I have been putting it off for as long as I could. Longer than that even. And I know perfectly well that I should have continued to do so. One would think that a wizard thousands of years old would have some self-restraint, to say nothing of dignity, but alas...

It's been well over two years since my last visit, and I have let both Bilbo's and Frodo's most recent birthdays pass without showing my face anywhere near Bag End. Not the actions of a friend, certainly, but even an immortal heart can only stand so much pain.

But Bilbo had to ruin my plans with his heartfelt invitation. 'A grand party, Gandalf,' he had written to me. 'The grandest party the Shire has ever seen! The grandest one I shall ever see. It would not be the same without you. We need you, old friend.'

Bilbo did not do things by half, so I doubted he was exaggerating. But the party, however grand, is not the reason why I am rattling along the road to Hobbiton in a cart filled to the brim with fireworks.

What made me break my cowardly vow to remain absent from Hobbiton for as long as I could were the words I read between the lines of Bilbo's letter. Words which, if spelled out, would say something like, 'I'm leaving, Gandalf. I'm going to stay with the elves, and I'm not coming back. Frodo will be left alone.'

I had always thought that he would eventually go through with it. And years ago, when he'd first talked of it, I had promised to keep an eye on Frodo when the time came.

Well, years came and went in the blink of an eye; time is an odd thing if you live for millenia. And my once regular visits to Bag End had to become more and more rare. There was no choice. It simply had to be done.

'We never see you anymore, Gandalf,' Bilbo had often accused me.

What could I have said? He was quite right. I came only when there was no other choice, and I must have appeared a fickle friend indeed. Yet, I would have been a worse friend otherwise.

Only a few more corners now... another turn in the road before I shall pass by the forest. Already, I can smell Hobbiton - fresh hay, wild flowers and every sweet and peaceful scent creation could devise.

I begin to sing, badly, because for all the reasons I should not be here now, on this road, it feels like coming home. Home... yes, all I could ever consider home is right here, in Hobbiton. All the warmth and sweetness and lighthearted happiness one could wish for is, or rather would be, here, in this tiny corner of Middle Earth.

I rumble up the last hill before the first tiny homes appear on the side of the road, and from the corner of my eye, I see a small figure running toward me. I don't even need to look to know who it is, so for as long as I can, I don't. There's always time for heartbreak without rushing toward it like a fool.

"You're late!" he accuses grouchily, the effect lost in his sweet voice.

I feel like laughing and crying all at once. "A wizard is never late, Frodo Baggins," I tell him sternly, finally lifting my eyes toward him for I cannot avoid it indefinitely. As expected, my chest feels as though clamps of iron are slammed about it when I meet his guileless, sky-blue eyes. "Nor is he early," I quickly add to cover up the sound of my heart breaking. "He arrives precisely when he means to."

He pouts at me, and I gaze at him seriously, wishing he was a sturdy, naive hobbit lass with not a trace of curiosity or wonder about the world, and without such depths of a wise soul showing in his eyes. But I am not so blessed.

Frodo, my dear, dear Frodo, is a hobbit with the courage and beauty of an elf and the wisdom of my kind, unaware as he may be of it. He has the curiosity of a man, and the heart... well, the kind of heart only a hobbit could have.

I cannot help but smile when he struggles to give me a stern look. And he gives up and laughter as clear as a bell bursts from his throat, and then he kills me inside, for he launches himself off the top of the grassy bank and right into my arms - a gesture as innocent and trusting as only my Frodo can devise.

I catch him, of course, and I embrace him heartily, wondering for a moment of madness if there is not some way I might avoid having to let him go again.

There is not, and with another pat on his back, I release him and he falls on the bench of the cart beside me with a luminous smile. If he has noticed a hitch in my breath or the pounding of my heart while I held him close, he does not show it.

I grasp for the reins as though they are a lifeline, and we rumble onwards toward Bag End. He wants to know all about the great wide world, just as I expected. Every time I see him, it is like that. I know he wishes to travel, to have adventures unlike any of his kind. I myself wish with all my heart that he never will, for with adventure comes danger, and with danger comes death and despair, and with that - loss. And terrible, never ending loneliness.

He chats all the way to Bag End - it seems I've gotten myself quite the reputation in the Shire - oh dear, and I've hardly even been about these last few years!

A disturber of the peace indeed... I have to smile at that. Folks did not know what it was like to have ones peace disturbed until they lost their heart to... Never mind.

Frodo says goodbye and hops off the cart, waving to me, and I wave back at him. He's barely off the road, and I miss him already.

I should have known this would happen. Well, I did know, but I had to come, of course, and there's no turning back.

Bilbo's welcome is a heartfelt one. Seems he has missed me too. Why must hobbits be such delightful creatures to be around? They make one forget all the evil that is out in the world and envy them their way of life which is all hearty food, hearth fires, pipe smoke and well-read old books.

Home indeed. What paradise it would be to forget there is anything beyond the shire and to simply remain here.

I realize I'm not paying attention and I struggle to do so. Bilbo is talking about leaving, as I knew he would. He knows Frodo will miss him and he also knows that I'll keep an eye on Frodo.

"He's very fond of you," I tell Bilbo.

"I know," he confirms, looking sad. Time and age are catching up with him, and it's nothing short of a miracle that it's taken this long. There is something unsettling there, something I do not yet know of, but right now is not the time to go into it.

The party begins in the late afternoon, with bowls of punch and fruitcakes and games on a deep green lawn around the giant party tree. For a time, I forget exactly why my heart hurts so much. It is quite enough to feel the pain.

"Gandalf!"

Ah yes. I remember. "Have you eaten yet, Frodo?" I ask with what I hope is a serious look on my face. For a hobbit, Frodo is downright starved-looking.

He grins. "No. But I'll get around to it, don't you worry." He hops on the bench underneath the tree and snuggles close. "I'm so glad you're here."

Sighing, I smile down at him, and his vast blue eyes gaze back up at me as if I was the brightest star in the sky. It is any wonder he's torn my heart from me and kept it for himself years ago?

"I'm glad to be here, my dear Frodo." He looks so happy at that, I add, "I've missed you."

"Oh, I've missed you too, Gandalf!" he exclaims and wraps his short arms around me as far as he can reach.

The soap-fresh scent of his dark curls tickles and entices my nose, even while I remind myself that I am like a kind old uncle to him. How could he ever think of me in any other way?

I feel myself trembling, and when he draws away, I think for a frightful moment that he has noticed it and will ask me what's amiss. But he gazes up at me and bites his lip, and then he says, "I need your advice, Gandalf."

"Of course, Frodo." I touch his soft cheek with the palm of my hand and smile at him. When he leans into the caress, I nearly forget myself.

"I..." He starts, blushing. "It's a little delicate."

"Oh?" I attempt to make him more comfortable, even while my own heart grows heavy, for I think I know what he is about to tell me. I suppose it had to happen. Eventually.

"Can you guess?" he asks, observant as always.

I try to smile. "Perhaps."

He waits for me to continue. His beautiful eyes plead with me to save him the embarrassment of speaking it out loud.

"Has someone caught your eye, dear Frodo?" I ask as jovially as I can.

He lowers his gaze and I see a tiny smile - a sad smile - play about his lips. "Yes. My eye and... my heart. A long time ago." He looks up at me and his eyes are burning. Oh how in love he must be!

"Oh." This does not help him, of course, so I attempt to tuck away my sadness for later. "And you want my advice on how to proceed, is that it?"

He nods, breathing a little sigh of relief.

"Well, do you think your feelings are returned?" How could they not be?

"I don't know." He sighs heavily. "I wish I did." He swings his legs nervously, flattening the grass beneath them, but his eyes keep fixing on me.

"Perhaps you should simply speak out, Frodo. That is often the best approach." Often, but not always.

"Do you think so, Gandalf?" He looks desperate for my response.

"Yes, I do." I smile sadly. "Whoever she is, I am certain she will..."

"No!" he exclaims hurriedly.

I frown in confusion. When he blushes, I understand. "Well, he will surely feel the same. You are, after all..." Wonderful. Perfect. The sweetest creature in the world and all any heart could ever desire.

"Yes?" he asks, sounding oddly eager.

"Well..." In my mind, I imagine who has managed to ensnare my Frodo's heart, but I don't wonder for long. I know how they have played together, been friends, adored each other since childhood. He did say he lost his heart a long time ago. I hope Samwise Gamgee will know that he is the luckiest creature alive.

"Gandalf?"

I have apparently not been paying attention, for Frodo looks quite distressed.

"I'm sorry, Frodo. I think I'm a little tired." Of having an immortal life but a fond heart.

"Do you not wish to know who he is?" he asks carefully, but expectantly also.

I cannot bear to hear him say it. I simply cannot. "I believe I already know," I say instead, smiling weakly.

"You do?" he asks delightedly. "Oh Gandalf!" He throws his arms around me and hugs me close.

I blink away the annoying moisture in my eyes and pat his lush curls. Pressing a kiss to the crown of his head, I whisper, "We should return to the party now. Bilbo will miss us."

Frodo gazes up at me and his eyes, too, are swimming. "Oh. But..." He looks a little disappointed. "We'll talk later?"

What is there to talk about? I will be there for him if he needs to talk, but how I wish he would say no more about it. How I wish I could simply vanish from Middle Earth without a trace. I have no use for immortality anymore.

I nod, and he wipes at his eyes.

"Come, Frodo. Let's return to the others." I walk towards the party tree, and he follows me a few steps behind. I cannot shake the feeling that he is still crying. But I don't know why.

Bilbo is gone. Not forever. I feel we shall see him again. But he is off to Rivendell where he intends to live out his days surrounded by the peace and beauty of the elves.

And Frodo, sweet Frodo, is now alone in the world. Except for me to look after him. And of course, Sam. I close my eyes for a moment as I gaze into the hearth fire. I cannot lie to myself that the pipesmoke is what makes my eyes swim as they do, but Frodo is not yet home to see it and ask questions I cannot answer.

My return here could not have been a sadder one. It is so much worse than I had feared. Could I have foreseen this? Yes. Could I have prevented it? There are some things beyond magic. And love is such a thing. That much I know only too well.

And as for this ring... I fear it will bring about worse things yet. There is something about that simple trinket which fills my heart with a longing and a hatred I cannot explain.

"Precious..." I puff on my pipe, repeating to myself what Bilbo called this ring. What is it that makes the thing so precious? And why was I unable to so much as touch it?

I hear the door open behind me.

"Bilbo!"

Frodo has returned, and I blink away my tears, rubbing at my weathered face quickly.

"He's gone, hasn't he?" He appears beside me, bearing the cursed trinket.

"Bilbo's ring!" I say, looking up at Frodo with what I hope to be a reassuring smile.

He looks at me so sadly.

"He's gone to stay with the elves. He's left you Bag End," I mutter, doubtful that his inheritance gives him any pleasure at all. "Along with all his possessions." I hold out an envelope I found earlier, and Frodo knows to put the ring inside it. Quickly, I seal it with some candle wax, and use my pipe to fasten it.

"Put it somewhere out of sight," I instruct seriously to let him know this is important. Out of sight, out of mind? That has not worked with Frodo. But I hope it will at least do so with the ring.

Frodo nods, and takes it into the next room, where I hear him rummaging through the large chest on the floor.

When he returns, he sits beside me, and together, we stare into the crackling fire until any tears we might have on our cheeks dry up in the heat.

"I'm alone now," Frodo says sadly.

I reach out my hand and clasp his. "Never alone, Frodo. I promised to watch over you, and I will."

He smiles at me, and instantly, my heart is lighter. At least, until the full meaning of it all settles on my weary mind. To watch over him, I will need to come and see him. And to come and see him will mean to see him with another, though hopefully... I sigh. Hopefully, it will also mean to see him happy.

"Why are you sighing, Gandalf?" he asks with concern, his gentle eyes searching mine for the source of my grief.

I draw deeply on my pipe, my hand still clutching his. I can't bear to withdraw it. "Weariness, my dear Frodo. I am an old man, after all."

He laughs without humour, as if the very idea was ludicrous. "You never seem that way to me," he says, and I raise my brows at him. He avoids my eyes, fidgeting with the cuff of his shirt. "Gandalf..." he starts.

Oh no, here we go. He will tell me all about Samwise now.

"What we were talking about before..."

"Yes, Frodo?" I try to sound light-hearted to make him feel less awkward, for he clearly needs me to listen.

"You did know who I meant, didn't you, Gandalf?"

I can't suppress the sigh. "Yes, Frodo."

He looks at me sharply. "Who?"

I'm confused by his insistence that I give voice to it, but he looks as though it was desperately important to him. "Why, Samwise, I imagine."

He's gasping at me, and his eyes have widened further.

"No?" I ask, equally confused.

For another moment, he simply stares at me, and then he slumps in his chair. "Oh no." Something between a sob and a half-hysterical laugh gurgle in his throat.

"No?" I seem to have lost my wit entirely, for my speech has been reduced to this one word only.

"You seemed happy when I told you, so I thought you understood what... oh, Gandalf." He's biting his lip furiously and the button on his mangled cuff is now hanging on a single thread.

"Frodo, who is it?" I reach for his wrist and find him trembling. I imagine my hand feels the same way to him.

He looks at me then and there are a thousand words - words I never dared to hope he would ever say to me - in his expressive eyes. Heavens, why did I not see this before?

"Oh, Frodo. You mean to say that..."

He climbs off his chair and stands at my side, and his hand is still in my grasp while the other reaches to touch my cheek. "You can be very foolish for a wizard, Gandalf."

And he leans in and kisses me, and my entire world is upended and set into place back to front. It only begins to turn the right way again when I enfold him in my arms and take his offered kisses. Take them and return them and linger in them as I have longed to do for so many years.

I fear that there are difficult times ahead for both of us. But for this one perfect moment, we are happy.

End