Disclaimers: I do not own The Lord of the Rings. They belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. The Musketeers belong to history, and from Alexandre Dumas' book series about the Musketeers.

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Welcome to the sequel to the first fanfiction story of my trilogy, Frodo and the Musketeers. :) This fanfic is inspired by Alexandre Dumas' book, Twenty Years After, in which D'Artagnan and the Three Musketeers are reunited for another adventure. That's all I'll say about Twenty Years After. This fanfic has its own plot and adventure. So, wait and see if Frodo and his hobbit friends are reunited for this fanfic. :)

Enjoy. :)

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X-X-X

It is 3011, in the Third Age of Middle-earth. In this timeline, Aragorn and Arwen have been blessed with a son, who they called Eldarion. Eldarion is nine years old, and while his father lives, Middle-earth is kept safe from its enemies.

But not all is as peaceful as it seems, for as the hobbit Frodo Baggins, bestowed a musketeer ten years ago by Aragorn, known as King Elessar in the Reunited Kingdom, rides to Gondor on a secret mission for the king, this hobbit is unaware of the hidden dangers about to spring forth and take flight.

This is where our part of the story begins.

X-X-X

Frodo Baggins rode past the wooden gates, with their ornate dwarvish designs on the front, to the first level of the White City of Gondor. The White City, Minas Tirith, was a seven-tiered city made out of white stone walls and streets. A large rock jutted out from the cliff, acting like the prow of a ship. The seventh tier and the topmost part of the city had a tower, a citadel where the king and queen lived, and a white tree with flowers in full bloom.

It truly was a city to behold.

Frodo was a fair-faced hobbit with lighter-than-usual skin, due to his Fallohide bloodline on his mother's side, thick, curly brown hair on his head and the tops of his feet, short pointy ears, and bright blue eyes.

Today, he wore a dark blue jacket, a light blue waistcoat, a white dress shirt, tan suspenders, and royal blue breeches. The cloak he wore came from the Musketeers when he joined their ranks in protecting King Elessar, Queen Arwen, and their nine-year-old son Eldarion from danger. The cloak was bluish-grey, comfortable, and had an emblem of a hobbit wearing a plumed hat, a uniform, and held his sword in the air.

It was dusk by the time Frodo entered the first level's courtyard. The stone fountain was shut off by the time he reached the door nearest to the wall, close to the bottom of the jutted rock. He looked once or twice over his shoulders, checking to make sure no one noticed him, before dismounting from his spotted chestnut pony Saunders. Once he strapped Saunders' reins to a post, Frodo charged towards the door, knocking on it twice, listening for any sound that crept up on the other side.

"Come in!" a gruff masculine voice called out to him on the other side of the door. Frodo nodded, moving the doorknob and slipping inside the first platform beyond the door. Frodo jumped the second he met the gaze of a portly man wearing a beige long-sleeved shirt, long brown breeches, brown boots, and a white apron covered in blood. The portly man told him, gesturing to the stairs, "You'll find the furnace down there! There's been a bloodbath. I took care of it! The goblins, I mean."

"Thank you, Sloan," Frodo said, charging down the stairs.

Sloan smirked, stopping Frodo in his tracks. "It's your skin, not mine! I wouldn't go down to that cursed furnace for all the gold in the world. Alagaësia will bless me!" He chuckled, loving this moment.

"I'm sure they will," Frodo said, facing Sloan again with hopeful eyes. "I'm sure you will be reunited with your family."

"Well, to each his own. Good luck down there," Sloan said, approaching the hobbit and shaking his hand. Frodo took it, shook it, and released his hand.

"And to you," Frodo said with a nod. He walked away, not looking back to see if Sloan had followed him or left the hallway. He looked back once to find Sloan had disappeared, for the door was wide open. Frodo sighed, realizing he was alone.

Frodo pulled out the gold ring from his waistcoat pocket. The ring, the One Ring, Sauron's ring, looked so mesmerizing. Oh, if only he didn't have to do this, then he could keep the ring… no! He needed to focus! If he got distracted, then this mission would be for nothing. He closed his fist around the ring, making his way down the stairs and towards a large room, where a giant iron furnace was lit.

He could tell this was right, for the Ring felt heavy in his hand. He stopped in front of the furnace, unsure what to do. His thoughts returned to the present at the sight of a lanky hobbit man wearing tattered clothes. Had he been down here all this time?

"One of us must do this task!" the lanky hobbit man, with white skin and large eyes, said, extending his hand to him. "Let me complete this task!"

"You!" Frodo said in disdain, recognizing the hobbit man's face. "Sméagol, I don't have time for this! You nearly stole my pony! Now, you want to help me?"

"Sméagol wants to help you!" Sméagol kept his hand there. "Give me the Ring! Even you know one of us has to do this task, make the ultimate sacrifice! You got the ring. Now, I must complete this!" Frodo gulped. He didn't want to give up the Ring. But Gollum was offering. What more could he do? He hesitated, not wanting to let the jewelry go just yet. Oh… was it worth the risk? "Come on. Trust me! What harm could it do?" Sméagol asked, concerned.

Frodo took a breath, passing the Ring over to Sméagol. He watched in agony as Sméagol jumped up and down, ecstatic. The lanky hobbit man turned his attention to the furnace, understanding what he must do. At last, Sméagol faced Frodo, admitting to him, "Tell Déagol I'm sorry, but I have to do this!" Sméagol nodded, turning to the furnace and throwing himself in, along with the Ring.

"NOOO!" Frodo cried, scrambling towards the furnace as the door closed automatically. No – what? How could Sméagol do that? A lump grew in Frodo's throat. He couldn't believe what Sméagol had done! Sacrificed himself for the good of the Free Peoples! Was that right? Frodo felt like he failed! Or did he succeed? Either way, he hadn't been around the Ring that long, only seven months… and now it was over.

Frodo's gaze met the top of the furnace. The fiery cat-like eye vanished from where it sat. The furnace erupted! Frodo moved back as the flames doused, leaving a pile of ash and dust where the furnace had been.

Frodo's heart fell into despair. Sméagol was in that furnace and now he was no more. The One Ring was gone, too, but still… Frodo couldn't help but wonder who would remember the lanky hobbit man who saved his life—

Sméagol's cousin Déagol would understand. Frodo would need to find him and Sméagol's family. That is if Sméagol's family were somewhere in Arda. He'd have to look hard enough to find them, wherever they were.

Oh boy! What was he to do?

~o~

Frodo climbed the stairs, returning to the door and entering the first level's courtyard. The last thing he wanted to see was Sloan laughing. That was never good.

"Finished already?" Sloan asked, chuckling in delight.

"Charmed," Frodo said, rolling his eyes.

"So, what's next?" Sloan asked as Frodo took his pony's reins off the post.

"Well, I need to find some lodging and meet Sméagol's family," Frodo said, looking around. "I don't know where they are."

"You should try the Gladden Fields. They were last sighted there," Sloan suggested.

"Thank you," Frodo said, leading his pony towards the first inn he saw. He looked back at Sloan as the man bid him farewell. He'd have to thank Sloan later for taking care of the goblins. He looked up, spotting an inn next to the stables. He sighed in frustration, for as he brought his pony over to a stable boy, he hardly expecting to see was a curly, light brown haired hobbit boy, standing next to a torch, smiling up at him. Frodo smiled back, before going into the tavern, wondering what the boy's business was at Minas Tirith.

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Thanks for reading. :)

References:

Sloan is from Christopher Paolini's book series, The Inheritance Cycle.