Chapter Two: Ignorance is Bliss

Gandalf at the Council of Elrond, "…I had words with old Gamgee. Many words, and few to the point."

Setting: Immediately following Chapter One

Gaffer Gamgee could hardly believe his good fortune. The troublemaker was right at his doorstep and no doubt wanting some answers, as did the Gaffer. This could work out just splendidly for the both of them.

"Well, well, Mr. Gandalf, is it? Come on in before you catch yourself a chill, sir." The Gaffer may not have liked the "conjurer" one bit, but that did not mean it was wise to make an enemy out of the only person you knew who was twice your height. Not to mention, there was his sense of propriety to think of. Folk thought it was right queer enough that the second Mad Baggins, who was many years his junior, was also his master. No need to give them top-quality gossip about his character.

Gandalf graciously accepted the invitation and ducked his head into the narrow doorway, suddenly finding that he missed Bag End’s high ceiling. That smial didn’tdid not have the best headroom in Middle Earth, but it had some and that was a vast improvement over Number Three, Bagshot Row.

The Gaffer, noticing the trouble his guest was having, led the wizard to his hearth, the lowest section of the hole with the highest roof. He hoped his guest would fit in there more comfortably as it was the best he could offer. Meanwhile, he hurried to find in his pantries what he knew were Gandalf’s favorite Hobbit-foods: tea and seedcake. It never ceased to amaze him how such an enormous person could eat so little. Once both guest and host had settled themselves down comfortable by the hearth, the Gaffer lost no time in listing his grievances toward his new neighbors, now that he had an audience to listen to his life’s downfalls.

"Can’t abide it," he was saying as he finished his fourth seedcake. "Of all the Baggins’ why did Mr. Frodo sell his lovely home to Lobelia and Lotho? I know it ain’t my place to question the Master’s judgment," he rambled on before Gandalf even had a chance to answer, "but surely they could have lived in Hardbottle with the rest of their relations, those two were always more Sackvilles and Bracegirdles than Baggins’ at any rate. In fact, Lobelia isn’t a Baggins at all. And Lotho only half of one. Otho, though, being born a respectable Baggins as the son of Mr. Bilbo’s brother, Longo, was the only civil one among his family. Though, his mother was a Sackville: Miss Camillia Sackville. That certainly did nothing to improve ‘is character. Can’t understand why he settled for a wife like Lobelia. Wasn’t like he was marrying for the money. That was her motivation. He was the one set up to be Mr. Bilbo’s heir before Frodo’s adoption."

Gandalf nodded thoughtfully. Yes that was certainly true. He couldn’t quite follow all of the intricate details of Hobbit genealogy, but he had heard that same argument before and wouldn’t dream of contradicting what he had heard from Bilbo’s own mouth a time or two. "Tell me, Master Gamgee, when did Frodo leave?"

"Why, just a week ago, on his birthday as planned."

If the Gaffer noticed how Gandalf managed to choke on his tea and biscuits right at that moment, he did a good job of hiding it. On his birthday? As planned? But what about Barli Butterbur? And the letter? I’ll melt all of the butter and fat out of him when I get my hands around that thick little neck, of all the nerve! He had given Barli the letter on Midyear’s Day with a promise that it would be sent to The Shire the next day. And that was three months ago! A letter that had warned Frodo to get out of The Shire before the end of July.

Gaffer Gamgee, unaware of the discomfort that his words had had upon his guest, kept rambling on; , "Mr. Frodo kept waiting for you all day. Kept saying that Gandalf would come, Gandalf won’t break a promise; he said he’d be here. He even said something about It being important. Now, what exactly this It was, he wouldn’t say. But he was out of his wits all day and no mistake. I can’t abide changes," the Gaffer grumbled, taking a seat again. "Not at my time of life, and least ways not changes for the worst."

"Worst is a bad word. And I hope you don’t do not live to see it," Gandalf concluded aloud before silently adding, And if you do then my work and that of the Dunadan has been all for naught.

"What could be worse than my Sam leaving me and the Sackville Bagginses getting their hands on Bag End and all of those riches. Who knows what they will do with it? We’re headin’ for trouble, mark my words. There ain’t nothin’ good that ever came about with them S.B.s around. No, sir’ee. No good t’all. Sam’s leaving is bad enough. But why is it that they have to come right when he leaves?" Hamfast put his chin in his hands and went off rambling and mumbling to himself all over again.

Gandalf, having been victim to the wrath and suspicion of the S.B.s could not quite disagree with that. Though he doubted that Lobelia and Lotho were even potential threats to the Shire. Nuisances perhaps. But not dangerous ones. "Can’t imagine any good coming from them," Gandalf heartily agreed, sipping his tea. "No good at all."

Hamfast Gamgee, sat in his small armchair, and eyed the visitor with hopefully veiled contempt. There he was, reclining without a care in the world. As if he were innocent! Of all the nerve, there wasn’t a more guilty soul. Lotho, nasty as he had been to poor Mr. Frodo in their youth, had not dragged him off to danger. "Why, Gandalf? Why did you take my Sam?" he mumbled, staring blankly into his teacup.

Gandalf raised an eyebrow at his small host. He had known, even before coming here, that the Gaffer would have misgivings about his son leaving Hobbiton, but it hadn’t occurred to him that he would be blamed. He took no one against their his will. Bilbo had agreed, albeit a bit reluctantly to join the Dwarves on their adventure to the Lonely Mountain. He had not been dragged away in chains. Frodo was the only one who could qualify as an exception. He had agreed, even though he had likely done so from lack of choice. The Ring’s location was safest if kept secret. He couldn’t very well auction it off to the nearest taker. For one thing, there probably would not be any. Frodo was as adventurous as Hobbits came, if Bilbo’s failing memory – and his own brief visits with the boy - were any indication. He could have lost his temper at the Hobbit for such an accusation, but he kept his temper in check. Unlike Bilbo, the Gaffer had never before witnessed Gandalf’s power and there was no need to frighten the poor Hobbit half to death. For one thing he wouldn’t be able to face Bilbo if he did. But intimidation was another matter entirely.

"Gaffer," he began slowly, keeping his eyes level and his voice cool. "What makes you think that I took you son away?"

"Isn’t it obvious?" the Gaffer replied indignantly. "He’s going off with Mr. Frodo, ain’t he? And you sent Mr. Frodo off!"

"Did it ever occur to you, that perhaps your son has acted on his own will?" Gandalf made a point of keeping their eyes locked.

Hamfast nodded, quickly looking the other way. "Aye, but it was you as put them fool adventures in his head. Hobbits ain’t meant to be out of the Shire, sir, and that’s a fact!"

Gandalf, realizing that intimidation was perhaps the wrong course to take with this one, let a small smile creep over his face as a soft sincerity entered his voice. "Hamfast, it was never my intention to bring Samwise into this! But, be that as it may, he was doing his work out under the windowsill at the time and overheard our plans. He then insisted upon coming along to make certain that his master took care of himself. He did it not for the adventures, but for the sake and safety of his master, as a true servant and friend. You should be proud of him." He made certain not to mention that Sam was eavesdropping. Besides, he knew the Gaffer would never believe it. When he looked up, it was to a stunned and gaping old Hobbit. "Now," he began anew, having nothing further to say on the issue, "I am going to go help your son." He got up to leave, but noticed the hesitancy of a Hobbit’s stutter, as if the Gaffer meant to tell him something. "Yes?"

"You, ought to know sir, before you go, that were some mighty queer folks as spoke with me earlier that day. Couldn’t quite get a look at them, not with those black hoods pulled down over their eyes. And I wasn’t fool enough to get nigh them big black ponies. They –"

But he never finished his sentence. Gandalf was already out of the room and heading out through the small round door, which he banged his head on before ducking out into the rainy night. The Gaffer stood at the doorway and watched his visitor ride off into the night. He had been trying to work up the courage to ask him about the stranger all night, but when it came down to it, he had decided that under these circumstances, ignorance was bliss.

~To Be Continued~ And, yes, I really do mean that! So, any suggestions on which story I work on next?