Chapter One

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The world has changed. There once was a time when elves, dwarves, and men all lived in harmony, and for thousands of years, Middle Earth was peaceful.

But the end began with the forging of the Great Rings.

Three were given to the Elves; immortal, wisest and fairest of all beings. Seven, to the Dwarf Lords; the great miners and craftsmen of the mountain halls. Nine rings were gifted to the race of Men, who above all else desire power. For within these rings was bound the strength and will to govern over all other races.

But they were all of them deceived, for another ring was made. In the land of Mordor, in the fires of Mount Doom, the Dark Lord Sauron forged, in secret, a master ring to control all others. Into this ring he poured all his cruelty, his malice, and his will to dominate all life.

One ring to rule them all.

One by one, the free peoples of Middle Earth fell to the power of the Ring, but there were some who resisted. A last alliance of men and elves marched against the armies of Mordor, and on the very slopes of Mount Doom, they fought for the freedom of Middle-Earth. Victory was near, but the power of the ring could not be undone. It was in this moment, when all hope had faded, that Isildur, son of the king, took up his father's sword. And Sauron, enemy of the free peoples of Middle-Earth, was defeated. The Ring passed to Isildur, who had this one chance to destroy evil forever, but the hearts of men are easily corrupted.

And the ring of power has a will of its own.

It betrayed Isildur to his death. And some things that should not have been forgotten were lost. History became legend. Legend became myth. The world expanded. The name of Middle-Earth was changed simply to 'Earth'. Dwarves and elves and other races all but disappeared. Technology advanced, massive cities were built, and the ring passed out of all knowledge. For two and a half thousand years, it lay forgotten.

Until, when chance came, the ring ensnared a new bearer. In the 1850's, the ring came to a man named Smeagol, who took it deep into the sewers of Manhattan, and there it captivated and controlled him. The ring gave to Smeagol unnatural long life. For one hundred years, it poisoned his mind; and in the gloom and stench of Smeagol's tunnel, it waited.

Darkness crept into the minds of the leaders of the world. Unrest grew in the shadows, whispers of a nameless fear and political unease, and the Ring of Power perceived. Its time had now come.

It abandoned Smeagol.

But then something happened that the Ring did not intend. It was picked up by the most unlikely of the ancient races imaginable. A hobbit, Bilbo Baggins, of Shire City, Maine.

For the time will soon come when hobbits will shape the fortunes of all...

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"You never do anything, Frodo," Elsie Sackville-Baggins complained loudly, swerving to avoid a dip in the road. "You're young. You should go out with your friends and –"

Frodo sighed, leaning on his elbow and staring out the window of the vehicle. There was nothing that he hated more than spending time with his older cousins. For the seventh time that afternoon, he cursed himself for missing the bus yet again. In the seat beside him, Elsie prattled on about how socially active she had been at his age.

"– attended any parties this year? Graduation is coming up and –"

"Elsie, I don't want to go out with friends," Frodo finally cut her off, rolling his eyes. "I'm happy staying in with Uncle Bilbo most nights, and I've also got Sam."

She pursed her lips. "That's exactly my point, Frodo. It's unhealthy to sit around and listen to that old man's foolery. Have you looked into putting him in a resting home yet?"

"I'm not about to send him away," Frodo snapped, folding his arms around his skinny chest. "You're just bitter."

"He's gone mad, Frodo," she said, ignoring his accusation smoothly. "Always going off about dwarves and trolls and dragons…"

"It's interesting to listen to," he said, "and if you keep complaining about him like this, he might end up leaving you nothing in his will."

The lines around her eyes tightened. "Speaking of his will, how old is he again?"

"You've certainly seen the invitation by now. You know precisely how old he is."

"Oh, yeah, one-hundred and eleven, isn't he?" she said before adding under her breath, "Bloody unnatural, is what that is…"

"Piss off," Frodo said, reaching over and turning up the whiny pop song on the radio just as Elsie's car turned into the neighborhood of Hobbiton.

She disregarded his obvious request for her to shut up and continued, "Frodo, look, you're my cousin –"

"Second-cousin," Frodo interrupted. She went on regardless.

"– and I care about you. All I want is for you to have a normal teenage experience. You haven't gotten that while living with Bilbo. I know I'm away for college, but you're always welcome to go stay with my mum and dad. They care about you, too." Frodo had to stop himself from snorting at that – Otho and Lobelia Sackville-Baggins thought he was the living embodiment of all that is evil.

The sound of smooth pavement turned to the crunch of tires over gravel as the car pulled up in front of Frodo's uncle's house. The boy moved to exit the vehicle, but a hand on his arm pulled him back.

Frodo grudgingly turned to look at his relative. Her carefully straightened blonde hair framed her face and her upturned nose had a spray of freckles across the bridge, but he'd be a fool to deny that they didn't look at least somewhat similar. She had Baggins' eyes, just like he and Bilbo did.

"Please just consider the offer," she said earnestly. "It would be for the best, you know, if you left Bag-End."

Frodo rolled his eyes again and slid out the car door, slamming it shut behind him. Next time, he promised himself, he wouldn't miss the bus.

Behind him, her car sped away, leaving him on the curb. Frodo squared his shoulders and began walking up the front path.

To say that Uncle Bilbo was eccentric would be an understatement. The front door was perfectly round and painted a lively green, with a doorknob stuck right smack in the center of the wood. Like the doors, all of the windows were also circular. Bilbo, of course, hadn't built the house this way, since he had inherited it from his parents, but then again, he also hadn't bothered to change anything, despite having plenty of money to do so.

Not that Frodo was complaining or anything. He quite loved their shared house and all of its strange knick-knacks, even including the sword hung above the fireplace.

Their seventeen year old next-door-neighbor-slash-gardener, Sam Gamgee, was merrily trimming the hedges and whistling. When he saw Frodo, he waved happily. "Hullo, Mr. Frodo!"

"Hello, Sam," Frodo replied before entering the unlocked house – Uncle Bilbo almost never bolted it shut, unless the Sackville-Baggins had stopped by for a 'visit'. Frodo hung his school bag on one of the many hooks in the entrance hall.

"Bilbo, I'm home!" he called, kicking off his shoes. Oh, it felt good to have bare feet again.

There was the sound of a chair scooting back along the wooden floor, and soon, Bilbo hobbled out of the sitting room.

"Frodo, my dear boy!" he exclaimed. "What's taken you so long to get home?"

Frodo smiled shrewdly at his supposedly elderly uncle who didn't look a day older than sixty. "Missed the bus."

Bilbo tutted. "Well, come along, then. We have much to do before tomorrow and little time to waste!" He shuffled away towards the kitchen.

"Actually, I was thinking I might go out for a walk around the neighborhood, if that's all right with you," Frodo said, hand already on the doorknob.

Bilbo blinked once before catching on. "Did Elsie bring you home again? I don't blame you for wanting to clear your head. Go on, but be back before sundown."

"Thanks," Frodo said with a grin and he skipped back out of the house, not bothering to put his shoes on, reveling in the feeling of the warm cement against the soles of his feet.

"Off so soon, Mr. Frodo?" Sam called to him, pausing in his work of clipping leaves.

"Just out for a walk, Sam. You can come with, if you want," he offered, though he already knew the answer.

"Oh, I'd sure love to, but it's workin' hours for me." Sam held up his garden shears as unneeded proof. "And the Gaffer'd have my hide if I skived me duties."

"All right, Sam. See you later, I suppose." He waved goodbye and started making his way down the street towards the park.

Frodo stuck his hands in his trouser pockets and hummed a bright tune as he went. The melody was one that Bilbo had composed himself and was a favorite of his nephew.

"The road goes ever on and on…" Frodo mumbled as he watched a flock of geese fly overhead. When he reached a certain point on the sidewalk, he turned and headed onto the dirt trail.

Covered and secluded by large trees and bordered by a bubbling creek, it was a peaceful shortcut to the park. Frodo had discovered it himself when he first came to live at Bag End twelve years ago. Rolling up the hems of his trousers, he waded through the gentle stream.

"…and I must follow if I can," he recited, leaping from dry rock to dry rock in the creek, shedding his school blazer along the way. "Pursuing it with eager feet, until it joins some larger way…"

Eighteen. He'd be turning eighteen tomorrow. In a way, the birthday party was a joint party for the two of them. Frodo was pretty convinced that Bilbo had something rather big planned, but what it was, he couldn't say.

Eighteen. He'd be an adult tomorrow. He'd be able to vote and get married and move out tomorrow. Not that he wanted to. If he had his way, he'd live with Uncle Bilbo forever. He knew exactly what Elsie and her family were trying to do – if Frodo moved out and went to live with them, Uncle Bilbo would probably disown him as his heir, and then the Sackville-Baggins would become the owners of Bag End, which was their biggest goal in life. Yeah, there was no way that Frodo was going to fall for it.

Eighteen. He'd come into his inheritance tomorrow. If Bilbo dropped dead out of the blue tomorrow, even though he was the prime example of health, Frodo would be able to take over the household. Bag End would be all his, as lonely and cold as it might be without Uncle Bilbo.

It was hard to wrap his head around. Frodo certainly didn't feel mature enough to manage an entire place by himself.

At last, he reached the park and headed to his favorite spot under a large tree near the road. It wasn't a very populated road, which was good because it was generally quiet. Flopping down in the shade, Frodo cracked open his book. Harry Potter, it was called. To be honest, it was a ridiculous book, full of trolls and wizards and dragons. It was his absolute favorite.

A few minutes later, Frodo was completely engrossed in the story. Hours passed by, accompanied by the Sandyman's minivan trundling along down the street. Other than that, it was silent …

Until the familiar rumble of an ancient pick-up truck filled the air, that is.

With a cry of delight, Frodo tossed his book aside and dashed to the side of the road. Sure enough, he could a rusty blue truck with a back full of parcels. Frodo waved his hand wildly, and the truck pulled to a stop.

"You're late," Frodo said, poking his head through the truck's open window.

The old man driving the truck stared at him through circular, grey glasses. "A magician is never late, nor is he early, Frodo Baggins. He arrives precisely when he means to."

There was a moment of silence in which both people tried and ultimately failed to hide their grins. In unison, they both burst out laughing.

"It's awesome to see you, Gandalf," Frodo exclaimed, wrenching open the passenger door and leaping inside.

"I couldn't miss Bilbo's birthday, now could I?" Gandalf asked. "How's your uncle doing these days?"

"Same as ever," Frodo said with a shrug, "still convinced that he fought goblins when he was younger. But that's Uncle Bilbo, for you."

Gandalf chuckled, his long, grey beard quivering. It was clear from the way he dressed that he was stuck in the sixties. A blue piece of cloth had been tied around his wrinkled forehead, and it was braided with feathers and bead. A silver peace sign hung on a chain around his neck.

"So where've you been? Gone on any adventures? Tell me everything," Frodo demanded.

"Everything? You're too curious, man. Well, what am I supposed to say? Life goes on. People start wars. People end wars. What I think we all should do is take a nice, long sit and think about what we've done. Make peace with our inner demons, you know?"

Frodo nodded, choosing to skip over Gandalf's hippy-ish musings. "Did you bring the fireworks?"

"Ah, yes, the long expected party," the taller man said. "I hear it's going to be pretty sweet."

"Half the town has been invited," Frodo said. "I think he's up to something."

Gandalf cleared his throat but didn't say anything, turning the wheel sharply. They drove slowly past the field where tents were being set up in preparation for the event.

"Alright, alright…" Frodo shook his head. "Keep your secrets. You know, before you came along, we Bagginses were held in the highest esteem."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. We never had any adventures or did anything unexpected." Frodo grinned.

"Look, man, if you're talking about the whole road-trip thing, it wasn't even my fault. I just gave your uncle a little shove out the door." From the floor beside him, Gandalf grabbed a bag of candy and tossed it to Frodo. Frodo instantly knew what it was for.

He looked out the window to where a gathering of expectant children had accumulated. Taking a handful of the treats, he tossed it to them. Happy shouts filled the air as one by one, they unwrapped the taffy and ate it, laughing in delight as their tongues turned different colors.

"How do you do that?" Frodo said incredulously as the drove past. Gandalf only smiled one of his secret smiles. "Well, whatever it is you do, you've been officially labeled a disturber of the peace. A few of our neighbors are trying to get restraining orders on you."

Gandalf laughed as they parked in the driveway of Bag End. In Frodo's absence, a garland of brightly colored paper links had been strewn over the railings leading to the door. Sam had finished trimming the hedges and had gone back to his own house.

Frodo smiled and said, "Gandalf? I'm glad you're back."

"So am I, Frodo," Gandalf said, unbuckling his tattered seatbelt. "So am I…"