"The Brandybuck family has always been rather peculiar."
During a chat, Bilbo mentioned Frodo's mother's family to Garrett.
"That's to be expected," said Daddy Twofoot as he happened to overhear Bilbo's words while passing by.
"After all, their house sits in the oddest part of the Brandywine River area, right next to the Old Forest. That place has always been strange: dark, dreadful, and full of queer noises. Who knows if the family might've been influenced by whatever dwells within."
"Drogo Baggins is a decent, respectable, and honorable hobbit, but I can't for the life of me understand why a Baggins of Hobbiton would travel so far just to find a wife."
"Still, their boy Frodo is very well-mannered. One of the best children I've ever met, if you ask me."
"Well, that's not surprising. His father was a Baggins, after all."
Muttering to himself, Daddy Twofoot shuffled away down the lane.
"Seems like your family's reputation isn't too shabby," Garrett teased Bilbo, who only shrugged.
"You know how it is. All hobbits love a settled, peaceful life."
"And the Baggins family is practically the definition of 'respectable and conventional.' Many admire that quality. It's earned my ancestors quite a bit of esteem."
"Is that so?"
A warm, deep voice interrupted at an unexpected moment.
An old man in a gray cloak stood before them, leaning on his staff and quite rudely blocking the sunlight. "From what I've seen, there's at least one Baggins with quite an adventurous spirit."
"There are exceptions to every rule, and you're late, Gandalf!"
Bilbo jumped to his feet. Though his tone was full of complaint, his actions were honest enough. He embraced the wizard warmly.
"Forgive me. I was held up by a few trifling matters for two days, otherwise I'd never have missed your birthday."
Turning to Garrett, he said with a regretful smile, "And I'm truly sorry about that. I imagine there must have been a great deal of fine food at the feast."
He grinned broadly and laughed.
"It's been a long time, Garrett."
"A long time indeed, Gandalf," Garrett replied, greeting his old friend.
They clasped each other's shoulders.
"You've changed quite a bit."
Almost at first glance, Gandalf sensed something different, mainly in Garrett's bearing and presence. He sighed softly, then suddenly smiled.
"Don't dwell on it, Garrett. Some things simply must be lived through."
"I've never been one to brood."
"Good. Keep it that way."
Without pressing the matter further, Gandalf turned back to Bilbo and continued their earlier topic.
"Actually, Bilbo, I don't think you're much of an exception at all."
"I've told you before. Your grandfather on your mother's side, Gerontius Took, Old Took himself, was a truly adventurous hobbit. When the White Wolves invaded the Shire, the Brandybucks sounded the rallying horn, and he was the first to answer the call. Together with other hobbits who came to their aid, they drove the beasts away and kept the Shire safe."
At this, Gandalf couldn't help but grow nostalgic.
"Ah, my old friend, Old Took. We got along splendidly for over a hundred years. Every time he held his Midsummer parties, I would attend, bringing fireworks I'd made especially for the occasion."
"Once, I even gave him a pair of enchanted diamond buttons as a gift. I can still remember how delighted he was. He said it was one of the most important days of his life."
"But now, those buttons have been buried along with him."
As he said this, he smiled again. There was no sadness or heaviness in his voice, only the gentle nostalgia for a friendship that had lasted a century.
"Oh, I know well enough," Bilbo said. "My grandfather was the longest-lived hobbit on record. A hundred and thirty years! I can hardly imagine it."
"That may not be certain," Gandalf looked at Bilbo.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, you've forgotten something. Old Took also held another record: the most children of any hobbit."
"That I know too." Bilbo nodded.
Listening to their easy conversation, Garrett's lips curved slightly into a smile. The sunlight seemed especially warm that day.
Bilbo was a curious sort of hobbit. Perhaps it truly was something in his blood. He possessed both the Baggins' love of comfort and cheer, and the Tooks' courage and taste for adventure.
And perhaps that was why old Gandalf had been able to coax him out of the Shire all those years ago.
That old wizard. What a sly one.
After a while, the three of them went inside. As the host, Bilbo cheerfully put the kettle on for tea and brought out a few plates of cakes and biscuits.
Taking advantage of the moment, Gandalf turned to Garrett and began to speak of his recent travels.
"I saw the marks you left in Khazad-dûm, and your campfire."
"Oh? So you ventured in to have a look?"
"Indeed. It was very quiet. I walked for a long time and saw nothing, not even a single bat."
After a short pause, Gandalf continued, "The Dwarves have been thinking much about that place. Last year Balin asked me about the state of Moria. I told him what I had seen there, and then he asked whether now might be a good time to reclaim their ancient home."
"And what did you tell him?"
Gandalf shook his head slightly. "My advice was to wait. Not yet. Give it more time."
"Why?" Garrett asked, curious.
"It's hard to say. Just a feeling."
Recalling what he had seen in Moria, Gandalf's brow furrowed ever so slightly.
"I sensed a power there, an evil buried deep, hiding itself. Perhaps the Dwarves could retake their halls for a time, but it would not last. In the end, I fear it would only end in tragedy once more."
"Your feeling is right."
Garrett replied firmly. "The orcs and such creatures infesting the place may have been mostly cleared out, but there's still one Balrog unaccounted for. I searched back and forth several times, but never caught sight of it."
"I suspect it's gone deep into the roots of the mountain, sleeping."
"Whatever the case, it hasn't left. Long ago, Lady Galadriel and I joined forces to bar its passage within the mountains. As long as Nenya, one of the Three Elven Rings, retains its power, the creature cannot pass beyond them."
"I've heard of that," Gandalf nodded.
Nenya held the powers of understanding, creation, and preservation. It was by that ring's grace that Lothlórien remained ever-living and filled with light.
Without Nenya's protection, the forest would soon wither, and the Elves of the Golden Wood would lose their home.
For that reason, Lady Galadriel seldom strayed far from Lothlórien unless it was truly necessary.
"Fortunately, Balin was a reasonable Dwarf," Gandalf went on. "He grumbled a bit, but in the end he took my advice."
It was clear that he held Balin in high regard, as one of the wisest among Dwarves.
No wonder the two got along so well. A steady, thoughtful Dwarf like Balin was just the sort Gandalf could truly befriend.