The wooden stage was new. One could almost smell the freshness. It had been built, hasty but well, just for this event.
There were several hobbits on it, among them the Mayor of Michel Delving, also called the Mayor of the Shire and several other richly dressed hobbits. But they all paled compared to the old man in white robes. He towered over them, not just in height, but in sheer presence. He radiated authority and wisdom. And he also carried a white staff, which made it obvious that he was a Wizard. He was accompanied by the prominent hobbit youth, the most notable being the youngest child and only son of the heir of the Thain of the Shire and only child of the sixth Master of Buckland. All of them wore a single white armband that was almost not quite white as the Wizard's robe.
Three times the Wizard thumped the wood floor of the platform with his white staff, and everyone in the audience quieted. Then the Wizards began to speak.
His voice was deep and melodious, and to every hobbit, it seemed that he was speaking to each of them personally.
He spoke of danger, both within and without. Of goblin hordes coming to rape, pillage, and plunder. Of wicked traitors hiding among. And then he spoke of what needed to be done to avoid dire fates. He spoke of courage and sacrifice that needed to be made. Of preparation and sharing. Of training and weapons. Of industry that had to build to make devices that would save them all.
Afterward, everyone who had listened agreed that the Wizard's words were wise, although no one could quite remember the exact words. But such details didn't really matter. They knew what had to be done. They were afraid but determined.
"Now that is proper wizard," Sandyman, the Hobbiton miller said. He had traveled far to see this. Well, there was also a small matter of delivering flour to the Lockholes. He tried not to think about other uses they have been put to in recent times. Yes, it was necessary. Something needed to be done. But he didn't like to think about it. What Farmer Maggot had done… He could look at the mushroom for days afterward. And he used to love mushrooms, especially in an omelet.
"What would you know about wizards? This one is the only wizard you ever saw, " a nearby hobbit heckled him.
"I have seen other wizards." The miller wagged a finger. "I have you know that I have been to Bilbo Baggins' one hundred and eleventh birthday party. Gandalf himself made fireworks for it."
"Bah. Gandalf. He barely counts as a Wizard. He is just an entertainer, a conjuror of cheap tricks. What good would fireworks do against the goblin horde?"