Author's Note

I do not own any right to the Lord of the Rings or it's characters. Any characters you do not recognize belongs to me, and the plot is partly my own creation and interweaving Tolkien's other works into it. This is book two of my Tales of the Fourth Age series.

I love getting feedback to help me improve my writing so please don't be shy about it. If you have questions I'm happy to answer them :)

Enjoy!

Chapter One

Frodo looked over the rolling hills from his porch at Bag End. He could see Sam's mallorn tree growing down in the party field, the hustle, and bustle around its small silver trunk as hobbit's prepared for his birthday celebration. Little did they know that it would be his last. He'd asked to celebrate it a week early, blaming the wounds that usually ailed him around this time of year.

Sam had suspected Frodo was up to something, but he said nothing and honored his master's request.

It had been three years since the One Ring had been destroyed and Sauron defeated. Saruman had attempted to ruin their home, but the spirit of the Shire could not be so easily broken. The Shire had been saved and had healed. But not Frodo. Some wounds cannot be cured; some hurts too deep to mend. Soon though, he would set sail on the last ship to the West and no longer suffer those pains. He just needed to wait one more week.

The night of the party everyone was buzzing with excitement. They were all expecting a surprise like Uncle Bilbo had done, but Frodo had no such plans. He hadn't prepared any fancy speech, no fireworks by Gandalf. No ring of power to make him disappear. Frodo wanted it simple because wanted to remember this night

But Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took had other plans. Hours before the party they had gone around and handed out masks to everyone who was going to come so that by the time Frodo arrived almost all of the partygoers were wearing them. Everywhere he looked people were wearing a variety of colored vests, dresses, and masks that he felt more than a little overwhelmed. "Sam, I asked for something simple," Frodo said wearily as they approached the tents that had been set up.

Samwise was perplexed, perturbed, and more than a little flustered. He's planned everything himself and had only invited a few close friends per his master's request. "I know, Mr. Frodo, I don't know what happened!"

Just then Merry and Pippin rounded the corner of one of the tents, ales in hand, talking merrily with each other and wearing the heraldry of their respective kingdoms. Pippin was decked in his black and silver uniform wearing his Gondorian helmet; Merry in the gold, white, and green of Rohan. Both looked rather pleased.

Sam's cheeks puffed out, "I should have known it'd be those two rascals." he looked at Frodo who gently placed a calming hand on his friend's shoulder. "Come on, Sam, no use avoiding it. Let's just enjoy the party."

Sam sighed, still apparently upset. "If you say so, Mr. Frodo. But I can't promise I won't use my position as Mayor to give them a bit of grief." He gave a crooked smile.

Frodo laughed joyfully. "Very well, Sam. Just remember that they answer to kings and locking them up would be unwise."

Sam snorted. "If you say so."

"Well look who it is, Merry," exclaimed Pippin as they neared Frodo and Sam, "it's none other than Frodo Baggins himself!"

"Aye, that it is, Pippin," Merry replied cheerfully as he took another swig of ale.

Sam narrowed his eyes, regarding them with a critical eye. "Just what are you two rascals up too?" he asked.

Both Merry and Pippin feigned hurt. "What are you suggesting?" said Pippin innocently.

"I believe our good Mayor thinks we are up to no good, Pip," said Merry, laying a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder.

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Sam retorted, putting his hands on his hips.

Frodo chuckled inside. He loved Sam as a brother and knew how protective Sam was over him, but he also knew Merry and Pippin had hearts of gold. Even if they did tend to cause trouble everywhere they went.

Pippin snorted. "Well, we're not. Just wanted to give our dearest friend the best birthday ever," he said, handing Frodo a mask of his own.

The mask was truly exquisite. It was fashioned from a single piece of onyx in the form of a dragon, its tail looping over one brow, the across the nose, and its head resting on the other; A single red gem set into its eye gave it an intimidating presence. Elvish runes were inscribed along the edge of the mask, and copper swirls created the effect of flames spouting from the dragon's mouth. It was work of art, and surprisingly, quite light.

Frodo looked at it with wide eyes and rubbed his fingers along the pattern of the dragon, reminded of his Uncle Bilbo, and he smiled. "Thank you very much," he whispered. He slipped it on at the beckoning of Merry and found that it fit perfectly; from the top of his brow to the tip of his nose it fit snugly and securely. The contrast between the mask and Frodo's startlingly blue eyes made them stand out even more than usual, and in his dark brown jacket with burgundy waistcoat, he looked quite dashing.

Merry raised his pint and smiled, "No finer hobbit in the Shire!"

"Come on then, let's join the party," said Pippin, "I've not had so much as a pint so far, and I seek to remedy that."

As Frodo and Sam walked passed them, Merry leaned towards Pippin and whispered, "Do you really think this is going to work?"

Pippin watched as Frodo and Sam joined the crowd and then looked at his partner in crime and smiled. "Oh, I think it just might."

Frodo found himself actually enjoying the party more than he had expected too. Sam had found himself in a group of hobbits discussing the upcoming vote, and the taxes and bills that sat on Sam's desk and Frodo could only smile. Being Mayor suited Sam.

As he milled around the field tasting the different treats and finger foods (along with a good portion of ale to wash them down), Frodo was thankful for his mask. Everyone in Hobbiton knew him, but the cover seemed to work as well as any ring of power in making him invisible to all but the most observant of hobbits. In spite of all the horrors, it warmed his heart to see so many young hobbits running about, laughing and squealing with joy. The War seemed so very far away in moments like this; like a dream that you can hardly remember and yet you feel it in every waking moment.

Frodo continued wandering, listening to the hobbits gossip and talk, not paying much attention to where he was going. As he came around a booth, he collided with something, sending him sprawling backward and spilling his ale all over him. After taking a moment to gather himself, he pushed himself up to see what it was he'd run into. To his surprise, it was a beautiful hobbitess; long reddish-blonde hair was done up in tight swirling braids with small white flowers tucked in them. Her jade colored eyes stared back at him in annoyance and her lips pursed in frustration. "I am incredibly sorry, miss," said Frodo jumping to his feet and offering a hand.

The hobbitess frowned and helped herself up and dusted off her dress. "Come to the party they said, it would be fun they said," she mumbled, "and this is what I get? A drunk hobbit barreling into people!"

"It was clumsy of me," said Frodo, trying again to apologize, though mildly irritated at her rudeness.

"Oh, apology accepted," said the hobbitess curtly, her cheeks rosy as her adjusted her cobalt colored mask. "Good nite," she said as she turned and disappeared back into the crowd of hobbits.

Frodo was left standing dumbfounded. He quickly followed and found her making her way out from the party. "Miss! Excuse me!" he called.

She turned around, glaring. "What is it now? Come to run over me again?"

"I never got your name to apologize properly," he replied weakly. What a horrible excuse, he thought.

She crossed her arms, a delicate brow raised. "I do not believe that is any of your business," she replied tartly, tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear.

Frodo was taken aback by such rude behavior. She was undoubtedly from outside of Hobbiton based on her uncouth manners. He gave a stiff bow, "I did not mean to upset you, miss. I'll take my leave," and he turned and walked back to the party.

As he walked back, Frodo felt both irritation and fascination. This strange hobbitess intrigued him in a way he'd never felt before. She was fair but stormy in mood; her eyes engaging, yet aloof. Her voice like a bubbling brook but as sharp as an elvish blade. Everything about her seemed to be a mystery. Which made him think about her all the more.

Frodo found Sam, Merry, and Pippin sitting at one of the many tables in the field and inquired after the hobbitess. Merry spoke up first. "Oh, that's Arabella Bracegirdle. She's a feisty one, that one."

"Bracegirdle? As in the Bracegirdle's of Hardbottle?" asked Sam curiously.

"The same," Merry replied, "though to be honest, I've never seen so fair a Bracegirdle before."

"Perhaps she's adopted," Pippin offered, taking another big swig of ale. Merry elbowed him in the side causing his friend to choke on his drink.

Sam frowned. He still couldn't shake the feeling that those two were up to no good, but he couldn't place what it was. Frodo though listened in silence, replaying his encounter with Arabella as if he would find a clue to who she was.

The subject quickly changed to which hobbit had brought the best brew for the party and Sam staunchly defended his Gaffer's brew while Pippin favored a darker blend from the Northfarthing. As they had their friendly debate on the nuances of both beers, Merry leaned over to Frodo, "She's staying at the inn in Bywater," he whispered, "just in case you needed to finish your conversation with her." He gave Frodo a wink.

Before Frodo could reply the gathering began to call for the speech. Sam broke off his debate with Pippin and took Frodo by the arm, a habit he'd been unable to break since their return whenever he felt Frodo was tense. He led him to the center of the Party Field where the small mallorn sapling, now as tall as Merry or Pippin, stood with its shining silver bark and golden leaves.

"Speech!" cried the hobbits cheerfully, raising pipes, mugs, pastries, or whatever might be in their hands at the moment.

Frodo carefully stood on the stool that had been provided, a little unsteady after having several drinks himself. He took a deep breath. "I want to thank you all for coming to celebrate my birthday," he started. "It warms my heart to see so much happiness and joy returning to our beloved Shire."

There were many nods of agreement from those gathered, for they remembered well the Scouring of the Shire.

"The darkness beyond our borders tried to take something prec-" he choked on the word and faltered a moment. He took another deep breath, "They tried to take our beloved home. But they did not account for the stout hearts of hobbits."

The crowd cheered.

Frodo smiled, though it was slightly forced. "I am so thankful to you all." He stepped down as the crowd cheered again, though they had expected something more exciting given what his uncle Bilbo had done for his party. Frodo would cherish this memory long after he had sailed West.

The party lasted long into the night thanks to the host not disappearing halfway through it all. But if Frodo was honest, he wished he could. There was too much on his mind to actually enjoy the party like he wanted he could. He'd seen too much during the War; what innocence he'd left the Shire with had died in the fires of Orodruin. A shiver ran down his spine at the memory, and he tried to quickly push it aside.

At last the party ended and everyone who was still able to walk stumbled back to their homes, happy and content. Frodo walked alone back to Bag End, Sam had gone home hours ago to his family, and Merry and Pippin had passed out in the field surrounded by empty mugs. He looked up at the bright starry night; he'd always loved the stars, and they seemed to be brighter since the Shadow has been destroyed. They reminded him of the light that had been in Arabella's eyes. He smiled softly as he wearily shrugged out of his jacket, took off his mask, and slid into his soft feather bed, falling instantly asleep.

The next morning he got up and wandered the halls before finding himself standing in the doorway of his writing room. This had been his morning routine for the last three years, and soon he would be finished with it all. But he knew before he left he would put down one final story that had been told to him by Sméagol while in the Dead Marshes. It was the least he could do for that poor creature.

Two days later Frodo awoke to the sun beaming down on his tear soaked face. He'd had a beautiful dream; the kind of dream you have of loved ones long after they're gone and you finally get to say goodbye, or you see they are at peace. It fills you with warmth and comfort, even when you can no longer remember it.

As he rubbed his tear stained eyes into focus, he noticed a figure standing just outside his gate. Once he instantly recognized from the party: Arabella Bracegirdle.