Chapter 4. Dogged by Disaster 

Gandalf stalked into the Prancing Pony, glaring about himself from under bushy eyebrows, more white than grey these days. Whether that was due to his promotion to white wizard, or the advancing of the years, or another reason, who could say?

Although he’d blessed Barliman Butterbur’s beer, the clientele certainly had not improved. The tables were filled with gaggles of goggling females, nudging one another and giggling. Giggling! He humphed to himself. He had no use for their sort.

 ‘Look at his boots!’ one hissed. ‘I just love those white patent leather boots!’

 ‘So much so you got yourself a pair,’ another needled, but the other just smiled happily, and Gandalf saw to his shock that she wore a white robe similar to one he’d worn a year or so previously, on the field of Cormallen.

A puppy that had been wandering about the public house, sniffing for scraps, bounded happily to him and stood up on its hind legs, small tail gyrating wildly, to rest a feather-light front paw against his knee. Bright black eyes met deep black wizard eyes, and an involuntary smile touched the gruff face. Somehow he found himself bending to caress a fuzzy ear.

 ‘So you’ve come for your puppy!’ Barliman said, bustling forward, a towel and glass in hand. ‘I was wondering...’

 ‘I don’t recall ever owning a puppy before,’ Gandalf said quizzically.

At a nearby table one of the ridiculously attired females gasped and made as if to swoon. ‘Oh!’ she cried in ecstasy. ‘O... o... he’s so... so very...’

Even the gruff old wizard found himself holding his breath, waiting to see what possible conclusion might result.

 ‘So very what? Spit it out!’ another snapped, rather impatient with the swooner’s thespian attempts.

 ‘So very... Obiwan,’ she managed at last, completing the swoon into the arms of her companions.

A no-nonsense type who’d been turning over a bundle of sticks as she discussed something in low tones with her blanching tablemates put the sticks down on the table with a thump.

 ‘You’ve mixed your fandoms, dearie,’ she said softly, with a sweet smile that raised the hairs on the back of the wizard’s neck. ‘I’d suggest you do some thinking about it, and try again.’

Her tablemates had been relieved by the reprieve, but it was short-lived at best as she resumed her grasp on the sticks, put on a bright smile, and said, ‘Now for the next challenge I’d like you to...’

 ‘What brings you here, Mr. Gandalf?’ the good innkeeper said. ‘How did you know Mr. Underhill... er... Baggins was took ill?’

 ‘Taken ill?’ Gandalf growled. He’d been compelled by some sudden urge to visit the inn, some inexplicable urge, though several of the females at a nearby table were smirking at him in a proprietary way.

 ‘I just love his staff,’ one of them whispered to another. ‘I have one just like it above my fireplace.’

 ‘I’ll just show you to his room,’ Butterbur said hastily, seeing the storm clouds gather on the wizard’s brow.

Gandalf nodded, put on his best and pleasantest grandfatherly look, and followed the innkeeper. The pup, which had been tugging at his robes, was bowled over and ki-yied in alarm. ‘I’m sorry, little fellow,’ Gandalf said, leaning down to pick up the ball of doggy distress and cradle it to his chest. The winsome bit of fluff snuggled into his beard and he found himself stroking the creature as he walked along. It was a taking little being, truly, and he didn’t want to leave it to the tender mercies of those denizens of the common room, not from what he’d seen thus far.

They ran into Samwise in the hallway. ‘Mr. Gandalf!’ he cried. ‘I’m that glad to see you, that I am!’

 ‘What’s happened to your master, Samwise?’ Gandalf said, bending to address the faithful gardener.

 ‘He’s been saying all sort of wild things, sir, and he’s feverish. I was just on my way to fetch a healer.’

 ‘I’ll send Nob for the healer,’ Butterbur said. ‘You get back to your master, Mr. Under... er... Baggins, now.’

 ‘Thanks most kindly, Mr. Butterbur,’ Samwise said. He hurried down the corridor, trotting to match the wizard’s long strides. Looking earnestly up at Gandalf, he said, ‘You’ve arrived in the nick of time, you have, sir! Mr. Frodo thinks there’s some sort of conspiracy afoot, and...’

 ‘Conspiracy, Sam?’ Gandalf said sharply. ‘That sounds serious.’

 ‘That it does, Mr. Gandalf, sir,’ Sam said. ‘And here I thought all our troubles were behind us.’

The white wizard did not answer, for he was thinking furiously. He’d thought they’d dealt with the worst of the evil in Middle Earth, for the nonce. Although... a corner of his mind was toying with the suspicion that not all the business had been taken care of. He ticked off the points in his mind. Sauron... yes, the Ring had gone into the Fire and the Dark Lord had been destroyed, with the Dark Tower and all his works. Saruman...

He stopped abruptly. For the life of him he could not remember if he’d dealt with Saruman or not. He thought he had, but what if he’d just thought about it and hadn’t actually seen the task through? He found this happening more and more these days. Unless he wrote it down in his planner, sometimes he would think he’d finished a task when he’d really only thought about finishing it.

 ‘Planner? What’s that?’ Sam said in confusion, and the wizard realized he had been thinking aloud, another annoying habit that seemed to be cropping up with more regularity these days.

He forced heartiness into his tone. ‘Nothing, nothing, my lad,’ he said kindly. ‘Just talking to myself. It is best, when working out a problem, to discuss it with the wisest person present, you know.’

 ‘O yes, I see, of course,’ Sam said politely, though he didn’t see at all.

Merry sat up abruptly as they entered the room. ‘What...? he said, blinking in confusion, and then his face brightened. ‘Gandalf!’ he cried joyously.

 ‘Gandalf!’ Pippin echoed, running to the wizard to embrace him. ‘Look, Merry, he’s got your pup with him!’

 ‘My pup?’ Merry said, puzzled. ‘What pup?’

 ‘The one you rescued that day you fell in the River,’ Pippin said. ‘Don’t you remember? The Bridge collapsed in the flooding and everyone thought you were dead? Your parents were prostrated with grief... and I was running Buckland... and...’ His voice trailed off in the face of Merry’s incredulous stare.

Merry rose from his chair, thrusting out a hand which landed on Pippin’s forehead with devastating accuracy despite the younger cousin’s attempts to wave it away. ‘Are you sickening with something, Pip?’ he said anxiously. ‘Is Frodo’s fever catching?’

He looked over at the pup, still in Gandalf’s arms, now chewing contentedly on the wizard’s beard. ‘That looks like Frodo’s pup,’ he said slowly.

 ‘Frodo’s pup?’ Pippin said. ‘I never knew Frodo to have a dog! He’s terrified of them!’

 ‘No, the one Bilbo gave him after... but that was before you were born, Pip, so of course you wouldn’t know... but how could it be...?’ It was Pippin’s turn to look worriedly at Merry.

 ‘None of you is making sense,’ Berilac said slowly. He cocked an eye at the wizard. ‘You know, Gandalf, I never thought I’d say this, but I’m glad to see you. It looks as if you’ve turned up, just as you always do, when trouble’s brewing.’

 ‘Indeed,’ the wizard said dryly. He rescued his beard from the pup and set the ball of fluff upon the floor, where it immediately attacked Sam’s woolly foot with a miniscule growl.

 ‘Here, now!’ Sam said in alarm, picking up the mite in sheer self-defence. The pup wagged a joyful tail and licked his face.