Malphegor
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LOTR: TMCP Ch. 330
🕑 Added 2025-11-06 02:03:16 +0000 UTCKnock, knock, knock...
Gandalf raised his staff and tapped the door of Bag End with its tip.
From inside came a tense voice:
"No thank you! We do not want any more visitors, well-wishers, or distant relations!"
He shook his head helplessly.
It seemed this fellow had been bothered quite a bit lately.
"And what about very old friends?"
Creak.
The door opened immediately.
"Gandalf!"
"My dear Gandalf..."
Bilbo rushed forward to embrace him.
"It is so good to see you," he said, glancing behind Gandalf as he spoke.
"Do not bother looking. Garrett is probably still on the road."
"Oh, very well." Bilbo withdrew his gaze, looking a bit disappointed.
"I can hardly believe it, Bilbo."
Gandalf bent down, resting his hands on Bilbo's shoulders, and said with genuine emotion:
"One hundred and eleven years old, and you have not aged a day..."
The Old Took had not looked like this at such an age.
He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully.
There were many things in this world that could keep a person young, that could extend their life.
For example, a certain Ring of Power.
But which one could it be?
"Well, do not just stand there. Come in, Gandalf!"
Bilbo made a welcoming gesture and led Gandalf through the door.
"Forgive me, I thought you would be coming last week. I have not really prepared much food today, just some chicken and pickles. Or perhaps I could open a bottle of my finest wine? It is older than I am, you know..."
As he spoke, he began bustling about the smial.
Gandalf, meanwhile, sat down at the table.
There was an old map spread out before him, indeed quite old. It was the very map they had used on the quest to Erebor, now rather outdated.
It was covered with notes and markings, most of them concerning the Free Cities.
Looking at this manually updated map, he suddenly asked, "So, you are ready?"
Bilbo's movements stopped.
"Yes, I am ready. I long for the world outside. I dream of seeing it again: the magnificent mountains and rivers... I am old now."
While pouring tea for Gandalf, he continued, "There is a strange feeling. I do not look old, younger even than some folk of seventy, but only I can feel it... I feel thin, sort of stretched, like butter scraped over too much bread."
As Bilbo spoke, Gandalf's expression grew serious.
Knock, knock, knock...
While the two were talking, the door sounded again.
"And who might that be this time?"
Gandalf came back to himself, glanced at the door, and said, "I would wager it is the one you were hoping to see."
"Oh, welcome, welcome! I have been waiting for you so long, Garrett! If you had not come soon, I would have started to doubt whether my letter ever reached you. Come, sit down. The water has just boiled, I shall make you some fresh tea."
"Then I shall trouble you for it."
"No, no, no, not a bother at all," Bilbo said quickly, waving his hand as he bustled off toward the kitchen to find some tea and biscuits.
"It seems I made it just in time?"
At the small table, Garrett sat down beside Gandalf.
"Yes, just in time."
Gandalf smiled.
And so, the three old friends gathered around the little table, enjoying their afternoon tea together.
After Bilbo had properly entertained Gandalf and Garrett, evening arrived.
He excused himself first, going off to oversee the preparations for the upcoming party.
Seizing the moment, Gandalf turned to Garrett and revealed everything he had discovered that day.
"Stretched."
That was the word he used.
"The Rings of Power do not truly extend life. Just as the Nine Kings of Men who once bore them, they seemed to live longer than ordinary folk, but their lifespans were not extended. They were stretched unnaturally by the Ring's power. That is also why their strength faded over time. Their souls became thin and frail, stretched so much they could no longer sustain the power they once held."
"That does not sound like a blessing," Garrett said, shaking his head.
"No," Gandalf agreed grimly. "Far from it. I must speak with Bilbo about this matter."
He made up his mind.
"Gandalf! Garrett! Do not just sit there. The party is starting!"
"Ah, quite right."
Their discussion was interrupted, and under Bilbo's cheerful call, the two joined the lively festivities.
The party was extraordinarily grand, as Bilbo had promised, the most magnificent and bustling celebration ever seen in the Shire. And its host was remarkably generous. He had prepared gifts for everyone, everyone except the Sackville-Bagginses.
That night, joy filled the air.
Young Hobbit lads and lasses danced merrily on the grass. Gandalf lit bundle after bundle of fireworks, occasionally adding a touch of magic to conjure little creatures made of flame and smoke to amuse the children.
Frodo urged his friend Sam to go and dance with the one he fancied. Old Bilbo, full of energy, told his fantastic stories, while the children around him stared wide-eyed in amazement and wonder.
Then, in a quiet corner unnoticed by most, two mischievous figures accidentally set a tent alight. From it burst a massive dragon-shaped firework, but something went wrong. The fiery dragon veered off course and nearly exploded in the middle of the party, almost causing disaster.
Fortunately, everything ended well.
When the firework dragon soared harmlessly into the sky, two soot-blackened young Hobbits lay laughing on the ground where it had been launched, until Gandalf caught them by the ears.
"Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took, I might have known..."
And so, the two pitiful Hobbits were sentenced to washing dishes for the rest of the night.
Everything proceeded smoothly and joyfully, until the height of the celebration.
Bilbo stood upon the platform, giving a speech, greeting guests and families one by one. But halfway through his speech, he suddenly vanished, leaving the crowd gasping in astonishment.
"A fine little trick," said a voice suddenly inside Bag End, startling Bilbo.
"Goodness! You frightened me. If that was intentional, I must admit, your jest worked rather well."
"I appreciate the compliment."
Garrett leaned against the doorframe, watching as Bilbo stuffed things into his travel pack and left a letter by the fireplace.
There was a thoughtful look in his eyes.
"This is not the right way, Bilbo. Not amusing at all."
Just as Bilbo finished packing, another voice came from the doorway.
Gandalf.
He and Garrett exchanged glances, a silent understanding passing between them.
"Ah, Gandalf," Bilbo greeted his old friend, then protested, "Not amusing? Nonsense! Did you not see their faces? Their reactions were priceless!"
He still did not realize how serious things had become.
"Bilbo, there are many magic rings in the world, but none of them should be used lightly," said Gandalf, who had only recently used the Ring of Fire to delight children with fireworks.
After warning Bilbo, he turned to Garrett.
"You knew about this all along, did you not?"
Garrett shrugged.
"Yes. Long ago. I even tried to destroy it, several times. But it proved impossible."
At that, Gandalf was still processing the meaning, but Bilbo panicked first.
"Destroy it? No, no, no! You must not, Garrett! I love that Ring. It is so beautiful, is it not? And besides, it is mine. Mine by right. I am going to leave it to Frodo anyway."
So it had come to this.
Looking at Bilbo, whose expression was clouded with possessive obsession, Garrett sighed and offered him a bucket of milk.
It was time to deal with the Ring.
