Fellowship

Gandalf was gone far longer than either hobbit expected, and they found it easy to get lost in the goings on of the Shire and forget about the odd night of Bilbo’s party and Gandalf’s warnings.

Frodo asked Merry a few days after the wizard had left, curious despite himself and fearing little in the quiet peace of his own hole, “Did you find a safe place for it?”

Merry looked up form his slow and careful penning of his first letter back to his, to hear her talk, poor and utterly abandoned mother back in Buckland. He nodded without having to ask what Frodo meant. “As safe as anywhere I could think of.”

And Frodo left it alone. He was curious, of course, mostly for the fact that whatever this ring was to grand wizards and dark lords, it was to have been part of his inheritance from Bilbo. He wasn’t sure if he begrudged Merry the thing – what use was a ring that had to be hidden, anyway? Still, he longed at times to see Bilbo again and ask about it.

The spring melted into summer, but the talk of Bilbo’s party and the arrival of a Brandybuck in Hobbiton had not died down. Pippin was spending most of his days with his favourite cousin, and so two of Bag End’s many bedrooms were full almost every night. Frodo found he liked having them around. Bilbo had been more than enough when he was there, enough company for a young hobbit, enough of a mentor for a curious lad. But he was gone, and silences were odd. Had Merry and Pippin not been there, Frodo could imagine he’d have gotten restless and bored very quickly.

Of course there was Sam as well. Loyal Sam, outside trimming the gardens and watering the hedges and all. He would come in now and then, invited as a guest but preferring to act as servant, cooking their meals and cleaning up a bit inside the hole when he was allowed.

“Now, Mr. Frodo,” he’d say when Frodo objected, “my old gaffer has enough of a time dealing with all these goings on here. I can’t have him thinking I’ve gone and stepped above my lot, if you follow me. You and Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin are nice enough company, and I’ve had as much good talk and good times here as I did when Mr. Bilbo was master of the hole, but I’ll not go forgetting myself and trying to grow into a flower when I was born a weed.”

Since there was no talking to him, Frodo tolerated it. He made sure Pippin and Merry never took advantage, but to his relief they treated Sam more as a friend than a servant, and always bought him ales when they went to the Green Dragon.

It was on such a night that Frodo found himself watching his cousins, singing yet another song and dancing on yet another table to the applause of all customers. Hobbiton was a small province of the Shire, and its folk were superstitious and a bit leery of those from other parts, but for all their gossip about the two newest residents at Bag End, they weren’t proud enough to let themselves be entertained by them.

Silly hobbits, Frodo found himself thinking for not the first time. There was so much more to the world than they knew. Elves, and men, and dwarves. Gandalf, who to them was nothing more than a bringer of fireworks. History and lore and races come and gone who deserved to be known. But they couldn’t bring themselves to read about anything that wasn’t familiar to them.

They’d do well with a bit of intrusion from the outside world, Frodo knew. Something to open their dulled eyes. But he loved them dearly, and the Shire.

Still, his thoughts bent to Bilbo, and where he was. He wanted dearly to see the old hobbit again, to talk to him.

“You alright, Mr. Frodo?”

Frodo looked over at Sam, who’d noticed the moment his absent smile in Merry and Pip’s direction had faded. “Hmm? Oh, yes, Sam. Just thinking.”

“About Mr. Bilbo?” Sam nodded. “I do that myself sometimes. Do you really suppose he’ll never come back here? I can’t imagine any hobbit wanting to leave for good and all.”

“I don’t know,” Frodo answered honestly. “I don’t think so. There’s too much out there to keep him busy.” He smiled to himself. “He’d never come back without having his book finished, but then he’d never finish the book until he had seen everything there is to see. And one lifetime’s not enough for that.”

“Do you suppose he’s with the elves?”

Frodo laughed. “Now, Sam. He probably is, but if I tell you for certain you’ll go running off after him before even I have a chance to.”

Sam chuckled and lofted his mug of ale in salute. “Maybe someday I’ll have cause to see an elf, but I can’t imagine it’d be from running after Bilbo Baggins. My legs aren’t near fast enough.”

“Nobody’s are.” Frodo lifted his own mug and clinked glasses with his friend, drinking a quiet but cheerful toast to his uncle.

A cheer and laughter from the crowd around them drew their attention, and Frodo laughed at the sight of Merry nearly falling from the table as the two hobbits were trying to climb down. “Ho, Merry! You’ve overdrank yourself again, I think!”

Pip managed to get Merry back on his feet, and they headed over through the back-clapping hobbits around them.

Merry attempted to peer at him with dignity. “I have done no such thing, you impertinent Baggins. I’ve had the same to drink as Pippin, and the day he outdrinks me is the day Buckland falls to the rule of the Tooks.” He grinned at them as they sat, squinting at Frodo. “Now, good sirs, which of you four is my cousin?”

Pippin laughed as he sat beside Merry. “I must say, despite the odd looks we still get around here, I think this change in scenery has been good for us. It seems to have lightened all our spirits, and in a time it might have been most needed,” he added with a nod at Frodo.

Frodo smiled. “If you ask these good and responsible hobbits around us, they’d tell you your spirits were far too light already. You and Merry both.”

Pippin scowled, though it lasted an instant only and then softened to a smile. “Not Merry here. Trapped with his father, suffering long lectures about his future responsibilities as Master of Buckland. He was getting almost serious, if you can imagine.”

“I can’t,” Sam answered in a mumble, earning a laugh from the other three.

“I suppose my own lectures about being a proper Hobbiton hobbit are much easier to ignore,” Frodo put in.

Merry grinned. “Much.”

“You two are lucky you don’t have someone like my old gaffer after you,” Sam put in, nodding at the back table where the Gaffer, no doubt telling one of his Baggins tales, was talking quietly to a rapt crowd.

“I’ll say.” Merry laughed. “In fact, that’s another reason this move has been well-timed. I think even you, Master Samwise Gamgee, have grown more lighthearted since we came.”

“Agreed! To Sam!” Pippin lofted his mug.

Merry echoed the toast, and then a grinning Frodo. Sam blushed and drank from his cup and pretended (badly) that he hadn’t heard.

***

Bag End was too large for any one hobbit to manage, Frodo thought to himself not for the first time as he opened the door and moved into the hole. The hall beyond the door was too large, dark and hollowed. Shadows jumped this way and that in the light that came in from outside.

He looked around, and something in his stomach gave a jump. Something was odd here. Something was wrong. He shut the door slowly behind him and looked round carefully, trying to sort out what felt different.

He moved down the dim hall towards the kitchen, having a mind for one of the blackberry tarts that had come up from Buckland in the day’s post. He moved slowly, though, wary for a reason he couldn’t quite name. There were papers, maps of Bilbo’s fluttering in the breeze, and his frown deepened when he saw the large round window in the front study was half-open.

Frodo’s thoughts went to Merry instantly. His cousin was trailing behind - he and Pip had a mug to finish before they came back to the hole. But it was silly to be worried about them taking the path from the Green Dragon back to Bag End.

The heavy hand that fell on his shoulder was enough to make him jump and gasp.

It was Gandalf’s face that loomed down from the shadows, looking strangely wild and disheveled. “Is it secret? Is it safe?”

Frodo caught his breath, staring at the wizard with round, shocked eyes. “I…I assume so. What are you-”

“You assume?” Gandalf repeated, and his voice was a growl, deep and grinding in Frodo’s ears. “Where is it?”

“I don’t know,” Frodo answered, thoroughly baffled.

“You don’t know?” It was a roar suddenly, and the walls of the hole seemed to shudder with the pressure of containing it.

Frodo took a step back, for the first time in his life afraid of the wizard. “You told Merry not to tell me where he put it! You told him to hide it.”

Gandalf straightened, and whether the answer satisfied or he noticed Frodo’s fright, his face softened. His glower faded to a deep frown. “Where is Meriadoc now?”

“I left him with Pippin down at the Dragon.”

Gandalf’s sternness returned, his brow furrowed dangerously. “You mean to tell me he is out getting drunk at a time like this?”

Frodo moved back on stumbling feet, both to get a lamp to light the shadows out of this dark room and to get a few feet between him and this strange version of Gandalf. “A time like this? I don’t understand.”

“You do not have to understand, Frodo Baggins. Find him at once and bring him back here.”

Frodo nodded instantly, wide-eyed.

“Frodo.” Gandalf’s voice was suddenly quieter, more like his old self. “I would not demand it if it weren’t important.”

Frodo nodded, accepting it as some form of apology. He could recognize his old friend in there after all, and he felt more certain as he took the lantern from beside the door and moved out of the hole into the fresh air outside.

The night was cool and quiet, and he had only been on the path for a minute or so before he heard voices approaching. Laughter and singing, a familiar sound now that Merry – and because of him Pippin – was now staying at Bag End.

He moved forward hurriedly, Gandalf’s urgency having made its impression. He felt suddenly that he’d been foolish to ever stop being frightened and wary. The lazy days between the wizard’s visits had been easy to get lost in, but now it felt as if he’d made a mistake somehow, and he owed it to Gandalf to be more responsible.

The moment two curly-topped heads were in sight, he called out. “Merry?” He made his voice casual, in case there were other stragglers heading towards Bagshot Row that might be within hearing. “Come, I need your help inside.”

“Frodo!” Merry picked up his pace, dragging Pippin alongside. “You left exactly two minutes too early! You missed Sandyman making an absolute ass out of himself in front of Rosie Cotton. Sam missed it to, which is the real shame. We want to go to Number Three and tell him all about it!”

Frodo laughed nervously and put an arm around Merry’s shoulder when he was close enough, leading him firmly. “You’ll have to wait until morning, unless you want to do battle with his Gaffer tonight.”

Pippin grimaced in distaste. “No, no, the mood is far too cheerful to deal with him tonight.”

Frodo listened to their idle chatter about the Gaffer, and how sly and slick they’d be in dealing with him – in the morning, of course. He steered them into Bag End, leading Merry firmly and letting Pippin come in behind before he shut the door. The moment they were safely inside and alone he turned to his cousins. “Quiet your laughter. Gandalf has returned.”

Fortunately the two hobbits’ exuberance was only half-drink, and they both managed to look surprised but more serious. “Gandalf?” Merry asked. “I hadn’t heard of his returning to the Shire.”

“And if you value your lives and this Shire, no one will hear about it from you.” Gandalf’s voice was a stern rumble as he stepped through the door into the parlor. His eyes went to Pippin immediately. “Peregrin Took.”

Pippni shook his head instantly. “This is the part where you tell me to leave and I put up a fight. Well, we can jump right past that and assume you told and I fought, because I’m not leaving.”

“Confound you, stubborn Took! Understand that there is more at stake here than your foolish pride.” Gandalf straightened, the top of his white head nearly scraping the ceiling of the high-domed parlor. He glowered down at them, and his voice was full and low, rich with a thrill of promise. This was a wizard, they were all suddenly reminded. Fireworks were the least of his talents. “Leave at once or I will have you removed.”

Merry and Pippin stared at the wizard in shock, and even Frodo’s usual reverence for the old man was dimmed with alarm.

Gandalf glowered right back at them. “I will not argue, nor will I delay my already delayed purposes another instant arguing about it or listening to you debate amongst yourselves. You will leave us. Now.”

Pippin straightened, his hands balled into fists and his mouth pursed in youthful outrage. Stiffly he turned on his heel and marched to the door, slamming it shut behind him.

Frodo and Merry exchanged a look, and obviously both had the same thought – if Pippin was going home than Gandalf was a harmless old man.

Gandalf gestured, drawing their eyes. “Into the study, both of you.” He ushered them when they didn’t appear to be moving fast enough. “Come, come. Now. Merry. Where is it?”

Merry hesitated, then reached under his collar, pulling out a thin chain of silver Frodo had never noticed before. Dangling at the bottom was a familiar golden ring. “I know you said to hide it, but being in Hobbiton the safest place I could think of was just keeping it with me.”

Gandalf ignored him, reaching out instantly, slipping a finger beneath the chain and snapping it. He took the ring from Merry but was careful not to touch the thing himself. He turned and with one long stride tossed the chain and ring into the fireplace.

Merry cried out strangely. “What are you doing?” He jumped after Gandalf as if to dive in after the ring.

Frodo grabbed his arm, surprised, and held him back.

Gandalf continued to ignore them. He sat down before the fireplace and stared at the flames for a few long, silent moments. Finally he took hold of the tongs from the side of the fireplace and reached in carefully. The ring emerged gripped by the tongs, and he turned and held them out towards Merry. “Let him go, Frodo. Come, take it.”

Merry pulled out of Frodo’s grasp and moved forwards, his eyes locked on the ring but his hand hesitating. He glanced at the fire.

“Go on.” Gandalf motioned with the tongs. “It’s quite cool.”

Merry frowned, but his eyes locked on the ring again and his hand came up as if drawn. The tongs open and the ring dropped into his palm, and his arm dipped as if the little thing was heavy somehow. Instantly Merry’s fingers curled over it, and he relaxed. The odd look in his eyes faded.

Gandalf turned away, setting the tongs down and peering at the fire. “Tell me what you see. Do you see anything?”

Frodo gave a start, looking at Gandalf’s back. This wasn’t the grim, dangerous wizard of before. This was an almost frightened old man, waiting as if for the fate of the world.

Merry looked at the ring, holding it close to him and prying his protective fingers off to reveal it. His same beautiful golden ring, flawless and unmarked. He opened his mouth to say so when he noticed a change. A light, burning gold in the dim room, appeared like a crack so thin it couldn’t be measured. It sliced a pattern quickly until it seemed to cover the ring, inside and out. He frowned at the pattern and realized it looked like some of the books he’d been looking at lately. “There are markings,” he said softly as he studied them. “Writing, I think, an engraving. Sort of glowing like the fire was trapped inside of it. But I can’t make any sense of it.”

Frodo had come up to him as he talked, his eyes on the ring in interest. His eyebrows rose when he saw enough to identify it. “It’s Elvish,” he said. “But I can’t read it.” He leaned it, reaching for Merry’s hand to guide it closer.

To his shock Merry jumped, pushing at his arm and moving out of reach defensively. His fist closed around the ring and he stared at his cousin almost in challenge.

Frodo blinked at him, astonished.

Gandalf’s voice stopped them from speaking. “The language is that of Mordor. I will not speak it here.”

Their attention was caught and the last moments forgotten as both turned to the wizard. “Mordor?” Frodo was hushed.

Gandalf turned back, grim.

--

“One ring to rule them all, one ring to find them
One ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them.
In the land of Mordor where the shadows lie.”

Gandalf looked from one astonished, frightened face to the other. “This is the One Ring. Forged by Sauron, keeper of his power.”

Frodo was stunned, staring at the ring now set on the table between them. “How did it come to Bilbo? Gollum’s cave…” He shook his head, nearly speechless in amazement. He felt cold, though the fire still burned merrily oblivious to the troubles of the world in the large fireplace.

Gandalf sighed and nodded grimly. “Bilbo found it, which is the strangest fortune to find the ring, I believe, in the whole of its existence.”

“You’re talking about my ring,” Merry put in suddenly, sharp and frowning. “The little golden trinket that Bilbo used to put on to play jokes.”

Gandalf frowned at that. “Bilbo was lucky. Very lucky not to attract attention. But the Enemy was powerless through these past decades. It is only recently that he has summoned the strength to set his mind back on finding his lost treasure. Bilbo was lucky, and you have been lucky. But we can no longer trust to luck. I fear it may already be too late.”

“Too late for what?” Merry asked in alarm.

“The ring has rested here, dormant, but it had been awakened. There are dark forces rising in the east. Sauron has bent his mind to the ring, to all rumours and stories of such things. He has spied the lands long and far, and has heard finally that the ring was not destroyed, and that it remains.”

“I thought you said Sauron was destroyed. By Isildur.” Merry frowned. “Or if not you said he just now got back enough strength to look for it. How dangerous can he be?”

“No, Merry. Sauron could not be destroyed while the ring survived. His fate is bound to the fate of the ring. It was lost, and like it he was lost. But they have both gained strength as they rested, through long years and with the benefit of having been mostly forgotten. And now.” Gandalf leaned forward, looking from the two frightened faces before him to the ring on the table close to Merry’s twitching hand. “Sauron has summoned enough strength to act. As he gathers his orcs and rebuilds his lands, always he has been searching for this ring. And lately he has grown strong enough to call for it.”

Merry’s fingertip found the rim of the ring, stroking over it lightly.

Gandalf sat back. “And it has heard his calls. It feels his presence ever stronger. The ring wants to return to the hand of its master.”

Merry was speechless.

Frodo looked from the ring to Gandalf, astounded. “How did it ever come to find its way here? How could you have left it here, knowing what it was? Not even giving us a warning? It should be with…with elves, or with you!”

Gandalf raised his eyebrows, peering at the hobbit he’d known from infancy. “I learned the identity of the ring at the same time as you – minutes ago, when the fiery words appeared, in this very room. The history of the ring isn’t one that any single person can know, though I have put most of it together, through years of hunting. But history is unimportant right now. Frodo. Meriadoc. Sauron’s armies are almost restored. Soon he will have nothing to distract him from his search for this ring. And he must never…” He paused to stress the word. “Never be allowed to find it.”

Merry took the ring up suddenly, curling his fist around it. Wide eyes went to Frodo and Gandalf in turn.

Frodo met his gaze and was reminded, suddenly and strongly, of a chubbier, younger, innocent Merry toddling after him as a child, looking to him for explanation of the world around them. Looking to Frodo for everything: to put right wrongs, to silence fears, to make things make sense.

Frodo looked away. This was beyond him, beyond any of them. His eyes went to Gandalf, to the one man he knew who would be fit to carry this load.

Merry spoke suddenly, sounding out his words as if speaking them unfiltered as the thoughts were born. “The ring survived here safe and undetected for decades. Surely it can be hidden again, while only a few of us know about it.”

Frodo watched Gandalf’s reaction, even as his heart leapt. “We’ll hide it away. Merry can put it where no one will ever stumble across it, and we’ll never even speak of it again. Not even to each other.”

Merry stood suddenly, encouraged. “I know just the place.”

But Frodo’s eyes stayed on Gandalf, and he saw that the old wizard didn’t seem in the slightest appeased. He spoke hesitantly. “It will be safe here. No one else knows it’s here. Do they?”

Gandalf met his eyes, grim.

Frodo’s heart sank.

From behind him, Merry was pacing the floor and speaking mostly to himself. “There’s a spot I know of. I’ll have to set out tomorrow, first thing. Near the borders of the Old Forest. I’m sure it’s a place no hobbit has ever seen, save me and Pippin, and even he was too young to remember it.” He stopped and looked at the two of them decisively. “It will be safe there.”

Gandalf shook his head. When he spoke, it was a low and halting voice as if he were reluctant to interrupt what triumph Merry had found in the thought. “There is one other who knew that Bilbo had the ring.”

Merry sat down slowly, his fist pressed to his chest.

“I looked everywhere for the creature Gollum. I searched myself, and my most trusted allies searched where I could not. Certain elves were set to the task, and a man, a hunter the likes of which hasn’t been seen in men for an age. Aragorn, a Ranger, and my close ally for many a year. It was he who found Gollum, after years of search and after I had given up hope of it. He turned the creature over to me, and I endured his babblings and rantings until I had gotten some measure of truth from him.”

Frodo held his breath, and beside him Merry frowned.

“Gollum had picked his way up and down the forests chasing his precious, his lost ring. He found his way to Mordor, by summons or chance I know not. The enemy took him to their dungeons. And in his incoherent confessions he spoke of the Shire. And of Baggins.”

Frodo paled, his breath coming out in a rasp. “Gandalf. That will bring them here.”

Gandalf nodded.

Merry shook his head, his voice faint. “Bilbo is gone, though. Everyone knows it. Won’t they be looking for Bilbo?”

Frodo’s eyes widened, imagining shapeless dark evils chasing his old uncle as he strolled alone down some forest path.

“It won’t matter what they learn of Bilbo. The Shire, unimportant and small, is now important in Sauron’s mind. He will send his forces after every possible clue. Perhaps they will follow Bilbo, as he is the Baggins Gollum knew. But they will come here as well.”

“They can’t!” Merry stood again, looking around as if to wield off distant armies with his eyes. “Not here. Not because of…” He looked at his tightly clutched fist, and suddenly thrust it out towards Gandalf. “Take it! Take it away from here!”

Gandalf rose and backed away from the table, his gaze locked on the offered fist. “No.”

“But you can get it somewhere safe. You’re a wizard, you can handle evil. The Shire can’t! Take it, Gandalf! We can be rid of it!”

“You must not offer it to me,” Gandalf replied, his voice a rasp.

Frodo started at the look on the wizard’s face – fear. Foreign to the old man entirely, and jarring to be seen now. “Gandalf, can’t you take it somewhere safer?”

“No! No not tempt me, you infuriating hobbits!” The words were a roar, rumbling strong enough to make the small room of the hole shudder. His arms came out as if to push at Merry, to ward the ring away. He breathed in, the hole stopped rumbling, and the wildness left his eyes. “I dare not take it.”

Merry drew his hand back, round eyes glossed, uncertain and small.

When Gandalf spoke again his voice was back to normal. His shoulders slumped and he seemed a tired old man again. “Understand, Frodo. Merry. I would take this ring in my arrogance to keep it safe, because I know that I am stronger than most any other. But the ring knows arrogance and how to exploit it, and after a time of it working on my mind I would use it. Out of desire to do good, you must understand, I would use this ring and it would wield such power through me as to make it as dangerous and terrifying as if we’d handed it back to Sauron himself.”

Frodo swallowed, frightened beyond measure by this admission, this knowing that the little ring in Merry’s hand was too strong for Gandalf. Gandalf, the strongest he’d ever known. “But you said it can’t stay here.”

“It cannot,” Gandalf confirmed.

Frodo stared at the wizard. It couldn’t stay in the Shire. Gandalf could not carry it away. No one else could be told of it.

There was no option left. And yet…

It was hard. To leave the Shire. And to leave this way. It was beyond his grasp to comprehend it. No matter how many daydreams he’d had to go with Bilbo on an adventure, to leave the provencial Shire and its silly hobbits behind.

But Gandalf’s eyes were not on him. They were on Merry. And Frodo was reminded suddenly and sharply that this was not his adventure to take, and the choice was not his. He looked at his young cousin.

Merry was pale, and his sharp mind had come to the answer as well, though he didn’t seem any happier about it. He spoke, hushed, into the silence. “What…what will I have to do?”

“Leave the Shire,” Gandalf answered gently. “Tonight. There isn’t a moment to be lost.”

Merry flinched, but nodded.

“And I?” Frodo braved the question.

Gandalf frowned at him. “You, Frodo. I can begin to understand why the ring was perhaps not meant for you, despite my greatest wishes. When the enemy discovers that what little information he has wrung from his Gollum creature is entirely false, he will be at a loose end. The ring will not be in the Shire, nor will it be in possession of a Baggins.”

“But they won’t know that until they come here,” Merry put in, glancing at Frodo. “They’ll come here looking.”

Gandalf nodded. “It isn’t safe for you to stay.”

Frodo turned instantly, not giving himself time to think about it. “Then if we have no moments to lose we must prepare.”

Merry grabbed his arm, and Frodo looked over at him. Merry’s eyes were wide, but there was relief there as well. “Frodo…”

Frodo nodded at him, giving what he hoped to be a comforting smile. “Come on.”

Gandalf followed the two hobbits as they moved through the front rooms of the small hole, gathering belongings and stuffing them into their worn walking packs. “The ring must not be talked about, nor shown to anyone. Frodo, whether you carry this thing or not, you must remember that the name of Baggins is not safe. It’s you the dark forces will be following, and your name is their only means of tracing you.”

Frodo nodded, wrapping bread for the journey, tossing apples into his pack.

Merry spoke, and his voice was almost light. Inacting the plan semed to have rid him of his fears, at least on the surface. “You shall become a Brandybuck, then, Master Baggins, the way all your aunts and uncles and cousins wished you would.”

The small smile on Merry’s face lifted Frodo’s spirits slightly, and he nodded. He was able to return the smile, which was a surprise. Despite this unheard-of departure and the danger surrounding them suddenly, he was glad he wasn’t alone. Glad Merry was there with him, and glad also that Merry would not be carrying his burden without Frodo there to help.

“Brandybuck will do,” Gandalf said brusquely. “The most important thing is to get the ring out of the Shire, and so out of knowledge of those who will come hunting. Choose a direction and set out, and I will meet you on the way. Rivendell, Frodo.” He turned to Frodo sharply. “I think perhaps that should be your destination.”

“Rivendell!” Merry smiled. “Well, that’s almost a holiday! The fabled home of high elves!”

Frodo looked at Gandalf. “Will the ring be safe there?”

“I don’t know.” Gandalf frowned. “I don’t have any answers. I must go to see the head of my order. I will meet you, as I said. Get to Rivendell, if I’ve not already found you, and wait for me there.”

Frodo nodded, his faith in Gandalf unshaken even by these revelations.

“You must avoid the road. It won’t be safe.”

“We can cross country. We’ll go to visit my home, or so the interfering hobbits here can be told, and from there we can leave the Shire and hope not to be seen. I know the land there well,” Merry said as he slipped his pack on his back.

Gandalf nodded his approval. He looked at both of them as Frodo slipped his pack on. He smiled suddenly, a kindly expression that made Frodo’s spirits lift all the higher. “Hobbits are truly extraordinary creatures. Under all the laughter and smoking and eating, there are steel rings that can’t be seen. There is strength to you, and that should prove well in our favour. Bagginses, I think, are the strongest of all.”

Frodo straightened, pride in his face.

Gandalf looked to Merry. “I pray Brandybucks to be the same. You have no idea of the load you now carry, Meriadoc. You have heard the tale, yet I fear you still don’t know, and can’t.” He knelt suddenly, holding Merry’s wide gaze. “My heart wishes this thing were in Frodo’s hands, I admit. It was always planned that way and I’ve yet to be shown why it shouldn’t have been so. But things have a way of working out whichever way they want to, our own preferences aside. All our hopes lie in your hands, Merry. Will you be able to carry this through?”

Merry met his eyes, silent and shrinking under the enormity of what he’d been given to deal with.

Frodo didn’t envy his young cousin. Merry was as lighthearted and irresponsible a hobbit as one could meet, and simply wasn’t ready to be thrown into one of the stories, the adventures of the sort Bilbo often told and Frodo had longed to be part of.

But there was no choice to be made, no options for any of them. Like Gandalf, Merry had to accept what had happened and not risk things by changing it. Like Gandalf, and Frodo himself, Merry had to simply do his best.

Still, Merry peered into ancient and powerful eyes, and slumped under solemn words, and could not reply aloud.

Frodo hoped it wasn’t an omen of things to come.