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He was a Wizard of the West, who, a vagrant like his similars, was now in the Shire (and a regular visitor to the Bag End of Bilbo Baggins), and tomorrow he would be Eru knows where, because he seemed to pursue a plan of his own of which he never spoke with anyone. He had a great hat with a mighty bush of eyebrows and eyes reddened from all his reading by stafflight, but he truly seemed an ark of learning. He fascinated Frodo at this latest meeting -- by the roadside naturally -- asking him subtle questions on which the hobbit's friends would have spent days and days of wrangling. Can Balrogs freeze? Can an orc sing? Does the sweat of a hobbit's feet stink more than that of other peoples? Does an Ent flush when he feels shame? Does a Man grieve more over the vanishing of a Kingdom or over the ruin of its monuments? Must Elves have pointed ears? Can you take this Ring of Power and drop it in the Fires of Mount Doom for me? The question that fascinated Frodo most was that of the perils of the One Ring, on which Gandalf considered himself wiser than any other Wizard.