Chapter 365: Frodo
Frodo stared, wide‑eyed, at the first arrival, the beautiful young Elf Elthir, and then at Kael and Elroth stepping out behind him, utterly taken aback.
He had heard Bilbo speak of Kael's deeds many times and had always been deeply impressed, but until today, he had never had the chance to see the wizard‑lord with his own eyes.
Now, at their first meeting, the sight of Kael's youthful, handsome face and the effortless mix of grace, mystery, and authority in his bearing made it easy to match him with the figure in Frodo's mind, the wizard who had tamed a dragon and ruled a land of magic.
The half‑Elven twins beside him carried the same noble grace. Their features, too, held a clear resemblance to Kael's.
As if feeling Frodo's gaze, Kael turned from his conversation with Bilbo and met the young Hobbit's eyes, his own softening into a gentle smile.
"You must be Frodo," he said. "I held you in my arms when you were little. I did not expect you to grow into such a fine young fellow so quickly."
He regarded Frodo with the kindly look of an elder for a younger kinsman, then drew a small gift box from his cloak.
"This is a little present for you. I hope it suits you."
"Th… thank you, Uncle Kael," Frodo said. At Bilbo's encouraging nod, he accepted the box.
In truth, every year on his birthday, Frodo had received a gift sent by Kael, though chance and circumstance had always kept them from meeting.
They were not strangers, not entirely.
Frodo's parents had died when he was fifteen, drowned in a boating accident on the Brandywine. For several years after that, his mother's Brandybuck kin had cared for him, until, at twenty‑one, he was adopted by Bilbo as heir and brought to live at Bag End.
He opened the box to find a brooch shaped like a leaf of the White Tree.
"This brooch is enchanted," Kael said with a smile. "If you're ever in danger, it will help protect you."
As he spoke, his feelings were mixed.
It was hard to match this shy young Hobbit before him with the destined bearer of the One Ring, the one fated to be at the heart of its Great Saga, burdened with destroying it and bringing Sauron down.
Though he had not come in person these past years, Kael had always kept watch over Frodo's life.
By the old tale, Frodo's parents should have died when he was twelve.
Knowing the shape of fate, Kael had refused to simply stand aside. He could not endure to see Frodo orphaned so young, and Drogo Baggins had been his friend.
Unable to recall the exact day Drogo and his wife were meant to perish, Kael had sent them a protective charm in advance, hoping to divert the doom.
It worked, at first. The couple survived the accident that should have drowned them and lived on until Frodo's fifteenth year.
But perhaps fate had already written its decision, or perhaps Mandos had called too strongly.
Drogo and his wife still could not escape death in the end. They drowned again in the Brandywine.
Frodo's mother, Primula Brandybuck, was the daughter of the head of the Brandybuck family. After his parents' deaths, his grandfather took him back into the family hall and raised him there with his cousins Merry Brandybuck and Pippin Took.
Bilbo Baggins had never married and had no heir. Though Kael had given him the Elixir of Immortality and he could have gone on living indefinitely, Bilbo was easily satisfied. He had no desire to cling to the world forever. He had decided that, when he felt he had lived enough, he would stop drinking the potion, grow old, and pass on in peace.
He was determined that his grasping cousin and the cousin's wife would not get their hands on Bag End and its contents.
So he resolved to choose his own heir.
His eye fell on Frodo, parentless and alone. Over several years, Bilbo patiently proved his sincerity to the Brandybucks and at last won both their permission and Frodo's own consent to become his guardian.
Through those same decades, Middle-earth had known an uneasy peace. Mordor's forces lay still, making no move to expand.
Kael spent most of his days at Hogwarts, deep in meditation and research.
Yet in recent years, he had felt the great wheel of fate begin to turn again.
Gandalf's frequent visits to the Shire, and especially to Bag End, had made it clear that the wizard had reached some inner decision.
Mordor itself remained quiet, as if its master had drawn in his shadow.
But the One Ring, left for safekeeping with Tom Bombadil in the Old Forest, had grown stronger and more restless, whispering ever more loudly for its master.
Its dark power swelled. Tom and his wife Goldberry, were untouched by its allure, but even so, keeping such a thing close was like storing a piece of poisoned, glowing waste in one's home.
It could not hurt them, but it offended every sense.
No one, after all, wished to live with a reeking pile of filth on the hearth.
Had he not already given his word to guard it, and had Goldberry not soothed him, Tom Bombadil would long since have thrown the Ring away, rather than let it foul his house and forest.
Even so, every time Kael or Gandalf visited, Tom grumbled and asked when they meant to take it back.
As the Ring woke and grew in strength, its link to Sauron would only tighten, until even Tom could no longer keep it in check.
At the same time, its growing power was a sure sign that Sauron's own strength had risen again.
Sooner or later, once he felt the Ring clearly, Sauron would stop at nothing to reclaim it.
Tom did not belong to any side in the struggles of Middle-earth. Kael and Gandalf would not drag him into war.
They had long been debating what should be done with the One Ring, and whether it might be possible to dispose of it properly, even destroy it, before Sauron and his work were fully joined again.
There was only one problem: none of the great ones—Galadriel, Gandalf, or Kael himself—dared touch the Ring, or even go too near it.
Only Hobbits, with their strange resilience, could offer any real resistance to its pull.
Only among them could a Ring‑bearer be found.
But most Hobbits lacked any taste for adventure at all.
Those from families like the Tooks and the Brandybucks had bold hearts, but they were too impulsive, too quick to act without thought.
Bilbo was different. His blood carried both strains: his mother from the adventurous Tooks, his father from the steady, comfort‑loving Bagginses.
Together, they had made him the rarest of things—courageous enough to leave his door, but not so hot‑headed as to forget reason once on the road.
That balance was what made him the perfect bearer for the One Ring.
For a long time, Bilbo had been the only true choice.
But having torn himself free of the Ring by sheer will, he had no wish to touch it again. He could not promise that his strength would hold a second time.
Neither Gandalf nor Kael would force such a burden on him again.
Then Frodo came of age, and Gandalf saw new hope.