Chapter V- this chapter is for micha!!! forgive the many mistakes
They walked until they came to a small stream. Gandalf then turned in another direction, and they continued to walk.
As they walked, Gandalf began to ask Minerva questions and answer any questions she might ask him.
"What do you call where you came from?" He asked after finding out she could practice magic with a wand and that she taught said magic in a large school.
"I come from the country of Scotland, but the school is called Hogwarts." She then paused to consider what she wanted to know about him.
"What brought you to that bog?" Minerva asked finally, as Gandalf easily lifted her over a fallen log.
"Refreshment, dear lady. I had travelled long and was in need of rest."
They said no more until Gandalf led Minerva out of the wood and onto a small road.
"This road leads into Bree. It is a village on the outskirts of the Shire. Once we get my cart and horse, we will continue on through the Old Forest and then the Brandywine bridge. From there our travels will turn toward Hobbiton where my good friend, Bilbo Baggins, is having his 111th birthday. Naturally it is a special birthday and I greatly desire to see him again."
Minerva nodded silently and offered a brief smile. It was simple enough to follow what the wizard was saying, but the places were strange sounding and unfamiliar.
Gandalf then realized when Minerva said nothing, that she had no idea where those places were or who the people were. He began a rather lengthy narration of how he had met Bilbo Baggins and their journey to the Lone Mountain. Minerva asked every now and then for an explanation, but for the most part she listened in silence.
Suddenly just as Gandalf was explaining how Bilbo and the dwarves had stowed away in apple barrels; Minerva interrupted.
"What is a Hobbit?" Gandalf stopped walking as her words floated about his mind and then thought about his answer. Hobbits were a subject he rarely got the chance to converse on, but he always enjoyed it.
"Hobbits are little people, smaller than dwarfs. They love peace and quiet and good tilled earth. They dislike machines but are handy with tools. They are nimble but don't like to hurry. They have sharp ears and eyes. They are inclined to be fat. They wear bright colours but seldom wear shoes. They like to laugh and eat (six meals a day) and drink. They like parties and they like to give and receive presents. They inhabit a land they call The Shire, a place between the River Brandywine and the Far Downs."
They were silent after that, listening to the chirps and pleasures of nature around continued down the road until they came to a small village, where Gandalf procured a wagon of sorts from someone who had been holding it for him and a horse to pull it.
Minerva silently watched, saddened by how fuzzy her vision was, as Gandalf and the unnamed peasant piled oddly shaped and coloured parcels into the back of the wagon and covered them neatly with a cloth. Raising her eyebrows, she silently as the wizard to explain himself, which he did while chuckling.
"Fireworks, my lady." he said simply, helping her up onto the wagon's shelf like seat and seating himself next to her. "For a friend of mine's very special birthday." He clicked at the horse and they started down yet another windy road.
"Who is your friend again?" Minerva asked, holding onto Gandalf's arm to keep from bouncing out of the wagon. The road was rather bumpy and obviously they had never heard of suspension. Minerva at that moment longed for her wand.
"A Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, same one as the one with the dwarves. It is his 111th birthday and I have known him long enough to attend gladly."
"That seems rather old for someone to be." Minerva exclaimed, shocked. From what Gandalf had told her of hobbits, they didn't sound long lived.
"Indeed." the wizard said, sounding mysteriously thoughtful. "Of course hobbits are a very odd bunch. Just when you think you know them, they surprise you."
Minerva had lived long enough to detect when someone was hiding something, and Albus, she winced at his constant memory, had been constantly hiding enough to make her almost desperate for truth.
Gandalf glanced over at the nearly blind woman beside him and felt his spirits drop. He had hoped that there would be something in Bree that he could get her, but there had been nothing. The traveling merchants that might have what she needed, had not been there and no one knew when they would be arriving. Sight was a precious sense and he would have struggled greatly without it. Of course, he figured, forcing his eyes back on the road, she was probably more than preceptive enough without her sight. She could barely even see him and yet those dark green eyes seemed to be peeling his mind into segments for her own pleasure.
They rode in simple silence for a while. Minerva often found herself comparing the countryside with that of her beloved Scotland only to find that there was little lacking as it was stunningly beautiful. Fatigue from the long walk through the wood and to the village began to catch up with her as she struggled to not fall out of the wagon and soon Gandalf found himself holding her up with his arm and body.
Stopping the horse, he smiled at the sleeping woman and situated her so that each jolt from the wagon did not threaten to toss her. It was a strange feeling; someone sleeping against his shoulder. Yet not one that he found displeasurable.
Minerva awoke just as they entered a deeply cut road and Gandalf offered her his arm again as she yawned covering her mouth.
"You have nothing against music I hope?" Gandalf asked, kindly, hoping to hum and sing a song or two. She nodded that she didn't and listened intently as he began to hum.
"The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say."
He was on his way to beginning the song all over again when Minerva gasped softly and he heard a familiar voice say "You're late."
Rising his head and bringing the horse to stand still, Gandalf replied to the dark haired hobbit. "A wizard is never late, Frodo Baggins. Nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he means to." They tried to hold serious expressions for a brief moment until Frodo launched himself at the wizard, crying how happy he was to see him.
Minerva smiled as the young man embraced Gandalf. Obviously Frodo was a relative of the Bilbo Baggins she had heard so much about. It pained her though when she noticed how alike it seemed that Gandalf and Frodo... Albus and Harry. Tears came unbidden to her eyes as her mind tried to unscramble jumbled thoughts.
"Minerva, this is Frodo Baggins, Bilbo's nephew." She smiled at him and although he seemed surprised to see her, he returned the gesture.