✓GLITTER AND GOLD⁰ ━ the hobbit

three.

3 | KINGS AND LEGENDS

IF SOMETHING IS BEAUTIFUL, it is dangerous. Take elves, for example. Fair, graceful, slender - physically perfect, but also the most deadly creature living on Middle Earth. They were as deadly as they were stunning, and it was terrifying. 

Places were only beautiful to cover the ugliness below, I had learnt. Beauty was a mask that was used to hide darkness, a shroud over truth. Beauty was a lie, one which had been taught to the elves and the men until they were blinded by it. 

And, apparently, taught to the hobbits of the Shire, too. 

Gandalf smiles, admiring the Shire calmly. I believe that he is a wizard now - I would be a fool to question him. He is an odd wizard, for sure, but a wizard all the same. I can see it in his walk, as he treads the earth so gently, inhumanly. I can see it in his smile; the smile that says : I know more than you will ever know. I can even see it in the way he eyes the Shire - with a strange kind of benevolence, as if he created this place and has looked after it - it is the same way you would look at a plant which you have nurtured and grown once it flowers.

For once, I find myself agreeing with him here, though. The Shire is perhaps the most delightful place I have ever seen. The grass is the purest shade of green, sprouting at the edge of every house until I feel as though I am surrounded in a grassy haze. Flowers frame every hole, bursting with life in shades of violet and magenta, each garden taken care of with meticulous detail. Even the doors are perfectly painted, not a scratch in sight. 

 It's rather nauseating, actually. How can anything be so perfect like this? It's all so boring. 

"Good morning." A voice snaps me out of my reverie, as a young man sitting on a bench gives both Gandalf and I wary looks. He's small, hobbit sized, I suppose, but sits above us, looking down. He seems rather confused, but carries himself with a frown buried on his forehead - it ages him. 

Gandalf would not be Gandalf if he answered questions normally. "Good morning? What do you mean? Do you mean to wish me a good morning, or do you mean it is a good morning whether I want it or not? Or perhaps you mean to say that you feel good on this particular morning. Or are you simply stating that this is a morning to be good on?"

I give Gandalf a wary look, struggling not to laugh at the expression the hobbit in front of us gives him - of the utmost confusion. "All of them at once, I suppose." He says, scratching his chin and his head, his pipe leaving his lips again as a puff of smoke escapes him in a perfectly formed circle. Even the smoke is perfect! What is wrong with this place? "Can I help you?"

"That remains to be seen," Gandalf says, watching the hobbit closely, eyes narrowed.  I begin to feel slightly invisible, just standing there. Should I speak, or hold my tongue? "I'm looking for someone to share in an adventure."

"An- An adventure?" The hobbit is so comically shocked it's a struggle to hold in my giggle, as he begins to walk around, lost for words. His walk is rather powerful for someone so small - he walks like somebody with a purpose. "Now, I don't imagine anyone West of Bree would have much interest in adventures." He sniffs condescendingly. "Nasty, disturbing, uncomfortable things. Make you late for dinner."

"Gandalf," I whisper, nudging his arm. "Are you certain that this is the correct hobbit?" He sends me a glare, deigning to ignore me. I don't care. I proved my point.

"Good morning." The hobbit says again, somehow managing to sound offended. I never knew there was a way to say the words 'good morning' with such contempt. He seems lost for words - I feel a little pity for the poor man. Gandalf does have that effect on people.