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Frodo had begun to move restlessly on the bench. He was biting the stem of his burnt-out pipe, his eyebrows were lowered, and his eyes were narrowed. They had been smoking in silence for some time, he and Gandalf, on a bench outside of the house they had been given for the duration of their stay in Minas Tirith. The hobbits and the wizard would only stay for a few weeks more, but Sam had begun to work on their little garden anyway, and was currently on all fours in a flowerbed, next to Legolas, who took pleasure in helping him.
“Did you know?” Frodo asked suddenly.
Gandalf greatly enjoyed bewildering his hobbit friends with enigmatic, unhelpful answers to their questions, it served them right for being so perplexing themselves, but faced with his own tactics he had to admit that it was very annoying. He gave himself time to blow a great big smoke ring before replying. “No. Or yes. Hard to say really, unless you specify.”
The hobbit sighed in restless frustration. “Oh sorry.” He didn’t sound a bit sorry. “What I mean is, did you really choose Sam to go with me just because he happened to overhear our conversation that morning?”
“Shouldn’t I have?” Gandalf was greatly pleased to be back in his usual role of wise old man who refuses to answer a question straight. He made himself more comfortable on his seat.
“Well it wouldn’t be very clever to hire people for world-in-the-balance adventures based on who you could reach beyond the windowsill at the time.”
He must really be wanting this answer, judging by how rude he was being. Gandalf took on a gentler tone. “Of course I already knew your Sam quite well; I knew that he was trustworthy and loyal, and I knew that he could shoulder such things as you would need on your journey. Unlike you.”
Frodo snorted. “So you knew he would make a fine pack pony?”
“Frodo Baggins, what has gotten into you?” The sharp tone made Legolas and Sam look up from their flowers. Legolas caught the tension in the air and wisely pretended that he had not heard them, but Sam was more reluctant to abandon his Master to potential distress, and even after Legolas had distracted him back to the plants, he was obviously still listening.
Frodo noticed and lowered his voice. “I refuse to believe that there was no more to it. You must have known how important he would be!”
“To the mission or to you?” Gandalf asked, but did not wait for an answer; he had not meant to make Frodo angry. He hurried on. “I had a hunch that your journey would not end in Rivendell, much as I wished it could. I had a hunch that you and he would prove more up to the task given to you than you first appeared. Hobbits are like that, you know. And I had seen …” But was that really his place to reveal.
“What?”
He had seen a gardener lad who was desperately in love. He had seen a light that drove away all shadows from Frodo’s mind as soon as it stood shyly in the door to ask for a story. He had hoped that that light would prove strong enough to battle even the shadow of shadows, for as long as it would take. He had seen hope for a world on the brink of despair.
“To answer your first question: No, I did not know. But I trusted. I trusted my instinct.”
“And what did it tell you?” Frodo had turned to him, and his eyes were wide and pleading; he was tired, here at journey’s end, and he needed to know.
Gandalf bent down towards his companion to make sure the inquisitive gardeners would not hear. “That Sam loves you. And love is the shadow’s greatest foe.”