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Frodo smiled inwardly at himself as he felt the soft
draft of air on the soft fur of his feet. "Greetings
Gandalf--", he started.
"Frodo, what have I told you" the reproachful voice
said from behind. Frodo detected the faint implied chuckle
in the old man's words.
"I know. I've been sitting with my back to the door
again." Frodo turned in his chair, hands smoothing the
rich Shire silk of his tunic. "I could tell it was you
by the clunking of your staff in the hallway"
Gandalf permitted himself a stern scowl, then brightened.
"Staff clunks could be imitated, the swish of my cloak
could be feigned, I could easily have been a Mordorran
guild assassin. Now, how are your studies coming?" The
boy was wise beyond his years already. A man in composure
and bearing...yet still sheltered and naive, a boy-hobbit
within. So much like his father in that...
"Fascinating. Do you realize that the wastes of the
east are patrolled by the great Oliphaunts?" Mordor...Black
Land...ruined wastes...
"Aye." Gandalf fingered the scar on his cheek, left
years ago by the firevine whip of a balrog. "And I've
heard many tales of the Easterlings"
"Easterlings...it is said that they ride the Oliphaunt."
Inwardly Frodo turned through his past memories and
studies. ...and the pipeweed...what of that connection?
Gandalf’s eyes narrowed, he could see the furrows of
the boy’s brow has his thoughts tumbled ever within.
He thinks of the pipe weed…dangerous…it is yet premature
for him . He changed the subject, rattling Frodo
from his introspection. “Are you prepared for your test
this afternoon?”
Frodo started, stiffened in his chair. “I am ready I
think. Yet, there is so much I don’t know…” Galadriel,
the Elven witch…and her pool. “Does she really think
that I could be the one?”
Gandalf scowled. “The witches and their legends. If
they think that you may be the Kwisatz Hobbitach, then
it is best to humor them for the time being. There is
no guessing the true plans of the elves.” The Hobbit
who is all hobbits, the one who would bear the One Ring...
Motives within motives, plans within plans. Frodo
shivered inwardly at the uncertainties, the fears. Abruptly
he corrected himself, composing his emotions with the
practice of the ancient Numenoreans. Fear is the
realm breaker, the undoer of kingdoms…