Twice Given

Title: Twice Given
Author: Poncing Ponies http://www.ravenswing.com/~boots/warn.htm 
Category: Romance
Characters: Gandalf Frodo 
Warnings: Gandalf/Frodo 
Rating: PG-13
Summary: They miss each other, they bicker, they eat Lunch, they talk 
about shoes. 
Disclaimer: Not mine, JRRT's. 
Feedback: Yes please! obi_wan_kenobi69@h... 
Story Notes: Thanks very very much to Kati and The Watcher for the 
beta. 



Frodo woke up that morning, thinking nothing could improve the sweet, 
cloudless day. Until he was running breathlessly, arms flying in the 
air, towards a coach full of fireworks driven by an old man dressed 
in grey. Frodo had tormented himself so long with the prospect of 
Gandalf's return to the Shire, that he was forced to remove it 
completely from his mind, until he forgot to agonise over every 
minute the Wizard delayed. 

Frodo made an effort at great Hobbit speed to get to the greeting 
mound, and either by kind calculation or fortunate chance, Gandalf 
halted his horse at the same meeting spot. Frodo stood on a hill 
carpet with grass, and was afforded good vantage of the Wizard's 
person. As Gandalf raised his well maned head and Frodo began to 
catch glimpses of his eyebrows over the wide brim of his Wizard's 
hat, he felt suddenly shy. Hot with eagerness to welcome Gandalf and 
panicked by what Gandalf might think of him, now that Frodo had 
changed in the missing years. In the end, he only managed to say, 
rather petulantly "You're late." And blush hard at the whining tone 
of his voice. 

Gandalf looked up slowly, setting his devastatingly bright eyes on 
Frodo's face. Caught in the center of the Wizard's focus, Frodo 
watched Gandalf's lips move behind the wild growth of his whiskers 
and could only think in awe, as he always did: that was a magic-
talented mouth. He caught something about a 'Wizard's 
timing', 'lateness' and 'precision', but it was the twitch at the 
side of those soft looking lips that brought him back, and set him 
off, cracking his head with laughter. Hearing the low hollering laugh 
from Gandalf, Frodo was relieved. He threw himself across his friend, 
for Gandalf could not become a stranger if they could still share 
these jokes with no punch line, only so many teasing glances.

Gandalf marvelled at the size of the Hobbit landing in his lap. Frodo 
had grown no taller, of course. And his face was eerily the same as 
when he was in his tweens, as Gandalf saw him last, even if the heart 
melting childishness of his looks had transformed into a wholesome 
handsomeness. But he was much heavier and felt denser in Gandalf's 
arms. He felt the firmness of Frodo's stomach soon enough as he set 
the Hobbit down beside him. Even though he did not mean to, his hand 
seemed to naturally stray onto Frodo's person. Frodo stayed where he 
was put, with one hand wound about the side to keep from toppling out 
of the man sized carriage, he began to ask questions. 

Such a strange temperament for a Hobbit, thought Gandalf, he hardly 
fidgets, keeps quite politely on his end of the seats, despite his 
obvious anxiousness for news of the greater world. And a Hobbit who 
wants to know what happens outside of the Shire! Frodo will have to 
be watched, though he gives clear indication that he is much in love 
with Hobbiton, Gandalf could not help but want to keep two eyes 
firmly on Frodo, lest he be swept off to some adventure without 
Gandalf!

"And where are you going, Wizard?" Frodo said, growing bold at last, 
a gleam in his eyes that mad Gandalf wary, for here was Hobbit 
cunning at work. 

"To your Uncle Bilbo's house, where else?" Gandalf answered, guiding 
the coach through the green countryside. 

"You mean my house," Frodo took over the reins from Gandalf's, whose 
fingers were stiff with reluctance. "There's my name on the post box, 
too."

"Vulgar little Hobbit," Gandalf wrestled the reins back from Frodo's 
hands. "I should speak to Bilbo and caution him against leaving his 
inheritance to such a young upstart."

"Say what you like, Bilbo is quite sold on me," and a shadow passed 
through Frodo's eyes, like a cloud over a deep pond, which disturbed 
Gandalf's heart. "He would leave me with all his treasures, but 
refuse persistently to let me go with him."

And the Hobbit looked so sullen and lost at the future that Gandalf's 
brows raised into a sympathetic frown. Gently, he gave over the 
leather tether and willow stick to Frodo, for he knew Frodo loved 
driving his buggy and sought to comfort him in what small ways he 
could. 

"Sometimes, my dear Hobbit, we will disregard the ones we love, in 
order to love them better, at a distance," said Gandalf, thinking 
upon his own recent reluctance to visit the Shire. He felt as if the 
dust of the wider world clung to his robe front and he sullied the 
Shire with his presence, or brought it unfavourable fortune. Yet, it 
was only here amidst the Hobbits, that Gandalf could find respite 
from his journeys and worries. Gandalf thought of the tales of the 
giants of old, who to remain invincible left their hearts buried 
beneath ancient wells and lived far away from the organ that gave 
them life. He might have to ask Samwise Gamgee to go digging in Bags 
End and demand loudly for the return of his own heart. 

Frodo of course could not guess the hopeless affection Gandalf felt 
for them and was hardly soothed by the sentiment Gandalf spoke. A 
rare angry grimace flashed over his face. "That is exactly the sort 
of thing I should expect you to say. Bad riddles. With nary a laugh 
in them!"

Quite affronted by that, Gandalf glared at Frodo. "Well, if you think 
so poorly of my conversation, I'm sure I can find my own way to Bags 
End. Or would you tell me the burrow sprouted arms and dug itself to 
a new home, in the middle of the night? As Hobbits are wont to do, 
when an unwelcome guest arrives."

Frodo looked at Gandalf with an attempt to slit his huge eyes to make 
them look mean. But he seemed so much like a rabbit trying to menace 
a wolf, that already, in his heart, Gandalf forgave Frodo his remark. 
There is more behind this patchy dialogue, Frodo seemed determined to 
catch meaning in the murk and bring it to Gandalf's attention. And 
just what is this preoccupation with Gandalf's comings and goings? 
Gandalf thought beautiful young Hobbits would have had better things 
to do! 

"I'm not a liar, if that's what you imply with that mean line about 
Hobbits," Frodo said, but his voice was not harsh, he sounded quiet 
and sorry. "Most Hobbits keep faith with their promises, unlike 
Wizards I've known, who play with words, like dwarves with metal."

"You know *a* Wizard, and I'm not the best example of my fellows," 
Gandalf smiled with some confusion, Frodo was using an odd tone with 
him, a high lilting accent like he'd been spurned. This, Gandalf did 
not like, Frodo cannot know Gandalf's feelings, he cannot know the 
reason why Gandalf abandoned the Shire for the quest of finding 
Gollum, tramping around the wilderness with Strider for 
indeterminable lengths. "Wha is this about? I came as soon as I 
could."

"You said you would visit every year," Frodo cried and cringed at how 
like a wail his complaint was. But that is no surprise, his heart 
hurt from all the waiting he'd had to do, and the doubts he'd had to 
answer for himself. "But for nine years you did not! And when Bilbo 
sent you the invitation to his elventy-first, you did not reply until 
the sixth letter. Then you wrote that you would come presently, soon 
as pressing business is completed. So I hoped through the months and 
weeks, and you, foiling all my plans, turn up at the very last eve 
before Biblo's Party!" 

Gandalf was silent for a while, thinking, then blinking, he looked to 
Frodo and his voice was warm. "I would that I were here with you and 
Bilbo all that time I was away, if I could. Tell me of those grand 
schemes you've plotted, what did they entail, Frodo?"

"Hide and Seek, in the short woods, that would have you lost for 
hours and the Hobbit children giggling loudly in the shrubs." Frodo 
gave a rather watery smile. "Picnics by the river where Bilbo could 
fail to catch fish and you fail to cook it bland. Napping in the 
afternoons, when you and Bilbo smoke such a lot of weed that the 
house looks a misty mountain at dawn. Storytelling at Dinner and 
Supper, veering for Merry and Pippin's woos and ahhs."

"I did not know, Frodo," Gandalf was inspired full of tender 
feelings. "That you missed me so. Or I would have put down the most 
urgent tasks and come to be with you." This Gandalf said in all 
honesty, for the answer to all his questions had been answered 
implicitly in Frodo's short account of his fondest wishes for them. 

Frodo seemed shocked by that. He began to mutter nervously under his 
breath. ". . . seasoned fox . . . shan't let him know . . . teased 
forever. . ."

"What was that my dear Frodo?" 

Frodo shot a dirty look at Gandalf and said, much too loudly: ". . . 
I wasn't pining after you!"

Gandalf's shoulders began to shake violently, for a moment his beard 
caught the shine off the ripples in the river and plated his entire 
person in merry silver, as he laughed. "I wouldn't dare suggest such 
a thing."

"You needn't say a word, Gandalf," Frodo grumbled. "You know that you 
are my very favourite, besides Bilbo. I made a pest of myself, 
begging him to repeat the invitations to you. Enduring Bilbo's 
jealousy, he always says 'Aren't I good enough company for you, 
favourite nephew? What do you want with that wandering Wizard. Please 
let me be your favourite, and tell me all your secrets. And even 
though, you've missed my birthdays in succession, yet each time I see 
you, you never let me get away before you know every dream in my 
head." 

"Do you feel that I pry into your affairs too much, Frodo?" Gandalf 
said as the horse slowed down and was still sitting, chin in his hand 
as they came to a stop before Bags End. Frodo loved him, to be sure. 
But just what kind of love is it? And worse yet, why did Gandalf feel 
such a panic of desire to know precisely the nature of Frodo's mute 
longing of Gandalf's company. 

Frodo sighed at the sight of Gandalf posing as a statue, and jumped 
off to start hurling the luggage. 

"You've done it to him again, Frodo," Bilbo called out as he came out 
of the burrow, follow by Sam, who quickly went to help Frodo. "He'll 
be stuck like that for hours."

"I'll go ready his room," Frodo said rather quietly and walked away 
with Sam, heading for the back.

"Hail, Gandalf," Bilbo said with a sneaky grin, in a very sarcastic 
manner. "How are you my dearest Bilbo? I am well Gandalf. How are 
you? Why Gandalf you're as lively to talk to as the Town Hall!"

Gandalf shook himself out of his revelry, feeling far sheepish for 
losing himself in thoughts about Frodo (Frodo!), followed Bilbo into 
the burrow, managing to say, regularly, 'no, thank you' to the 
numerous offerings of food.

"But Gandalf!" Bilbo set the teapot down with a clatter. "You must 
eat presently, for it is Lunch."

With a start, Gandalf eyed the sun through the windows and though he 
dreaded to pronounce it, saw that the shadows were directly beneath 
the trees. He ought not have rushed the ride and interrupted a Hobbit 
Lunch, he had been too hasty in getting away from Frodo's oddly 
intense accusations of faithlessness. And now he was ensnared, for on 
precisely the word Lunch, Merry and Pippin rushed into the kitchen. 

They came in, brandishing cutlery and plates, lifting the chains of 
spoons, not keys, from their belts and sat down, one on each side of 
Gandalf. And even before Hobbit buttocks touched wooden bench, 
Gandalf felt a dizzy spell coming up at the prospect of sitting 
between these two. Sam came to the table with trays full of food, 
cheese sandwiches, vegetable soup, cold ham and jelly meats, goblets 
of ginger ale and chilled juice. Slurping milk and grabbing at cakes, 
when Hobbit mouths were full they began to speak.

"Good to see you, Gandalf!" Gandalf made out through the mashed 
potatoes in Merry's mouth.

"We missed you, Gandalf!" might have been what Pippin meant behind 
his Coleslaw. 

"Where is Mr. Frodo?" asked Sam, when he finished loading the table 
and sat down beside Bilbo. "He's not skipping Lunch again, is he, 
that's not healthy!"

That got Gandalf's attention.

"Skipping Lunch," Bilbo shook his head, wrangling a bread roll. "When 
word of this gets out, he'll be known as the queerest Hobbit in 
Hobbiton. Alas, there goes another bit of my old glory."

"I won't tell anybody, Mr Baggins!" Sam nodded earnestly, passing a 
big knob of butter to Bilbo on the tip of his knife. "Mr Frodo must 
have his reasons."

"I wonder," Gandalf drank the last spoonful of his soup. "Did you 
know, he asked me for a birthday present in the letter enclosed with 
your invitation?"

Bilbo shrugged. "If I were one of those Hobbits set in their ways, 
I'd say it was preposterous, asking for a present on his birthday. 
But I am not. So who am I to judge? But it is odd. Ah, how I love 
Frodo, he is always so . . . surprising!" 

"You dolt on him," Gandalf, pushed his plate (full of fruit) to his 
left (for Pippin to grab) and his bowl (of honeyed cream) to his 
right (for Merry to lick off his fingers) and lit a pipe. 

"Whenever I can," Bilbo was not in the least troubled. "He's a good 
scholar and does his chores willingly, helps me write out my chapters 
and even balances my books. Never runs around 'picking up stray 
vegetables' with these two (Bilbo pinches Merry and Pippin, who 
would've complained but Mr Baggins kept such a good table, their 
mouths were stuffed) and even helps out Sam around the estate. 
Truthfully, I rather enjoy his 'moods'."

"It must take a Baggins, to appreciate another," Gandalf puffed, Sam 
squicked when he looked over his cob of corn and saw the smoke float 
over Gandalf's head, in the shape of question marks, Bilbo laughed, 
spraying some crumbs.

"Well, I'm done," Gandalf stood up when his pipe was finished, and 
looked out the windows again. "It is now 1 o'clock, so I guess 
that'll give me two more hours before Lunch ends."

"Then, I'm afraid we won't be able to talk until Tea. I'll need a nap 
after Lunch," Bilbo patted his hand. "Are you sure you don't want to 
stay for the rest of Lunch?"

"I'm quite full, and as I recall, last time I tried a full Hobbit 
Lunch I quite embarrassed myself afterwards," said Gandalf, 
remembering the cramps, the stupor and the final degradation of 
emptying his stomach in a flowerbox. "I'll just go unpack in my room."

"Mr Frodo is there, would you take him, um, pie, that is, if you 
like, Master Gandalf, please?" Sam asked tentatively, Gandalf smiled 
at him and took the proffered plate. 

Frodo was busily arranging a milk jug full of daisies on the bedside 
table when Gandalf stepped in. He came up and took Gandalf's staff 
and cloak for the closets, then without comment, began to sweep the 
floor. Gandalf watched him move the dirt around the dirt packed floor 
for a while. Noticing now how slender limbed Frodo was for a Hobbit, 
and the ruddiness on his full cheeks. 

"Why do you want to be a Man, Frodo?" Gandalf said suddenly, as he 
sat down on the bed, the only place in the small hole where he could 
perch.

Frodo dropped the broom with a yelp and turned startled eyes on 
Gandalf, they were especially bright, like the sky after a hard rain, 
he'd been weeping.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Frodo turned his face out 
the window, crossing his arms over his chest. 

"Bilbo told me you've been skipping Lunch," Gandalf said evenly. 

"I, um," Frodo lowered his head guiltily, his dark brown curls 
dropped over his neck and chin. 

"And you asked this of me," Gandalf took out a small package from his 
cloak. The parcel was covered in crimson paper and tied with green 
ribbons of silk, Frodo's eyes widened as he saw the beautiful 
present. 

"Well, come and unwrap it," Gandalf patted the mattress. 

Frodo needed no more urging, he clambered up the bed, which Bilbo had 
ordered long ago especially for the times when Gandalf visited, and 
scooted close, eyeing the gift and biting his bottom lip between his 
teeth. Frodo looked up to check Gandalf's face, the Wizard looked 
neither happy or upset, just a neutral expression as he handed Frodo 
the rustling parcel.

"It is very fine," Frodo said in a whisper as he touched the neat 
bows, savouring. "Thank you Gandalf."

Gandalf let out a weak breath and patted Frodo's curls. "You are very 
welcome, Frodo."

With infinite care and patience, Frodo untied the ribbons and pulled 
away the wrapping, his breath caught when he saw the pair of 
embroidered slippers. Dainty silvery things, that looked as if they 
were spun from cobwebs and dew, decorated with a pattern of coral and 
shells. 

"Made by the Elves who dwell near the sea before the wind turns 
favourable for sailing West," Gandalf told him. "Soft and silky 
enough even for Hobbit feet that had never been clothed before. Do 
you like them?"

Frodo dropped his eyes and stared at the shoes in his lap. "Yes, I 
suppose. They are very pretty."

Gandalf drew back, gloom clouded his face, making the generous 
features look sharp. "You don't like them."

"I . . ." Frodo reached out for the Wizard's robe sleeve, tugging to 
appease him. "I asked for your Mathom. Say, a pair of your boots."

And Frodo looked at Gandalf's feet with a burning hunger in his eyes. 

"But why?" Gandalf felt the urge to tuck his feet out of sight. 

"Because, I wanted a token from you!" passion over came misery and 
Frodo blurted out the truth. "I wanted those awful leather prisons 
that have travelled with you. Those sacks of heels and laces, in 
which you tread through Middle-Earth and beyond. The boots you walk 
away from me in!"

"Frodo, for shame!" Gandalf retreated on shuffling feet and elbows as 
Frodo stood up on the mattress and menaced upon him. 

"I wanted the intimate articles of Gandalf the Grey, so I can slip my 
Hobbit feet in your manly encasing and be with you, when you are off 
on your adventures with nary a thought for a foolish love-mad 
Hobbit," Frodo clutched the neck of Gandalf's robe, blue eyes a-
blazing, with such bravery it shook Gandalf.

Frodo peered steadfast into the Wizard's eyes, feeling so daring that 
the crazed hammering of his heart felt like but a battle drum urging 
him on. And although he expected the most considerate refusal ever 
uttered in Middle-Earth and his stomach already rebelled with nausea 
at the pain of heartbreak, all Frodo could think of was how close 
he'd taken himself to Gandalf's face, the nearness of the Wizard's 
mouth and the trembling in his lower-tummy. Frodo breathed deeply 
through his nose and surged forward.

"Blisters," Gandalf hissed the word like a warding charm, his eyes 
squeezed shut, his hands tight fists by his side. 

Frodo froze. 

"Painful cuts, bleeding scrapes, blisters that rise with bubbles of 
puss, cracked heels and ugly dry skin on the side of your smallest 
toes," Gandalf listed blindly. "Shoes are infinitely unsuitable for 
Hobbits, you'd scarce get out the door before your calves cramp and 
you twist your ankles. Then Bilbo will chase me around waving his 
Sting, for giving ever an inappropriate gift to his beloved 
successor."

Gandalf knew he ought to be relieved when he felt Frodo's hands slip 
away from his torso and heard the springs of the bed creak as Frodo 
slipped off the bed, but he felt such a loss deep in his chest. And 
the small sigh Frodo heaved made his regret swell to high tide. 

"You can open your eyes now," Frodo said. 

But Gandalf did not want to, for he wanted to keep the vision he saw 
last, the intense look on Frodo's face, brows knitted as he professed 
his love. Gandalf knew, soon as he opened his eyes, he will see a new 
Frodo, one who would never look at him like a minute ago again, a 
Frodo who would never again ask him for anything, least of all the 
returning of love.

Gandalf felt something slither out from under his lashes, and though 
the tears quickly disappeared into his beard, he snapped opened his 
eyes, horrified. And then he did see Frodo, who was standing by the 
door, as if waiting politely to say 'good-bye, see you at Tea'.

"Please, Frodo," I'm sorry, don't go. "Have some pie with me?"

Gandalf paused, even being one of the Wise, sometimes he said the 
stupidest things!

"Okay," Frodo nodded, before Gandalf could take back the silly 
invitation. 

They sat, a foot of space between them, on the bed Frodo had just 
newly sheeted and ate lamb pie, getting flaky pastry onto the 
pillows. 

"I don't like you fasting," Gandalf said, sneaking a look at Frodo 
from the corner of his eyes. "Hobbits are handsome creatures when 
they are a little round."

"It's not that," Frodo gave a faint smile. "I just find not gorging 
myself at midday helps me with the numbers in the afternoon when I 
see to Uncle Bilbo's finances, they are rather tricky."

"Oh," Gandalf's cheeks heated a little.

"I didn't do it out of vain hopes of pleasing you, or anything," 
Frodo winked. 

Gandalf found his mouthful hard to swallow. He let Frodo finish the 
pie and told him that he was a little tired from his journey and 
wanted a little rest. Frodo helped brush the crumbs from the bed, 
when his hand touched the abandoned Elven slippers, he hesitated. 

"Please take it, Happy Coming of Age, Frodo," Gandalf said into his 
pillow, lying down on the bed with his back to Frodo. 

He heard the sound of paper and silk, Frodo picking up the present. 

"Thank you Gandalf," Frodo walked around the bed so that Gandalf 
could see, through a half opened eye, Frodo's hands clasping firmly 
onto the slippers, the sight made Gandalf wretched with longing. 

"And because it is a habit for Hobbits to give presents on their 
birthdays," said Frodo. "This I had prepared for you, for some time."

And Frodo bent down and kissed Gandalf, rubbing his lips over the 
Wizard's mouth, swiping with tongue and biting delicately with teeth. 
And Gandalf opened his own mouth, because whilst it is only impolite 
to refuse to give a present to a Hobbit, one must never ever refuse a 
present from a Hobbit, on their birthday, especially when it is twice 
given.

The End 

Hobbits