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Smoke and Mirrors Chapter 12

Gandalf entered the Ringbearer's room and settled himself in a
comfortable chair beside the bed of his dear friend. He took in
the sight of the young patient whose pale face, coated in a sheen of
sweat, spasomed occasionally in pain. A healer approached
and asked the wizard if he could be of service.

"No, my dear man. I wish only to sit with a friend and give what
comfort I may," he replied. "Perhaps you would be so kind as
to bring me a cup of tea and some of that soothing balm that I might
treat our patient's cracked lips?" he added.

"As you wish, my Lord," the healer bowed and left the room. He
returned shortly with the requested items.

"How is he faring?" asked Gandalf.

"He seems calmer, my Lord. His fever is relentless and we fear he may
suffer some permanent damage if we are unable to
break it soon," he sighed.

"Ahh...my poor, poor boy," Gandalf whispered. "May I smoke? It is a
comfort to me and Frodo used to rather enjoy the scent
of Old Toby, when he was younger," asked the wizard.

"Well....," the healer started to say no, but upon seeing the stern
look forming in the wizard's eyes, relented. "I suppose there
would be no real harm... perhaps if we crack a window," he finished.

"That would surely be permissible seeing as our patient is already so
overheated," Gandalf smiled slightly at the healers
reluctance. They opened the window but a crack, the sweet smell of
the garden's riot of flowers drifting in with the breeze,
dispelling the omnipresent odor of a sickroom. The healer excused
himself while Gandalf applied the balm to Frodo's dried
lips. He lit his pipe, taking a few contented puffs before turning
back to his charge. A bowl of cool water and a cloth sat by the
bedside, the scent of lavender wafting from it.

"Ahh...lavender," said Gandalf as he wrung the cloth out. "You and
your mother always smelled of lavender. A most soothing
scent," droned the wizard. He wiped the feverish face in slow, gentle
circles leaving the cool cloth placed on Frodo's damp
forehead.

"Do you recall the first time we met, my dear boy?" Gandalf murmured.
"Primula and Drogo had come to Hobbiton to visit dear Bilbo and
brought you, their small but very energetic son, with them," Gandalf
chucked at the memory. "Poor Bilbo looked quite beside himself when
he answered the door, having such a curious and quick nephew to
contend with." This elicited another chuckle from the wizard. "I
think I rather saved his sanity when I arrived. You were small for
your five years, but more than made up for your lack of stature with
boundless curiosity and incessant questions," he smiled. "You looked
up at me, your eyes wide and mouth falling open, obviously
unacquainted with the Big Folk. But it was a momentary thing. After
you discovered I was *the* Gandalf, the same one in all of Bilbo's
tales, you fairly jumped into my arms as I sat by the fire. You
listened with rapt attention to all of my ramblings of long ago
histories and tales of fair ladies, strong Kings, elves and, of
course, dragons," Gandalf's eyes were distant, remembering. He had a small smile on his lips. He resumed wringing the cloth and washed the
silent patient’s chest and neck, arms and lastly, the small hand
which he then held in his large one.

"I was entranced by your other worldly blue eyes, most hobbits having
brown or green eyes, and the fine chiseled features of
your face. Your skin was a pure unblemished white except for your
rosy cheeks....so different from most of your kind. But,
most of all, you had an inner light that shown through like a beacon
from Eru himself." He glanced up at the hobbit's face noting
these features once again, except the eyes, which remained closed.

He smiled again. "Do you remember our walk into the woods near the
Brandywine? We found a pupae from a butterfly
hanging on a small branch. You were elated at seeing such a thing and
in awe as you touched it lightly and it moved beneath
your small fingers. We brought the small branch back with us, your
mother shuddering as you showed her how it moved at
your touch, and placed it in a large jar Bilbo was kind enough to
provide for us. Each night before you slept, and each morning
after you awoke you would race through Bag End and check the progress
of the pupae." Gandalf smiled, remembering the
unstoppable exuberance of the young Frodo. "Finally, you awoke and
came charging into my quarters landing squarely on my
chest. 'Come quick, Gandalf, you must see the beautiful butterfly,'
you gasped excitedly. Well, there was no denying such
enthusiasm, so I rose and followed you into the parlor, and there was
the most beautiful blue butterfly I had ever seen, perched
on the branch, drying its newly emerged wings. Your wide blue eyes
peered in through the other side of the jar. I was struck
by how much the butterfly's beauty was diminished when compared to the
sheer depths of indigo in your own eyes." He squeezed Frodo's left hand gently. "We took the newest member of Bag End out into the vast gardens, and opened the jar.

You reached your small hand into the jar, extending your finger, upon
which the butterfly alighted. You removed it from its
nursery, and with a look of sheer joy covering your face, your smile
impossibly wide, you held your hand aloft and it flew from
your finger. Bilbo, Drogo, Primula, myself and even Hamfast chuckled
as you danced in the garden under the flowers following
the butterfly from flower to flower as it fed. Finally, it rose into
the sky and flew to parts unknown. But instead of this bringing
you sadness, you looked over at me, still with a wide smile and eyes
dancing in glee and said," Gandalf swallowed, tears filling
his eyes 'Look Gandalf at what we've helped create and now it's going
on an adventure to explore all of Middle Earth.'"

Gandalf sighed, wiping his eyes. He looked at the small face
wondering if Frodo would be able to recall this memory after the
countless seizures.

"Another tale, then?" He cleared his throat and began recounting
another memory of a young Frodo Baggins.

"I remember, when you were about twelve, I came for a visit. You were
there, but Prim and Drogo were not, having stayed at
Brandyhall. They had allowed your Uncle to have you at Bag End for
the celebration of your combined birthdays, as I recall.
One night, after the prerequisite dinner and stories, we moved to the
porch, lighting our pipes as you looked on. The night was
deepest black, stars shining brightly across our small portion of
Middle Earth's ceiling. You were gazing in wonder at the stars
and recounting each constellation as Bilbo and I nodded and listened.
Then you stopped and gasped as flickers of light, not
unlike the stars, began to appear across the fields below us. We
chuckled at the look of wonder on your face. 'Fireflies,' you
exclaimed and ran into the hole to retrieve a large jar. We watched
as you jumped and giggled across the field trying to capture
the elusive insects," Gandalf chuckled to himself, puffing
thoughtfully on his pipe. "You managed to capture four of the insects
in your jar and raced back to show us. You gazed at them as they
flitted about the jar, each glowing brightly. And you called
them fairies.

"'Fairies,' I said."

"'Yes, Gandalf. They are fairies. Once elves, but they have
diminished,' you said softly. 'The light of the Valar still shines
forth from within them.' "

"I remember thinking this was ridiculous, but the dreamy, sad look in
your wide eyes stopped me. 'Then we must free them and
allow their light to cheer others,' I remember murmuring."

"'Yes, of course. How cruel of me to capture them thusly,' you said,
more to yourself than to Bilbo or I. You opened the jar
and, as they took flight, you whispered, * 'Namarie! Nai hiruvalye
Valimar. Namarie!'" Gandalf's eyes were damp, and a single
slow tear tracked down his face. "I have never thought of fireflies in
the same way since that day, so long ago," he whispered.

"I have never told you, my dear boy, how very much I have grown to
love you." Gandalf's voice wavered, he lowered his head
as he held the small hand and stroked it gently. “You have become
quite dear to me, little hobbit, and I long to tell you so now.
It is all my fault that you have suffered so. Even at the first, when
I first gazed upon you, I knew you were different. All your
young life you were taunted for you oddities, yet it was those
oddities that made you the only one who could have been the
Ringbearer. You lacked the desire for power, wanton destruction and
avarice...qualities common in the race of Man and, to a
very small degree, even hobbits. You yearned instead, to learn, to
help, to love and to live life carefree and childlike. And I
have taken all of this from you. Oh, I wish I could have found
another. Someone I had not known or loved, to send on that
hopeless quest. But then, that would have been as cruel to them as it
was for you, and it is wrong of me to wish it. Instead, I
sent a soul of pure light to fight pure evil. I am proud, so proud of
you, my dearest friend." Gandalf lifted his head and looked at
the frail, yet strong hobbit before him.

He gasped. A set of clear indigo eyes stared back at him. A look of
intermixed wonder and fear filled the wide blue depths of
his eyes and small groan issued from his mouth.

* Namarie! Nai hiruvalye Valimar. Namarie!
Translation: Farewell, maybe thou shalt find Valimar. Farewell!

TBC