeably under the eyes of thirty-odd intensely curious hobbits, and bent his knees slightly so the top of his brown curls could just be seen over the table, by all save one certain prestigious elderly Took. Gerontius, commonly known as the Old Took, and Thain of the Shire, smiled at the lad. He was one Adalgrim, son of Hildigrim, son of Gerontius. As the usual mealtime babble of the hall returned to normal consistency, very few noticed another youngster slip in through the door.
Gerontius wondered what Fortinbras (another one of his grandchildren) and Adalgrim could possibly have been up to that warranted a late entry to a meal – an exceptionally rare occasion for hobbits. It seemed a nip past the entry hall had been involved. My, but it had been such a long time since Gandalf had come!
"Grandfather?"
The Old Took was distracted from his thoughts as the young tweenager stared up at him with those normally mischievous hazel eyes. Now, they seemed uncertain, and slightly abashed, for what reason Gerontius did not know.
"Yes, child?"
"Who is Gandalf? He is very large, you know, and has a very big hat. It is blue and pointed. Have you met him before, Grandfather? He said- " Adalgrim suddenly blushed. "He asked me to tell you that as long as spiders in Mirkwood spawn, he is perfectly all right with sitting and smoking by the doors of your smial. Which may turn out to be the amount of time required to wait out the conclusion of your supper, if you are comfortable with large muddy puddles on your fine furniture." The lad giggled. "Grandfather, he was not very polite."
"Hmph. No, I daresay he was not. Gandalf has ever been good-natured and grumpy. Gandalf the Wizard, they call him! Perhaps that is simply the way of Wizards." Gerontius grunted again, and rose from his fine oak chair with the assistance of a short cane. "Come, my boy, we shall greet our muddy – as you infer – guest, and see what sort of firecrackers he hides under his hat today." He suddenly glanced at the lad's shirt pocket. "My dear lad, did you know that there is a field-mouse chewing through your shirt?"
