Three days had passed since Escanor's arrival in the Shire, and Bag End had become the talk of every corner, every garden, and every tavern in Hobbiton. The hobbits, curious by nature despite their love of routine, found the muscular giant who had appeared out of nowhere endlessly fascinating.
Some watched him from a distance, whispering amongst themselves. Others, braver (or more nosy), had tried to visit him with transparent excuses. Escanor received them all with the same dignified courtesy he had shown to Bilbo, which only served to confound them further.
"It's not natural," Uncle Fortinbras had declared in The Green Dragon. "Such a great man being so... polite. He must be planning something."
"Oh, be quiet, Fortinbras," Old Took had replied. "Just because he's different doesn't mean he's dangerous. Remember when everyone said the same thing about young Bilbo after his adventure?"
But on this particular sunny day, while Bilbo was teaching Escanor the basics of hobbit gardening
( something that Escanor found surprisingly relaxing), a very specific visitor arrived at Bag End.
The first sign was a long shadow that fell across the garden. Then, a deep, resonant voice that Escanor felt in his bones before he heard it with his ears:
—Good morning, Bilbo Baggins. I see you've been keeping secrets again.
Bilbo straightened up so quickly that he almost fell backwards into his petunias.
" Gandalf!" she exclaimed , a genuine smile lighting up her face. "I was right, you appeared just when we needed you."
Escanor turned to face the newcomer and had to admit that Bilbo's description had been accurate. The wizard was tall, very tall, though not quite as tall as Escanor. He wore gray robes that had seen better days, and a pointed blue hat sat atop his head. His beard was long and white, his eyebrows thick as bushes, and his eyes...
His eyes were the most remarkable thing about him. Gray as a storm, yet with a depth that spoke of eons of knowledge and experience. And at that moment, those eyes were fixed on Escanor with an intensity that would have made most men flinch.
Escanor simply looked back at him, without blinking.
"So you're the phenomenon the whole Shire is whispering about," said Gandalf, leaning on his staff as he studied Escanor. "I must admit, the rumors don't do him justice. You're... considerable."
"As you are," Escanor replied with his characteristic dignity. "Although in different ways. I am Escanor. Gandalf the Grey, I suppose."
"The same person." Gandalf walked closer, circling Escanor like a professor examining a particularly interesting artifact. "Tell me, Escanor, where exactly do you come from?"
-Don't know.
—Don't you know, or won't you tell?
"I don't know," Escanor repeated, unbothered by the questioning. "I woke up in that field three days ago with no memory of how I got here. I only know my name and... certain abilities."
"Abilities," Gandalf repeated the word slowly, and something in his tone made Escanor slightly wary. "Yes, I have felt... something. From the moment I entered the Shire. A power that shouldn't be here. Warm, bright, like the sun itself captured in mortal form."
Escanor raised an eyebrow, impressed despite himself.
—You have keen senses.
"I have lived a long time and have felt many kinds of power," Gandalf said. "But yours is… unique. It is not Elven magic, nor the sorcery of Mordor, nor even the power of the Istari. It is something else entirely." He stopped in front of Escanor, looking directly into his eyes. "Something that does not belong to this world."
Silence fell over the garden. Even the birds seemed to stop singing. Bilbo looked between the two men with growing nervousness.
" How do you know?" Escanor finally asked, his voice calm but alert.
"Because I have walked Middle-earth for more than two thousand years," Gandalf replied. "And never, not once, have I felt anything like you. Which leads me to wonder: why are you here? Who sent you? And for what purpose ?"
"If I knew the answers to those questions, Gandalf the Grey, I would tell you freely," said Escanor. "But the truth is, I am as much a mystery to myself as I am to you. I only know this: I did not come here to cause harm. Not to the innocent, at least."
—And what about the guilty parties?
"The guilty ones," Escanor smiled, and there was something almost predatory in that smile, "I will burn them until only ashes remain."
Gandalf watched him for a long moment. Then, surprisingly, he smiled too, though more gently.
"That's an honest answer, at least." He turned to Bilbo. "And you, my dear hobbit? Do you trust this stranger?"
Bilbo straightened up, his chin rising with determination.
—Yes. He's been nothing but courteous, polite, and pleasant during the three days he's been here. If he wanted to cause trouble, he'd have had plenty of opportunities.
"Hobbits have good instincts about character," Gandalf murmured. "It's one of the reasons I like them so much." He looked again at Escanor. "Very well. For now, I'll accept your presence here. But
Escanor, you must know this: Middle-earth is in perilous times. A darkness is growing in the East, in Mordor. If you are here, if you possess the power I sense within you, then I dare say your arrival is no coincidence.
"I've felt it too," Escanor admitted. "Like a shadow at the edge of my thoughts. Whatever that darkness is... I think I'll eventually have to face it."
"Eventually," Gandalf agreed. "But not today. Today—" his expression softened—"I think we should have some tea. Bilbo, would you be so kind?"
"Of course," said Bilbo, clearly relieved that the tension had dissipated. "I'll make my best tea. And cakes. Lots of cakes."
As Bilbo ran toward the house, Gandalf sat down on one of the garden benches, gesturing for Escanor to join him. The bench creaked in protest under Escanor's weight, but held.
"Tell me something, Escanor," said Gandalf, taking a pipe from his robes. "Are you happy? Here in the Shire, with no memory of your past and no knowledge of your future."
Escanor considered the question carefully.
"Happy is a strange word. I don't think I'm unhappy. Bilbo has been a good host. This place is quiet, peaceful. But..." She paused. " I feel I don't belong here. Not permanently. There's something else waiting for me, though I don't know what it is."
"Purpose," said Gandalf, lighting his pipe with a snap of his fingers. "We all need purpose. It is what defines us, what shapes us. And yours, I suspect, is considerable."
—What 's yours?
Gandalf laughed, a deep, rich laugh.
—To protest against the darkness. To light up dark places. To cause just trouble for those who would cause unjust trouble. —He exhaled a ring of smoke that drifted lazily into the sky—. And occasionally, to guide certain individuals toward their destinies, whether they like it or not.
—Like you did with Bilbo.
"As I did with Bilbo," Gandalf confirmed. "And as I suspect I will do with you, when the time comes."
—And when will that moment be?
"Ah, that's the question, isn't it?" Gandalf's eyes gleamed with something that could have been amusement or wisdom, or both. "Time will reveal all, Escanor. It always does."
Bilbo returned with a tray of tea and cakes enough to feed ten hobbits, which was roughly the right amount for Escanor alone. They sat there in the garden, in the afternoon sun, and for a moment, all was peace.
"Gandalf," Escanor said after his third cake. "You said you've lived a long time. What do you know about memory? Is it possible my memories will return someday?"
"It is possible," Gandalf replied thoughtfully. "The mind is a strange and wonderful place. Sometimes memories are merely dormant, waiting for the right stimulus to awaken. Other times—" he paused—"other times they are lost forever, and we must make peace with that."
—And if they are lost forever, then what?
"Then you are defined by what you do from now on, not by what you were before," Gandalf said simply. "A man is not his past. He is his choices in the present."
Escanor nodded slowly, finding wisdom in those words.
"Then I will choose to be someone worthy," he declared. "Someone who protects the weak. Who stands against the darkness. Who lives with pride, but without arrogance."
"A noble choice," Gandalf smiled. "Although I have a feeling that for you, that's not a choice at all, but your fundamental nature."
"Perhaps," Escanor said, looking at his large, calloused hands. "But even fundamental nature can be polished or ruined by choices. I will choose to polish mine."
—Well said—Bilbo raised his teacup in an impromptu toast—. To new beginnings and noble purposes.
"To new beginnings," Gandalf repeated.
"To new beginnings," Escanor said, and felt something inside him settle, like a stone finally finding its place after rolling downhill for a long time.
Later that night, after Bilbo had retired to his room, Escanor and Gandalf sat by the fire in the living room of Bag End. The flames danced hypnotically, casting long shadows on the walls.
"I have one more question," Escanor said, breaking the friendly silence. "What exactly do you feel when you say you feel my power?"
Gandalf exhaled another ring of smoke, contemplating his response.
—It's like standing near the sun on a summer's day. Warm, bright, almost overwhelming in its purity. But also... dangerous. Because the life-giving sun can also burn, can scorch, can reduce to ashes everything it touches if you're not careful.
—Does it make you nervous?
"Prudent," Gandalf corrected. "Not nervous. For I sense something else as well: noble purpose. Your power is not tainted by malice or greed. It is pure, like a newly forged sword awaiting its first battle."
"I hope that battle is worth fighting," Escanor murmured.
"Oh, it will be," said Gandalf with a strange certainty. "Of that I have no doubt. The darkness that grows in
Mordor will not be content to remain there. It will spread, consume, and destroy. And when it does... when Middle-earth needs every available light to repel it... I believe your sun will shine brighter than any other.
— Do you see the future?
"I see patterns," Gandalf replied. "I have lived long enough to recognize the currents of history. And every current I sense points toward an inevitable confrontation. Good versus evil. Light versus darkness." He turned to look directly at Escanor. "And you, my new friend, have enough light to make a difference."
Escanor didn't respond immediately. Instead, he raised his hand and, with a thought, summoned a small golden flame that danced in his palm. It wasn't hot or dangerous, just beautiful, like capturing a piece of dawn and holding it in your hand.
"Then I will use it wisely," she finally said. "Such power demands responsibility."
"Now you sound like a wizard," Gandalf smiled. "But yes, exactly. Power without wisdom is tyranny. Wisdom without power is impotence. Together... together you can change the world."
The flame in Escanor's hand intensified for a moment before gently fading away.
"Gandalf," Escanor said after a moment. "You said earlier that my arrival was probably not a coincidence. Do you believe in destiny?"
"I believe in… purpose," Gandalf replied carefully. "I believe we are all here for a reason, though that reason may not be clear until we look back on our lives. Is that destiny? Or is it merely the nature of the world finding its balance? I don't know for sure."
—But you have suspicions.
"I suspect," Gandalf admitted, "that there are forces at work far greater than any of us. Forces that occasionally touch the world, aligning the pieces on the board for some grand game we only partially understand. And you, Escanor, might be one of those pieces."
"I don't like being a pawn in someone else's game," Escanor said with a touch of his characteristic pride.
"Nobody likes it," Gandalf laughed. "But that doesn't mean we can't play the game masterfully anyway. The trick is to remember that even the pieces have wills. They have choices. And those choices can change the whole board."
"Then I will choose wisely," Escanor said with conviction.
"I hope so." Gandalf rose, leaning heavily on his staff. "Now, I must go. I have other matters to attend to, people to see, trouble to cause. But Escanor—" he paused in the doorway—"we shall meet again. Of that I am certain. And when we do, I suspect it will be under far more interesting circumstances than a quiet garden in the Shire."
"I will await that day with interest," said Escanor, standing up as well and extending his hand.
Gandalf shook her hand, and for a moment, the wizard felt the true extent of the power that lay dormant within this mysterious man. It was astonishing. Terrifying. And comforting, in a strange way.
"Take care of Bilbo," Gandalf said quietly. "He's tougher than he looks, but he's still a hobbit. And hobbits, for all their virtues, aren't used to the company of those who might fight dragons."
"I've fought worse than dragons," Escanor said, and though he had no conscious memory of it, he knew in his heart it was true. "But you have my word. I won't allow any harm to come to Bilbo while he's under this roof."
"Good," Gandalf nodded contentedly. "Very good. Until we meet again, Escanor, Lion of the—" He stopped, tilting his head. "Of the what? I feel there should be a title, but it eludes me."
"Leo of the Sin of Pride," Escanor said automatically, then blinked in surprise. "I don't know where that came from."
"A fragment of memory, perhaps," said Gandalf thoughtfully. "Interesting. Lion of the Sin of Pride. A fitting, if curious, title. Sin of Pride? Not arrogant pride, I suspect, but noble pride. The kind of pride that refuses to bow to injustice."
—Yes—Escanor felt the truth of those words resonate in his soul—. Exactly that.
"Then you're doing well," Gandalf smiled. "Goodbye, Escanor. May your sun never set."
And with that, the magician left, disappearing into the night like smoke in the wind.
Escanor stood there for a long time, staring at the closed door, processing everything that had been said.
Then, finally, he returned to the sofa that had been his bed for the past three days and lay down.
But sleep did not come easily. His mind was filled with thoughts of destiny and purpose, of power and responsibility, of an uncertain future in a world he was only beginning to understand.
And somewhere, deep in his mind, something stirred. A memory, perhaps. Or maybe just an echo of who he had once been.
A voice, soft and melancholic, whispering a name I couldn't remember.
Marline...
But when he reached that memory, it dissolved like mist at dawn, leaving him with only a feeling of longing that he couldn't explain.
" Who were you?" he whispered to the dark ceiling. "Who was I?"
There was no answer. Only the silence of the night and the occasional creaking of Bag End settling around them.
Eventually, sleep claimed him.
And he dreamed of sun. Of fire. Of a battle that had not yet arrived but felt as inevitable as the dawn.