Olorin tried to hide his trembles as he staggered through the forest. How had he gotten lost – again? He was an Istar of the Maiar. Faithful servant of Manwe and Varda under Eru Iluvatar. How could he have possibly gotten lost? "You took the form of a man," he muttered. He winced. He was still unaccustomed to his voice sounding so old.

At least there was no fear of Sauron lurking in the shadows. But . . . there were the possibility of orcs. Wasn't that how they said Isildur had fallen? Oh, why had he been chosen to come down to Arda? He was too weak. He did not have the strength and wisdom of Curumo. Well, he might be equal to Aiwendil. And he was marginally better than Alatar and Pallando.

He cried out as he tripped and tumbled down a slight incline. "Arg!" He struck the ground with his fist, cringing as it brought even more pain to his body. The novelty had long worn off. Grumbling under his breath, he pushed himself up to his knees. Turning his head to the sky, he shouted in Quenya, "Why? Why did you choose me? I can do nothing! This is the hundredth time in two decades where I have gotten lost. How can I possibly help Arda defeat Sauron if I am forever getting lost?" Tears stung his eyes. "I still fear so much," he wept, his voice quieting. "I don't have the courage to help them. The elves are near invincible. The men won't listen. The dwarves are strong as mountains. What have I to offer?"

Screams jerked his attention around. He scrambled to his feet, barely remembering his staff. He ran toward the cries, now able to hear the snarls of a ravenous warg. He burst into a clearing horror chilling him at the sight.

At least a half dozen children were trapped up against a boulder as the warg advanced. One young boy stood trembling before the rest, a branch stretched out in his shaking hands. But that branch would do little against the oversized wolf.

The warg lunged. Olorin leaped forward, just in time to block the beast with his staff. He twisted, pushing the warg back. His heart throbbed in his throat, making it hard to breath. He swallowed, half-gasping as he took in the situation and his options. He drew his sword, momentarily considering the red gem on his finger. Best not. He had only recently managed to keep it hidden without conscious thought. Now was not the time to use it's power. Not when innocent lives were at stake.

The warg snarled at him, furious that its easy meal was being hindered.

"Go back to your master, beast," Olorin growled. "Or face your death."

The warg attacked, aiming for his throat.

Olorin leaned back, catching the beast with his crossed staff and sword. He tossed the monster to the side, too well aware of the wailing children behind him. He lunged just as the warg did. But this time, his sword was ready and it tasted of black blood. Olorin lost track of the fight after that for that first strike had only struck the beast's front leg. He thanked the men and elves who had dedicated their time to teaching him the way of the sword when he first arrived as he ducked and whirled. Always, always keeping himself between the beast and the children.

Finally, the beast fell after Olorin caught its jugular. Olorin collapsed to his knees, his sword falling from his fingers. He heaved great lungfuls of air as he attempted to slow his heart.

He slowly turned to the children, gazing at them through his sweat-drenched hair. He blinked, wondering if the salt was making him see things. A couple of the children seemed to have grey hairs on their heads. Several of the girls appeared to be full grown women. And was that baby smaller than even a newborn dwarfling?

"Who are you?" the boy, no, young man with the branch demanded.

Olorin admired the lad. He had just witnessed an elderly man best a warg with a sword, yet he still stood strong, brandishing his stick at the next likely threat.

"I am a friend, young master," Olorin answered. "I am currently at a loss as to what you and your companions are. You are too small to be men or elves. There are no beards amongst you so you can't be dwarves. But I can think of nothing else you could be."

The lad drew himself up taller, which to Olorin's secret amusement wouldn't have been much higher than the Istar's waist. "We are hobbits," he declared. "Some may call us halflings, but we are not half of anything."

"I see," Olorin said, smiling. Then he recalled. One of the Valar, Yavanna, he believed had been rumored to have done as her husband, Aule, and formed her own race of people. The rumors were never confirmed, at least not last Olorin knew. Yet, he sensed something familiar about these hobbits.

They were of the earth and living things, just as the dwarves were of the mountains and precious minerals. There bare feet were meant to greet and embrace the earth even as the hair atop them protected them from the cold. These were a humble and gentle people. People who valued the beauty and tranquility of the earth.

"Are you an elf?" A sweet, girl's voice broke into Olorin's thoughts. She clutched the hobbit lad's trousers as she peeked around, barely half the first hobbit's size. The hobbit lad laid a protective hand on her shoulder, his fingers catching in her mass of gold-brown curls.

Olorin chuckled. "No, dear girl. I am a wizard. Ol–" He shook his head. He had a new name. He must use it. "Gandalf. Gandalf the Grey."

"I'm Poppy," the girl announced.

Gandalf's smile broadened as he became acquainted with the hobbits. It wouldn't be until he bedded down among their nomadic colony in the evening that he realized what had happened. He had faced down a monster that he otherwise would have fled from if he hadn't been defending the hobbits.

Over the centuries, Gandalf would wander over Middle Earth. But he would always return to the hobbits. Their childlike innocence was refreshing to him after the grim and occasionally morbid happenings in the outer world. As soon as he came across the Shire, he knew this was the place for the peace loving folk. Would they recall how an old man in grey directed them to the picturesque rolling, green hills? He cared not. He was saddened upon discovering that while they lived longer than men, they didn't live near as long as dwarves. Meaning that in his early acquaintance with them, he would miss a couple generations between visits.

Once the hobbits had established the Shire as their own, Gandalf made sure to visit at least every two decades or less. Any close friendships, demanded he come more frequently, every couple of years. Though many such friendships remained largely unknown, history captured at least a handful: Bullroarer Took, Belladonna Took-Baggins, and Bilbo Baggins.

Alatar and Pallando disappeared not long after they arrived on Middle Earth. Gandalf couldn't recall if he ever saw them again after first meeting the hobbits. Aiwendil understood his connection to the hobbits to an extent, possibly because the brown wizard himself had gotten caught up in caring for woodland creatures. Curumo never understood, believing Gandalf weak for associating himself with so weak and gentle a race. What men and dwarves knew were confused but didn't openly question him. The elves looked on in their wisdom and silently wondered what had captured his interest in this humble race.

"Mithrandir, why the halfling?"

Gandalf smiled slightly. "He gives me courage." From the very first, the hobbits had granted him courage. Courage he never thought he had. Courage enough to defy Saruman. Courage enough to fight a Balrog. Courage enough to face Sauron and defeat him.

Why the hobbits? They were the key to Olorin succeeding in his mission.

AN: One of those random ideas that popped into my head the last time I watched Fellowship of the Ring. Since immersing myself in the Middle Earth fandom, I have found out that Gandalf wasn't always as bold and confident as we are used to seeing him. I guess that as the film got closer to where Gandalf faces the Balrog, maybe even when he defied Saruman, I started to wonder where our favorite wizard found his confidence and boldness. Thus this little story, because first of all, he had to discover the hobbits at some point, and I really think that it wouldn't be too much of a stretch to say that Gandalf fought to protect the innocence of the hobbits. Yes, he fairly dragged Bilbo and Frodo out of the Shire for an adventure, but it was because he knew that they could do it, and I don't think he ever intended for Frodo to go beyond Rivendell. So, that's that. And yes, I borrowed a dialogue snippet from The Unexpected Journey.