Friendship

S.R. 16 Blotmath, 1388

And thus Hamson and Halfred Gamgee found themselves seated at the kitchen table in Bag End the very next morning, fiddling nervously with sharpened pheasant quills while being instructed not just by Mr. Bilbo Baggins but also by a tall gray wizard; the pair seeming quite formidable.  There was nothing in either Gamgee’s life up to that point that had been any stranger.  Between them, young Master Frodo Baggins appeared far more confident, dipping his quill tip into dark berry juice and scratching it against the butcher paper laid out before him.  The scratches Frodo was making were beginning to look very much like the marks in the book to which Mr. Baggins was pointing as he spoke.

Ham and Hal’s were far shakier, more from anxiety than lack of coordination.  Gandalf stepped behind Ham and gently guided his arm as he described its movement in creating the letters.  Ham couldn’t help but wonder what he might be turned into if he failed to learn this alphabet.

They were allowed to get up halfway through the morning, and were given a chance to run outside.  Frodo quickly found the tree resting atop Bag End and was up its trunk in short order.

“You don’t have to be afraid of Gandalf,” he stated as he swung from one of the branches.  “Uncle Bilbo says he’s been a friend of his for a long time.”

“I dunno, Master Frodo,” Ham answered.  “I just want to make sure we learn this well enough to satisfy him and Mr. Bilbo.  Our Gaffer is expecting it of us.” 

Hal’s attention was nervously focused onto Frodo’s position, one that was quite unnatural for a hobbit.  “You should get down, Master Frodo,” he begged.

Frodo, however, had at an early age been taught by his mother to climb trees (Primula had, of course, been taught by her mother – the remarkable Mirabella Took Brandybuck – for whom climbing trees had been second nature).  “It’s all right, Hal; I’m barely off the ground.”

Hal looked at Frodo critically.  “I’m serious, Master Frodo.  You should be more careful.”

Frodo let go his grip and landed with a roll.  He looked up at the younger boy and smiled, returning to their original conversation.  “You’ll do fine, Ham.  You can already recognize all of the letters.  Uncle Bilbo had taught them to me before I came to Hobbiton.  You are nearly caught up with me.”

Indeed, Ham was far better at writing his letters when they returned to the table than was Frodo.  “It is the swinging from trees that causes that, Frodo,” Gandalf explained of the boy’s sudden uncontrollable quivering while holding his quill.  “Your fine coordination has been temporarily impaired by the use of your larger muscles.” 

“I told him he should not be in trees, Mr. Gandalf, sir,” Hal stated.  He was so convinced that he was right that his fear of the wizard lessened.  After all, the wizard was agreeing with him - wasn't he?

Seeing that Frodo could not continue to practice his writing, Bilbo quickly turned the lesson to sounding out words.  At that Frodo enthusiastically excelled.

*

“Well, well, Gandalf, what do you think of him?”  Bilbo eagerly asked after he had sent Frodo and the Gamgee boys off to the market.

They were enjoying their pipes in the sudden quiet.  Gandalf did not answer him, but took another puff and gazed into the fire before them, keeping his own counsel. 

Bilbo fidgeted at the silence, interpreting it as a sign that Gandalf had been less than impressed with Frodo.  “I don’t know where my head was when I decided to bring him home with me, Gandalf,” he started.

Gandalf stirred, and looked down at his friend with a smile.  “I would love to know where your head was, dear Bilbo, but here the lad is.  I will give myself the week before I form my opinion of him, but even then do not count on it being my final opinion.  First impressions do not always hold true.”

Bilbo was discomforted by that.  “You formed your opinion of me on a very brief encounter; in less time than you’ve had with Frodo today.”

The wizard laughed.  “Did I?  Do you think we had only just met at your gate that morning?  As a matter of fact, I had watched you for some years before I selected you for that adventure.” 

The hobbit looked at the wizard and relaxed.  “Well, then, I guess it must have been my opinion of you that was formed in haste.  You are right, my old friend.  First impressions do not always hold true.  I first regarded you as an untrustworthy meddler.”

They shared the laugh together, and took another puff on their pipes before Gandalf asked, “And what, may I inquire, did you see so quickly in young Frodo?  That you have not seen in any of your other kin; for example, Lotho?”

Bilbo took a deep breath, attempting to think his answer all the way through.  “Well, he wasn’t the son of Lobelia Sackville-Baggins for one,” he replied, quite seriously.  “I’ve never given Lotho notice simply for the very reason that I cannot abide his mother.  I suppose that is one thing about Frodo that I find appealing.  There is no one in his life to forbid me to spend time with him.  I can influence him at my will with no repercussions.”

The wizard raised an eyebrow.  “So it is not an attribute that Frodo has that you like so much about him but an attribute that he doesn’t?”

Bilbo stuck his hand into his pocket and fumbled about for a moment.  “Well, now that you mention it, I suppose there is a good deal of truth in that.  But Frodo does have a remarkable intelligence for a hobbit his age, I am sure of it.  He has been far more inquisitive about my stories than have the other children I have told them to, and he is quite curious about what I know of the world outside of the Shire.  Why, he enjoyed my recital of poetry when he was ill, and it was in Elvish.”

Gandalf returned to his pipe, pondering Bilbo’s answer.  It was evident that Bilbo liked Frodo primarily because Frodo took a greater interest in Bilbo than had others in the Shire.  That made sense.  A parent-less child would be likely to respond to an adult who gave him attention.  Likewise, someone with no attachments, like Bilbo, would respond to a young child’s rapt attention.  If that was the only reason for Bilbo’s kindred interest in Frodo, it was probably harmless enough.  Once again, Gandalf suspected that Frodo would actually be good for Bilbo.  What troubled him, he realized, was that he was not at all certain that Bilbo would be equally good for Frodo.  It was that which he found he most wanted to ascertain before leaving the boy with Bilbo for an entire winter.

But why, he wondered.  Frodo Baggins should mean very little to him; after all, he had indeed only just met the youngster.  Yet in that short time he too had seen an innocent earnestness in Frodo that he had not experienced in a long time.  Gandalf the Gray had rarely felt that much potential in anyone so young, much less in a hobbit of Frodo’s age.  The wizard did not want Frodo’s spunk ruined.  He thought Bilbo could provide just the right dose of natural encouragement for Frodo, provided the elder Baggins was patient enough for the task.

“Give me the week, Bilbo, to make my evaluation,” the wizard reiterated kindly.  He really meant that he needed the week to evaluate Bilbo.

*

“Now what was it we were supposed to get?” Ham asked Frodo as they entered the market square.  “A good chicken, as I remember.”

“And mushrooms!” Frodo exclaimed with joy as he pulled out the note Bilbo had written.

“We’re to see to it that ALL of the mushrooms make it to the cooking pot,” Hal reminded him sternly.  “No sampling!”

Frodo smiled at his new friends’ rapt supervision.  Hal in particular seemed to like looking out for him and the normally independent Frodo was surprised to find he didn’t fully mind the novelty.  He handed Ham the list, pointing to each word as he read it aloud.  “So what are tarragon and rosemary, anyway?” he asked.

“They’re herbs, Frodo,” Ham answered, pleased to know something his bright new friend did not.  “They are used for seasoning the chicken, the same as these other things on the bottom of the list.  We can get them at the Cottar’s booth.”

Frodo was looking eagerly in all directions.  He had spent a lot of time in the kitchen at Brandy Hall helping with the food preparation.  The market gave him a sense of familiarity he liked.   He followed Ham to each stand, listening carefully to the tween’s descriptions about how to pick out the best quality foodstuffs.  Ham liked to cook and had gone to market with, or for, his family almost every week of his life.  The stall owners seemed to know and respect him well. 

“So who is your young friend, Ham?”  Missus Cottar asked while her pretty daughter Poppy bundled fresh thyme for him, for the Missus Cottar had insisted that no chicken should ever be prepared without it.  Young Poppy smiled sweetly as she handed Ham the packet.  It had been quite attractively wrapped.  The tips of Ham’s ears reddened as he took the package from her, the shyest of smiles on his lips. 

It was clear to Hal that Frodo no longer existed in his brother’s sight, so he therefore answered the question himself with a polite nod.  “His name is Frodo, good lady.  Frodo Baggins.” 

As did everyone in Hobbiton, Missus Cottar of course already knew precisely who Frodo was.  She clucked.  “So, a Baggins are you?  Related to Mr. Bilbo, perhaps?”

“Yes, ma’am – Mr. Bilbo’s my uncle.”

“You are not from around here, judging by your accent.” she observed.

“No, ma’am.  I was born in Buckland.  My father’s from Hobbiton, so I’ve been told.”

“Drogo Baggins, I would swear to it.  You look like him more than a bit.”  She smiled widely.  “All right then, lad, welcome to you for as long as you are here.  Now give Ham a hand, dear.” 

”Thank you, ma’am,” Frodo answered with another nod as he grabbed the tower of herbs from Ham's hands and stuffed them in Hal’s basket while Ham fumbled with the payment.  Poppy’s hand touched Ham’s as she gave him the change.  Ham nearly fell over.

“Are you all right, Ham?”  Frodo asked with a laugh as they backed away.  He was old enough to understand his friend’s condition.

Ham went crimson.  “We’ve everything we’d come for, Master Frodo.  We’d better be getting back to Bag End so Mr. Bilbo can start this chicken stewing.”

“We still need to get the mushrooms,” Frodo reminded urgently.

*

After dinner, Gandalf entertained the Bagginses with stories of the Great Sea. “…The Grey Havens is an old Elven harbor.  Ships came there from other lands.”

Frodo had been about to ask about elves, but the wizard’s last sentence took precedence in his mind.  “What other lands?” 

“Many lands, Frodo.  The southern realms of men and the northern reaches, and the Undying Lands of Valinor.  I arrived here myself from there, a long time ago.”

Too many questions competed for Frodo’s tongue.  He simply repositioned himself on the hearth rug before the crackling fire and gazed up at Gandalf, waiting for the wizard to start expounding.

Gandalf looked down at Frodo and smiled.  Since the day he had first set foot on the dock at the Havens, the wizard had counseled great leaders of the likes of elves and men, dwarves and ents.  The purposefully axenic halfling folk had actually annoyed him when he had first encountered them.  Since then, however, he had developed such a delight in their tight-knit communal sensibilities and quaint agrestic ways that given any opportunity he chose to spend his idle time amongst them.  Saruman, the leader of his order, had mentioned more than once that he thought Gandalf a bit touched for it, but Gandalf could easily justify an occasional hobbitary ataraxy between the ever-present exigencies of Middle Earth.

In particular, the wizard had lately found Bilbo Baggins to be of great value in that regard, for Bilbo was quite remarkable among hobbits for the inimitable outlook he had acquired over the life of their acquaintance.   Even stacked next to Bilbo, though, Gandalf the Gray had never met a hobbit quite as appealing as this lively, bright-eyed, young Frodo Baggins appeared to be.  He wished that he had more time himself to spend on the little fellow, but the greater matters of Middle Earth were, as always, pressing and he would have to leave as soon as Yule was over.  He would have to trust Frodo’s upbringing to Bilbo.

*

TBC