Bilbo was sitting on the edge of his little bed.  In the past few months he seemed to have aged a hundred years and his skin was as thin and parchment-like as one of his old maps on the wall at Bag End.  His whole face lit up like a Hallowe’en lantern when he caught sight of the younger hobbit.

“Frodo my boy, it is good to see you!  How have you been keeping?  You look well!  So tall and handsome!  And of course, you have your mother’s eyes…I always said as much.  But how are you?  Sit down, sit down!”

“You seem changed, Bilbo.  Are they looking after you all right?  I gather they told you why I’m here?”

“Oh yes, they told me.  Fancy that lovely ornament of mine causing all this bother!  I never did know why I brought it back.  Just liked the look of it, I suppose.”

“Would you like to look at it now?”

Frodo removed the egg from its bag and held it out to the elderly hobbit.  Bilbo’s eyes glittered strangely.

“I - I think I had better not.  I feel a strange yearning for buttered soldiers….please, put it away.”

Frodo’s eyes widened in amazement.   Yes!  He could feel it too.  How very odd!  Despite having recently eaten the most enormous meal of his thirty-three years he could just fancy a couple of fried eggs, sunny side up!  He shoved the thing away quickly.  Clearly it wanted to be eaten.  But no.  Wait.  Wasn't it more likely that whatever lurked within had woken up and now needed help getting out?  If it decides to hatch while I'm asleep, he thought, it will almost certainly eat me.  He shuddered and his face blanched.

There was but one consolation - after tomorrow's council meeting the onus would no longer be on him alone to carry this burden.  With luck, it might be taken from him altogether...

*     *     *     *     *

Meanwhile…

After parting from the hobbits outside the village of Bree, Gandalf had hot-footed it back to the Shire as quickly as possible.   A most terrible thought had taken hold inside his wizard’s brain and would not let go.

What if…?

But no…….  Surely not.   They wouldn’t  - would they?

But arriving back at Bagshot Row, the old gaffer informed him that oh yes, they most certainly had.

What, you may well ask, was this new terror, this devilment?  Had egg-wraiths reached the shire on their dark horses, were they even now patrolling its borders, or worse still, had they got as far as the Brandywine?  Or had they, (horror of horrors!), crossed the river itself?  Could they have made it to Hobbiton, drawn by the lure of the One Egg?

Upon reaching Bag End Gandalf quickly circled the premises, his footsteps making scarcely a sound on the damp grass.  He sniffed the air a couple of times and peered through one of the side windows.  He rubbed his nose thoughtfully.  So.  It was just as he suspected.  He strode around to the front of the dwelling and this time rapped smartly on the little round door with his staff.  When there was no answer, he rapped again more loudly.  Peering through the letter box, his eyes narrowed as he surveyed the disorder within.

“Open up in the name of the Secret Fire! ”

There was a splintering sound followed by an ear-splitting crash as the heavy oak door fell inwards, raising an enormous cloud of dust.

"Well,well, well...  if it isn't young Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrine Took.  I see you’ve been keeping house for Frodo in his absence.   I do not think he would be very impressed with your housekeeping, nor expect to find his cupboards quite so bare".

“We were just keeping an eye on the place,” said Merry quickly, around a mouthful of food. “weren’t we, Pip? ….. Pippin?!”

The foolish Took said nothing, just stood there with his mouth gaping, guilt etched all over his silly, young face.

“I am glad to hear it” replied Gandalf gravely,  “You have made a most excellent job of clearing out the pantry cupboards, I see.”

“Why, thank you Gandalf!” exclaimed the Took, who had found his voice at last yet did not understand irony,  “and how is young Frodo Baggins?”

“Frodo Baggins is as well as can be expected, under the circumstances.  He needs your aid.   Will you give it him?”

Pippin and Meriadoc looked at one another, then back at Gandalf.  They nodded vigorously and in unison.

"Hic!" said the Took.

“Precisely.  I believe we may be short of a couple of volunteers and you two will do nicely.  Come along!  I've an eagle parked outside, and he's not cheap.”
 

*     *     *     *     *

It was late morning when Frodo awoke from a deep, refreshing sleep, the like of which he had not known for some weeks.  His hair was spread out in dark ringlets on the pillow and the bloom was restored to his cheeks.  His dream-widened eyes were clear and untroubled, for in his sleep he had returned to the fields and woods of his boyhood.  Now, as he sat up and breathed deeply of the fragrant air, there came a gentle tapping at the door.

“Are you awake, Mr Frodo?  Its me, Sam”

“Come in!”

Sam tip-toed across to his master’s bedside and set down a breakfast tray.   There was a pot of tea, a rack of toast and a generous pat of butter.  It was made from the milk of elvish cows and is especially fine for they graze on mallos flowers the whole Summer long.  In addition, there were half a dozen kinds of jam and some sprigs of a strange herb, which Sam identified as ‘athelas’

“I’m afraid they don’t go for much in the way of fry-ups here,” explained Sam, apologetically.

Frodo smiled. “This will do very well indeed.  Why don’t you join me, Sam?  We will share the same cup and plate if needs be.”

Sam looked doubtful.

“Come now, Sam, I insist.   Which is it to be, ordinary tea or herbal  tea?”

Can you guess which Sam chose?  He was, after all, an expert in his field.

“Begging your pardon, Mr Frodo only I couldn’t help but notice.   These here elves, for all that they’re fairer and cleverer and better than you and me at most things, well, I reckons I could still learn 'em a thing or two when it comes to making tea.  For instance, there’s tea and there’s tea.  There’s tea that smells and tastes of all different things like leaves and berries and whatnot.  And then there’s tea that’s plain and simple and just tastes of…well…tea.  And the plain, simple, ordinary kind is all the better for it if you take my meaning, and no offence meant neither.”

"That applies to more than just tea" replied Frodo thoughtfully, as he looked across at Sam.

“Ordinary it is then!” he added and began to pour.

*     *     *     *     *

“We are gathered here today to decide the fate of Middle Earth” intoned Elrond to the gathered assembly of elves, dwarves, and men.  “Once again our future hangs in the balance.   Frodo.  Please … the egg.”

Frodo handed it over reluctantly for he was all too aware of its hold upon him.  I should be glad to get rid of the wretched thing, he thought quietly, and yet…

He watched silently as Elrond placed the curious object ceremoniously on a small glass pedestal.

“Free peoples of Middle Earth," announced the elf-lord with a flourish, "you now gaze upon the bane of all Middle Earth.  Observe! (another flourish), here rests the progeny of Sauron, Dark Lord of Mordor!"

The gathered company recoiled with a collective gasp.

Then, before their startled eyes, the egg commenced to rock on its perch, almost imperceptibly at first, then faster and faster! - until with a loud "crrrr-ack" the glass pedestal shattered into a thousand pieces.   It was most fortunate that nobody was seriously hurt although an especially tall elf, lately arrived from Mirkwood, was observed to turn a lively shade of green.  It 'off-set' his silver-grey travelling attire to a nicety.

“How do we know that this is indeed the One Egg that is spoken of in the old tales?”  demanded a great, handsome, strapping fellow, clad in the raiment of Gondor.

“Hush, Borimir!”  hissed Strider impatiently, “have you not seen enough?  This is it, the very One!  Have you no eyes to see, no ears to hear?  Look and learn, Borimir of Gondor."

“Hmmmm” mused the man called Borimir, scratching his chin thoughtfully, “if this is indeed the One Egg as you say, why might not we use it to our advantage?  As a deterrent against the foes of our people?”

But Strider had turned away and was no longer listening, being busily engaged in cleaning out his fingernails with one of the smaller shards of Narsil.

Borimir sat down and said no more.  But he could not long keep his attention from the egg nor prevent his eyes from flicking towards it every so often.

“There is but one thing to be done…  The egg must be destroyed" boomed Elrond, "and there is only one way that this may be accomplished.  The thing must be fried to a cinder in the bowels of  Mount Doom.  Let the fates decide who, amongst us, shall undertake this task."

There was a swelling of many harps as Elrond passed the egg to the elf on his left who examined it a moment or two, before passing it to the elf on his left.   This elf passed the egg hurriedly to the ferocious-looking dwarf sat next to him who, in his turn, passed it to the famous Gloin who had accompanied Bilbo to the Misty Mountains all those years ago.  Gloin then passed the egg over to his son, Gimlie, who passed it on to yet another dwarf on his left, who then passed it to Frodo - at which point the music suddenly and unaccountably stopped.

"It has been decided!"

"Hoy! Now wait just a minute!" spluttered Sam, indignantly, "no-one said anything about it's being decided by a game of elvish pass-the-parcel!  I won't have it and that's flat!!"

Elrond sighed wearily and turned once more to the company:  “Is there any-one amongst us who will volunteer to do this deed?”

Silence.

To be continued