Samara Gamgee

Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize as Tolkien's.


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Life in the Shire had never been better...at least, in Frodo Baggins’ mind.

Oh, he knew his uncle must have been looking for him, but he had managed to slip out of the Bag End earlier that morning. For days, all Bilbo wanted to worry about was the preparations for his upcoming birthday party, not to mention finishing his book. He had also weaseled his way into getting Frodo to help him as often as possible.

“Frodo, my lad! Get the door!”

“Frodo! Help me take this down from the shelf!”

“Frodo! Did you get the brew down to the field?”

“Frodo...Frodo...Frodo!”

He was getting exhausted of his own name!

He had finally resigned himself to a pleasure he hadn’t managed to enjoy in days: simply relishing time to himself.

This day found Frodo beneath a shady oak, his oak, where he’d always go to find some time to himself. Intently immersed in his reading, snuggled between the roots of the old tree, he let out a contented sigh, and flipped another page.

Time was lazily floating around him, but Frodo didn’t pay attention. He was too enamored of the perfectness of the whole situation. It was sunny and warm; it was quiet, only chirping birds keeping him company; he was reading his new book. The whole day was just one big, relaxing dream.

There was, however, one thing on Frodo’s young mind. Looking up from his book and into the boughs of the trees overhead, he sighed again, this time in restlessness. Why?

Gandalf was late.

Yes, the often-punctual old wizard was making Frodo practically shiver in anticipation due to his tardiness. It seemed like it had been eons since he’d last seen his uncle’s old traveling companion. He always had a new yarn ready to tell. And whether or not it was true, it was always interesting and full of details about the world that surrounded the Shire.

His musings were cut short however, by the low rumblings of a deep voice in song, Gandalf’s deep voice.

Recognizing the sound, Frodo leapt up from his seat on the ground, a boyish grin brightening his face.

Disregarding his book, he instantly vaulted in and out, around and through the shrubbery around him, towards the direction of the old folk song.

He recognized the humming in between verses, where the lyrics should have been, but were unknown. It seemed like he couldn’t get there to greet him fast enough.

He had barely run far at all, when he came to the edge of the small drop-off at the edge of the wood.

Approaching him in a cart drawn by a pony sat Gandalf the Gray, his pointed hat crooked atop his bowed head. The song he’d been humming was almost finished.

“You’re late!” Frodo charged playfully.

Gandalf’s cart came to an abrupt stop in front of him. The driver sat still for a moment before speaking sternly.

“A wizard is never late, Frodo Baggins,” he said, “Nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he means to.”
Drawl
His gaze slowly turned to his friend’s nephew as he spoke. His mouth was set in a grim line, but seeing Frodo’s expression softened his own until their mock seriousness slowly faded into the joyous laughter they both failed to stifle.

“It’s wonderful to see you, Gandalf!” Frodo suddenly cried and bounded into the cart to embrace Gandalf. Letting out a surprised grunt at the force of the hug, the wizard soon chuckled mirthfully and pulled back to meet Frodo’s eyes.

“You didn’t think I’d miss your uncle Bilbo’s birthday?” he inquired, nudging Frodo’s cheek. Frodo smiled and seated himself next to his companion.

As Gandalf nudged the pony back into motion, he put his pipe between his lips again and enjoyed the scenery of Hobbiton up ahead. The Shire was truly the best place to go for a little peace, and sometimes, a little mischief.

“So, how is the old rascal?” he asked Frodo. “I hear it’s going to be a party of special magnificence.”

“You know Bilbo.” Frodo drawled with a shake of his head. “He’s got the whole place in an uproar.”

“Well, that should please him.” Gandalf chuckled through his teeth.

“Half the Shire’s been invited,” Frodo continued, “And the rest will turn up, anyway.”

The grin on Gandalf’s face grew at the thought of well-wishers disturbing Bilbo’s undoubtedly organized affair. He knew, however, that even if all of the Shire turned out for it, it would please Bilbo all the more.

“To tell you the truth, he’s been a bit odd lately. I mean, more than usual.” Frodo said, thinking of how distant his uncle had become, pouring over old books and maps, barely enjoying the outdoors anymore. He didn’t notice the slight concern showing on Gandalf’s face.

“He’s taken to locking himself in his study.” he added. “He spends hours and hours pouring over old maps when he thinks I’m not looking. He’s up to something.” he muttered, like an afterthought.

Gandalf listened warily. ‘So the old imp’s finally ready.’ he mused. ‘I wondered when he would get to it.’ Humming lowly in his throat to feign ignorance, he kept his eyes on the road ahead. He didn’t want to alert Frodo to anything.

He was too late for that.

“All right, keep your secrets!” Frodo snapped lightheartedly, a smirk on his face. “But I know you have something to do with it.”

Frodo didn’t miss the look of ‘innocence’ on Gandalf’s face. “Good gracious me.” the magician mumbled. Frodo was a bright one, he knew, and he would not be able to hide Bilbo’s secret for much longer.

‘Though I wish I could have.’ he thought.

Frodo kept speaking, with just as much laughter in his spirits as before. He was too glad to see Gandalf to worry about his not-so-important secrets.

“Before you came along,” he accused, “we Bagginses were very well thought of.”

“Indeed.” Gandalf said, not paying too much attention, his mind busy on matters of Bilbo and his departure.

“Never had any adventures or did anything unexpected.”

Gandalf’s attention was suddenly on Frodo again, as he jumped to reclaim his honor. “If you’re referring to the incident with the dragon, I was barely involved!” he defended himself. “All I did was...give your uncle a little nudge out of the door!”

“Well, whatever you did, you’ve been officially labeled a disturber of the peace.” Frodo chortled as he saw the eyes of several Hobbits they passed leering at Gandalf.

Gandalf didn’t respond, but he did notice a grumpy couple ogling him rudely as he drove past. He ignored this and continued down the road.

A group of little children formed as he drove ran to catch him and bid him welcome, despite their parents’ objectionable opinions of the old wizard. They cheered out his name and cried “Fireworks! Fireworks, Gandalf!”

Too charmed by the children’s antics, he pretended to ignore their cheers for his famous display and drove on.

The children watched ruefully as he drove on, moaning discontentedly.

Suddenly, a burst of color and light erupted from the back of the covered cart, creating a loud and pleasing display. The youngsters shouted gleefully and clapped their hands in praise. Even some adults joined in the revelry. Both Gandalf and Frodo smiled at having pleased them.

Frodo decided it was best to let Gandalf get on his way. He sprung from the cart and looked up to his old mentor. “Gandalf, I’m glad you’re back.” he said.

“So am I dear boy!” Gandalf reciprocated. Frodo then continued down the road to lower Hobbiton, waving back to him, a grand smile on his face.

“So am I.”

With that thought, he plowed down the other direction and headed to see his old Bilbo.

Frodo, however, had another destination in mind. He was off to oversee the preparations for the evening festivities. He’d asked Sam to join him that afternoon, and was sure she’d be there by now.

Still, he couldn’t help but wonder what tricks Bilbo had up his sleeve for that night.

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A/N: Yes, I know. I'm at it again without finishing the one I started yet. But hey! This popped into my head while I was suffering writers' block! Sorry about the lack of updates. I'm trying, but there's a lot happening lately. Grandma's in a nursing home now, we're remodeling the house....okay, I don't need to bother you with my personal problems. Just take my word for it, 'kay?

Laters!