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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Frodo is fifty years old during the events of this chapter.

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Frodo cleaned his sword using some polishing oil and a good whetstone for sharpening the blade. It wasn't much, but then he wasn't surprised if the Shire was attacked once again by some angry villagers. He smirked. That would have been something, if anything ever happened in this part of Middle-earth.

Frodo was usually a perky chap with bright blue eyes, as well as curly brown hair on his head and the tops of his feet. His clothes were simple: a brown jacket, a brown waistcoat, a white dress shirt, red suspenders, and brown knee-breeches.

He turned his gaze up towards the heavens, fuming, as he watched three teenage hobbit boys bully some children. One nearly pulled out a dagger. Oh, Frodo wouldn't have that! He set down his dish rag and the whetstone, before moving away from the bench he was sitting on. It was time to show these bullies whose boss.

"Now, that isn't any way to treat children," Frodo said to the older boys, getting their attention. "We can behave like civilized men or…" the same teenage boy pulled his weapon out, ready to attack him, "…or we can fight. You have every chance to flee from this battle. I don't want to hurt you."

"That isn't your decision." The teen boy said, hesitant.

"Give me the dagger!" Frodo said, extending his hand.

The boy didn't budge. He still wanted to attack him.

Frodo turned to the younger children, asking them, politely, "Did he hurt you? Did he – whoa!" He ducked, right as the older boy slashed the air, aiming for the gentle-hobbit.

Frodo dodged the blow again, finding, to his surprise, that all the older teen boys had daggers. Well, he didn't like this, but he'd get the better of them. He looked to the little children in an effort to keep them calm. He was fighting for them, not for himself!

He swung his cutlass, determined to get the better of the older lads. Dagger clanged against sword, until eventually one of the daggers landed square on Bag End's fence. While the one lad was distracted, in a desperate effort to pull the blade out from the fence, the other two boys convened.

Frodo's blade clanged against theirs in a fierce dance. Parry this, dodge that, swing this. The dance continued until all the daggers were thrown from the boys' hands. Frodo stepped in front of the boys, forcing them to leave their daggers be. His arm extended to the leader of the gang, knowing that he could use his weapon to kill or to spare a life. He hated the former choice. He hated it every single day. The last thing he wanted to do was take the life of a child, a disastrous motive for anyone to take.

"Whoa. You're strong!" The leader said, passing the dagger onto Frodo, before ordering the others to do the same. "Go on!"

Frodo waited until all their weapons and sheaths were brought to him, before gesturing for the boys to leave. Good. No bloodshed. Only broken hearts, something that could be mended.

"Go on, all of you, and don't let me catch you threatening children again!" Frodo warned in seriousness.

"Yes sir." The leader nodded, before turning to his friends. "Let's get out of here!"

Frodo watched in amazement, as the older lads ran off without saying another word to him. He sighed, shaking his head. Kids playing a rough game. Maybe the Shire wasn't so safe. He turned to the children, noticing one of them was carrying a pamphlet of the Hobbit Musketeers. One of the illustrations was of him, smiling and pointing his weapon towards the heavens. He sheathed his sword and the daggers, before kneeling in front of the children.

"You really shouldn't be out here alone. Where are your parents? I can escort you to them," Frodo said, smirking.

"Aren't you a Musketeer?" one of the children asked, curious.

"No!" Frodo shook his head. "No, that was a long time ago, back in my younger years when the world was more dangerous. No, I am a retired soldier, just making my way with nothing but a sword and memories of the past." He looked on at the children in wonder. "I can delight you with a tale."

"Could you? Please? Please?" the children cried in delight, following Frodo as he made his way back to the bench. Just as soon as he sat down, he put one of the children on his lap, before starting his tale.

"Now, there was a time when the Shire was a much more dangerous place than it is today." Frodo began. "I mean, it is still dangerous, but there was a thing called honor and freedom back then, something the Musketeers valued more than anything else in the world. And that is where our story begins."

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Thanks for reading. :)