Chapter 9. Change in the Weather

Bilbo's pen nib hovered over the page, but at last he sighed and laid the pen down and cradled his chin in his hands. "No menu lists" his grandfather had said, and he supposed that included the grand feast to celebrate the birthday of the Thain. Bilbo's mouth watered at the memory.

At last he gave a nod, picked up the quill, and dipped it into the inkwell.

Some day I should like to have such a Birthday Party, he wrote, and tilted his head to look at the words. It was a good beginning, he thought. Now, how to describe the food without listing the menu?

First of all, a very pleasant feast, in fact an engrossing entertainment: rich, abundant, varied, and prolonged. Afterwards, my guests would sip from their favourite drinks, and fill up the corners with their favourite dainties, and I suppose I should have to render some sort of birthday Speech, though I haven't the faintest notion what I might say. "Thank you for coming to my Party," I suppose.

His grandfather had said a great deal more than that, all the sort of fine and obvious stuff that guests enjoyed applauding, about abundant harvests and good friends and the richness that the years had brought, golden coins in the treasure box of memory.

There would have to be fireworks, of course, Bilbo continued, after some thought. Flowers and trees, showers and fountains, storms and rainbows and even an eagle or some other flying creature, to swoop over the crowd and burst into a thousand sparks! He thought back over the fireworks of the previous evening. How he wished he could paint pictures with words!

'Are you going to be all day about it?' Siggy said at his shoulder, and Bilbo jumped and nearly blotted the page.

'Don't do that!' he scolded. 'I'd've had to start all over again!'

He wiped his pen nib and laid the quill down, stretching in the chair, and then he sanded the page to seep up any extra ink. 'There,' he said with a sigh. 'Done for to day, and the rest of the day ahead of us! What shall we do?'

'Your last day at the Smials,' Siggy said, pulling a long face. 'To morrow you must go back to dull Hobbiton, with no Tooks about to make life interesting.'

'Ah, but it'll be my birthday, not long after,' Bilbo said, 'and perhaps you can come to Bag End to help me celebrate!'

'I'd like that!' Siggy said. 'Why, it would be like travelling the world! What is it, a dozen miles or so, across the fields?'

'At least that,' Bilbo said, 'but if your whole family came you'd likely take a coach to Stock, and then north to Bridgefields, and then West to Bywater, and spend the better part of a week in travel!'

'Quite the adventure,' Siggy said with a grin. 'And all that travel will stand me in good stead when it comes time to travel to Michel Delving to cast my vote for Mayor.'

'That's some years off,' Bilbo said, for they were a dozen years or so too young to vote.

'Ah, but it is never too early to begin to make a plan,' Siggy observed.

The wizard, sitting in a shadowy corner of the Tooks' library, smiled at this. How he loved hobbits and their orderly ways; they planned everything from meals to memorials well ahead of time. They loved routine, and yet could greet such surprises as fireworks with clappings and cries of delight. They seemed to be such ordinary folk, and yet, just when he thought he'd learned all there was to know about them, they would surprise him.

One would hardly expect such settled, complacent creatures to be capable of great sacrifice and pity for others, and yet Gandalf had observed just such qualities in hobbits over the years. His brow clouded as he considered the time when his interest in the Shire had kindled. Another severe winter was in the making, though he'd brought a warning in good time for them to make their preparations, and so he certainly hoped the hobbits would come out of this one better than they had, that earlier time.

The young folk exited the library, chattering happily, and the wizard laid aside the volume he had been perusing and rose, stretching his old bones with an audible creak. Taking on this form had the advantage of being respected for his age and experience, but it had its drawbacks as well. A change in the weather was on the way, and with the departure of sunny days, he too must be going. The dwarves who'd driven the waggon of fireworks had already left after early breakfast, and Gandalf would say his good-byes at luncheon. Likely the Thain would press him to stay a few days more, and he'd make his excuses, and be about his travels just in time for a good, drenching rain. At least they'd had a fine, starry night for the Birthday fireworks, and some brightness and joy to carry them through the winter darkness ahead.

There was a fine feast in the great room that day, to honour the guest who'd brought so much pleasure the previous night, with his rockets and sparklers and strings of crackers, and Gandalf rose from his seat more than once to bow and receive the Tooks' applause.

'I thank you,' he said at the last. 'But the pleasure is all mine, to have been invited to celebrate with my good friend Gerontius and his family at this splendid occasion. And now, I fear, I must be about my business. My holidays are over, and I thank you for making them most agreeable ones.'

There was a general groan at this announcement, though it was mostly politeness on the part of the Tooks. Having a wizard about the place was pleasing diversion, and the fireworks had been spectacular, but there is an old saying amongst hobbits, that "fish and visitors begin to stink after three days", and Gandalf had been at the Smials a week or so, and there had been some speculation as to whether he might become a permanent fixture.

'We were glad to have you,' the Old Took said, standing to his feet and extending a hearty hand to the wizard. 'We wish you good journey, and...'

'Take me with you!' It was a cry from the heart, and another groan emerged from the crowd of Tooks, a more genuine protest, as mad Isengar hobbled forward. 'Take me with you, Gandalf! Take me back! Please, I'm so much better than I was, and I know the Captain will see that! I can swab decks, I can do the washing up, I can polish the railings; I can do anything, if you'll only take me back! Please!'

The mad hobbit fell, sobbing, at the wizard's feet, and Gandalf bent slowly to lift him, even as old Gerontius hurried to his son's side.

'Please,' Isengar said, and as Gerontius reached for him he shrank away. 'No!' he cried. 'No! Don't let them lock me away!' and to Gandalf, begging, 'Please! Take me with you!'

'I cannot,' Gandalf said gently, as Gerontius took a firm hold on his son, one arm about Isengar's shoulders and his other hand clamped on his son's good arm.

'I won't be a bother,' Isengar pleaded. 'Just take me to the Gull; they'll take me onboard; the Captain will understand--'

'There is no Gull,' Gandalf said, and the murmur of the Tooks cut off abruptly at the look on his face and the sorrow in his tone.

'Take me...' Isengar whimpered.

'There is no Gull,' Gandalf repeated, 'no Captain to receive you, lad.'

Isengar's harsh breathing was the only sound in the great room.

'I don't understand,' the Old Took said, steadying his son.

Gandalf laid a gentle hand on Isengar's head. 'The Gull sailed away from the Havens of a lovely spring day, and a late storm blew up, and she never returned...'

Isengar's harsh laughter grated on the ear. 'Sailed West, the Captain did?' he gasped, incredulous. 'Followed Earendil at last, did he?'

'I am sorry,' Gandalf said, giving weight to each word.

'Only the Elves may sail West,' Gerontius said, his eyes steady on the wizard's. 'There were Men on that ship, as well as Elves.'

Gandalf slowly shook his head. 'She was lost with all hands,' he said quietly.

'No-o-o-o-o-o!' Isengar's shriek echoed in the silent room, and then wrenching himself free of all holds, he fled the great room, and out of the Smials.