Chapter 330: Prologue
"Frodo, I am not as good as you think I am."
One night in Bag End, while Frodo slept, Bilbo lit the lamp in his study and began to write a letter.
"I do not even know what made me reach this decision, but it is certainly not kindness. Perhaps it is simply that, of all my kin whose names bear 'Baggins', you alone seem to have the true Baggins spirit."
"So I have decided to leave Bag End, and all that I own, in your keeping."
"As for me, do not worry. I only wish to take one last journey before my life comes to its end. I have had this in mind for a very long time, and if I hesitate any longer, I fear it will be too late."
The faint scratch of the pen sounded on and on from the study. Clearly, Bilbo wrote a great deal that night.
By Hobbit standards, he had reached the very peak of life. He was wealthy, respected, the eldest living Hobbit in the Shire, and head of the Baggins family. Any one of these would have marked him out as venerable. Together, they made him the very picture of it.
Yet his love of adventure had finally overcome his taste for comfort.
Just as it had sixty years before.
When he had finished this letter, or rather his will, he sealed it carefully away and took up a fresh sheet.
This time it was an invitation.
"To Levi."
…
"An unprecedented birthday feast for his one hundred and eleventh birthday. That is how Bilbo puts it."
In September of 3001, at Roadside Keep, Levi opened the newly arrived letter and read it through with care.
Then he turned to Gandalf at his side and began to discuss it.
"Yes, I know. I have been making ready for it for quite some time," Gandalf said around his pipe, smoke curling from his lips.
"You mean that cartload of fireworks?" Levi tilted his head to glance aside.
He had noticed as soon as Gandalf arrived: the wizard had brought a small pony hitched to a cart laden high with fireworks of every shape. Plainly, he meant to put on a show at Bilbo's party.
"Indeed. Do not underestimate my custom fireworks, Levi. They may not have much force as weapons, but they will look far finer than those war-rockets of yours."
"Believe me, I have been practising that craft for a thousand years."
"Have you now. Then I shall look forward to it."
"You will feast your eyes, I promise you."
Gandalf chuckled, wearing the look of a man saying, "Just you wait."
"No time to waste. I must be off. The little pony is not the fastest, and if that makes me late, Bilbo will give me an earful."
"The pony, hm…"
Levi asked idly, "Why not use that fast horse?"
Gandalf went quiet for a beat. When he spoke again, his tone was low and mournful.
"A fast horse, yes. Very fast. Too fast. So fast that the last carriage I rode flipped right over, with me in it. You do not want to hear what that looked like. My back still aches."
"That really does…"
Levi shrugged.
It seemed that when you had too much cargo, speed was not always a blessing.
"And you? When do you mean to set out?" Gandalf asked.
"In a few days. I will arrive before the party begins."
"Very well."
Gandalf departed.
Levi leaned back in his chair and tapped the tabletop with his fingers, his thoughts straying northwards.
Since Angmar had been completely cleansed, the land had slowly softened with time. Grass crept back over it, slow but sure.
Watchposts had been raised at the site of Angmar's old capital and further north, to keep an eye on whatever stirred beyond the great snowy peaks.
In truth, such measures should not have been necessary, yet the empty, frozen wastes to the north filled Levi with a nameless unease.
The rangers felt it too.
For that reason, neither Angmar nor the Ettenmoors had been made new centres of settlement. They were marked only with a few outposts, tokens of claim.
It was another conservative choice. Until any hidden danger was laid to rest, neither Levi nor the officers of Roadside Keep, responsible for such things, would send folk there to dwell.
Most people still lived south of the Long Wall, keeping a wary watch on the Northern Waste beyond Angmar.
When he had dealt with the affairs of his realm and the days had passed, Levi judged the time about right. He saddled a horse and followed the trail of Gandalf's journey west.
He was going to that long-planned party.
Rattle…
Cartwheels rolled along a country lane, occasionally jolting with a clatter over ruts and potholes.
"Out of the door where it all begins, the road goes ever far~"
"Though the way ahead runs long~"
"So long as our feet are eager…"
The tune drifted lightly over the fields, easy and bright, pleasant on the ear.
The voice that carried it was warm and deep.
"You are late, Gandalf."
On a rise above the road, a young Hobbit stood with arms folded, calling down to the singer in mock reproach.
"A wizard is never late, Frodo Baggins," Gandalf replied, drawing his pony to a halt and looking up.
"Nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he means to."
The two of them held each other's gaze for a moment.
Then, suddenly, both burst out laughing.
"It is so good to see you again, Gandalf!"
Frodo flung himself at him in delight.
"Oh, you did not think I would miss Bilbo's birthday, did you? If I did, the old fellow would scold me from here to the Grey Havens."
"I heard from Levi that this party will be 'unprecedentedly grand'," Gandalf said.
"It will. The whole Shire is in an uproar, hens and dogs all turned upside down," Frodo grinned. "Half the Shire has been invited, and the other half…"
"They will come anyway."
"So the whole Shire will be there. Just as he said. Quite a gathering."
Gandalf puffed on his pipe and smiled.
He had brought just the right fireworks. Such things were best with a crowd.
Noise and laughter.
As he thought it, Frodo said, "Uncle Bilbo has been staring at maps and drifting off into daydreams a lot lately."
"I know you have something to do with that, do you not, Gandalf?"
"What?" Gandalf looked at Frodo with wounded innocence.
"Go on, keep pretending."
"Before you came along, the name of Baggins had an excellent reputation. None of us had ever thought of going on an adventure."
"That is not quite true," Gandalf said, shaking his head.
"You cannot lay all that at my door. Bilbo will not have told you this, but he was very mischievous as a lad. Once, he ran all the way from Bag End into the Old Forest and did not come back until nightfall. His parents were frantic."
"Well now, I had never heard that," Frodo said, genuinely surprised.
To him, this closest of uncles had always been "a mysterious old storyteller," full of tales. Even after decades together, that sense of mystery had not faded. If one looked closely enough, there was always some new thing to find.
"Of course, you had not. He would never tell you his own embarrassing stories."
"In any case, whether you believe me or not, I only gave him the lightest push. Most of the choice was his."
"Is that so?" Frodo's face was full of doubt.
"Whether it is your fault or not, you have already been declared a troublemaker by the Shire."
"Truly?"
Gandalf's eyes grew even more plaintive.
He glanced at a Hobbit tending a neat little garden by the roadside. The Hobbit looked back and smiled.
A heartbeat later, his wife came out of the house and gave him a smart rap on the head.
"Oh, very well. It seems the prejudice is strong here."
"Gandalf!"
Just then, a cluster of Hobbit children came tumbling out of a nearby garden, shouting his name at the top of their lungs and calling for "fireworks."
"You see. Children are not so easily prejudiced."
Whoosh. Pop.
With a little nudge of the Ring of Fire, a small rocket shot into the sky and burst, turning into a handful of butterflies of coloured flame that fluttered for a moment before fading into smoke.
The children squealed with delight.
Hearing their laughter, the two on the cart exchanged a glance and laughed as well.
The prologue of the story thus began.