Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed! I appreciate each and every one! I'm sorry if I missed anyone in replying, and I am sorry that this chapter took a little while.

Apologies also for any typos there may be in here, but other than that we can get right to it, I think.

Read, Enjoy, and Review!

Chapter Two: The Birthday Party #

An hour before the sun began to light the horizon, a pair of deep blue eyes opened to the dark. A yawn broke the soft harmony of snores and slow sleep breaths, and a young hobbit stretched her arms up above her head. In one fluid movement she sat up, without so much as shifting the blankets for her little sister beside her. Letting her eyes adjust for a moment, she swung her legs out over the side of the bed and yawned again, drawing little circles in the air with her feet.

She stood up, slipping silently across the room and stepping over the bundle of blankets that was her older sister on the floor. In mere moments, she had dressed herself in dwarven leggings and a long tunic top, dragged her hair into a ponytail and closed the bedroom door behind her. An apple was swiped from the kitchen, and the front door unbolted.

The world wished Nelly 'Good morning' with a slap of cool damp air, and she smiled. It was so good to draw fresh, earth-soaked air into your lungs first thing in the morning. In Erebor she made frequent trips to the balconies, and the gardens and young forests on the mountain's slopes, but they had nothing on the Shire, especially in these early hours when only bakers and farmers were stirring.

She began to jog into the dark morning, out of her grandparent's house and towards the centre of Hobbiton. The first few days that she had spent here had seen her graze fence posts and stumble over mismatched flagstones, but she had adjusted to the lay of the land and now she could simply run. The dim light of the fading moon and stars were enough to see by, in any case.

She passed through the empty market and ran up towards Bag End, increasing her speed as she began to climb the hill. As she passed by the Bagginses' front door, she noticed a pile of dwarven boots strewn over the garden bench, and she smiled.

Only yesterday, Vinca had challenged the adult dwarves to go barefoot in the Shire, the way that the younger dwarves all did. The sight of Thorin Oakenshield in his regal garb with bare (and very pale) feet had been amusing, to say the least.

When she had allowed gravity to speed her down the hill, Nelly checked her pace and slowed down a little. She ran a ring around the Party Field, gazing at the white shadows of tents and gazebos set up for later that day. Excitement curled in her stomach – after all their preparation, after a journey all the way across the world, the day of the party was finally here. But while the sight was promising, she could not help but think of parties of old. When she was a child, celebrations were held in the meadow of the Old Party Tree.

The Battle of Hobbiton had ended that. Nelly had only been nine years old at the time, but she could still remember the day and its aftermath. When she closed her eyes, she could still see the red-stained dirt, and the scorch marks around the dead grass. Their beautiful meadow had been scarred, and their peaceful world had been shattered. The dead were not legendary soldiers, but people that Nelly had known, people she had cared for deeply. Her cousins, Everard and Hazel Took, had both been slain, as had Merry's Uncle Barney.

As had Sam's mother.

Dwarves liked to sing of their battles and build monuments to commemorate their dead, but hobbits were quieter in their grief. There was no great monument, and no long song dedicated to the Battle that was mentioned so scarcely, but it was not forgotten. The meadow where the battle had taken place was now a sea of flowers, tended for largely by the families of the deceased. Carved into the Old Party Tree were the seventeen names of the seventeen fallen, and beneath them was carved '1342 SR' – the year of the battle in Shire reckoning.

Bróin had been surprised when she brought him there.

"I thought you said this was a memorial?" he frowned at her. "I understand that your people use flowers to say things, but how could they speak of the battle?"

"They do not," Nelly explained. "There is no mention of the battle here, other than the date. The flowers all represent memory, love, grief, that sort of thing."

"It's so strange that you wouldn't want to laud such sacrifice. Surely you wouldn't forget the battle?"

"No, but this isn't a memorial for the battle, it's for the victims," said Nelly. "Nobody wants to remember the fighting. They want to remember the people."

Bróin was quiet for a long moment, and then he grinned rather sadly. "Y'know, the world'd be a lot better place if everyone had the same outlook on life as hobbits do."

"Ah," Nelly painted a smile on her own face. "You'd get bored."

"Not at all," Bróin slung an arm around her shoulders. "I'd just throw myself into organised wrestling."

Smiling sadly, Nelly left the new party meadow behind, hurdled over a fence, and ran down the road and into the Memorial Meadow itself. She slowed down a little, trailing her hand through the flowers. She could still remember hiding in the Old Mill, and stabbing the little knife that Nori had given her into the leg of the huge man threatening to kill Merry. She could remember running with a fear that she had never felt before, and she remembered watching an enormous man hold a knife against Frodo's throat.

They had not been anywhere near the battle, but it had been a rather horrific day all the same.

When she reached the Old Party Tree she paused and knelt down for a moment.

"Thank you," she murmured, "for fighting. Thank you for protecting my family. I'm so sorry that it cost you your lives."

It was part of her morning ritual, while she was here, to thank the dead fighters who were anything but warriors. It would feel awfully rude to run through and ignore them.

But it was time to move on now.

She stood up and jogged to the edge of the field, passing the nearby houses before she sped up into a run again. The sky was beginning to light a little, allowing her to just about see as she followed her usual route into the little forest. Dodging the many natural obstacles in her path, she pushed into a sprint. Nori had made her race through all sorts of obstacle courses through the years, and though she had been bruised and scraped more times than she could count she had eventually become rather good at it. It was a nice challenge to run in a place where your environment could change with a guest of wind or a passing animal, especially where it was barely light enough to see.

Faster and faster, she wove her way to the large tree that formed the setting for her nightmares and her daydreams. Her parents, uncle and Kíli referred to it as 'their' tree, and she had grown up in its branches. They all had.

Nelly climbed easily, making her way to the strong boughs halfway up, and then sat still for a few moments in the early morning breeze. She let her eyes close and her mind empty. It was a trick that she had learnt from Elladan and Elrohir, the cheery sons of Elrond, over several visits to Rivendell, and a couple of their visits to New Dale and Erebor.

This had been her routine for more than a decade, no matter where she was, who she was with, or how spontaneous she was during the day. In the hours before sunlight she would train her body – running and simplistic exercises – and her mind with meditation. She would do it alone, and return to her family or companions just as the sun came up. Then, as the day grew older, she would let it take her where it would.

Nelly had begun her little ritual as an effort to prove to her parents that she was more than capable of joining Nori's 'Watchers' – a group of skilled, spy-like dwarves who aided the guards in maintaining peace and safety in Erebor. It had since become so much more than that. She found that without her mornings running alone she would become rather irritable, and with them she could deal with her chaotic family all day long, without a trace of weariness. Her brother thought she was mad – Pippin could not understand how waking up hours earlier than you need to could make one less tired. Nelly, on the other hand, could not understand how one could live life without a waking moment of solitude.

The quiet bird song around her began to grow a little louder. When Nelly opened her eyes, it was light enough to see her surroundings with little difficulty. She stood up, pausing but a moment to adjust her balance. Then, she bent over and grabbed a hold of the branch, kicking her legs up into the air. She walked along the branch on her hands, her stomach swooping as the bough swayed a little. The balance beams and swinging poles at Erebor never shifted.

It was a thrilling feeling.

She walked back to the base of the tree and then rested her legs against the trunk, before kicking them backwards over her head to make a wobbly landing on the bough. Controlling her breathing with care, she ran through several other drills and exercises, choreographing as she went. Nori always said that it was foolish to repeat the same techniques day after day, as your body would simply get used to them.

Finally, the sky was light enough to tell her that the sun had almost broken over the horizon, so she hopped out of the tree and began to run once again.

She skidded to a halt outside her grandparents' door just in time to see the sun peeking over the hills. It would be another half hour or so before her family woke, even on a day like today, so she had no contest for the bathroom – that was the other plus of getting up early.

One cold shower later, she snuck into the kitchen and made herself some toast, gazing out of the window as she ate. The grass glittered beneath the rising sun, and she could not see a single cloud.

Yawning, Pippin shuffled into the room. "Morning."

"Morning," Nelly sang. "You've got drool on your chin."

Pippin rubbed at his chin and sat down. "You're in that old dressing gown again."

"My, you're very observant this morning," Nelly replied lightly. "And up earlier than usual."

Pippin just yawned. "You ought to go and get dressed. Papa won't be impressed if you're still strolling around like that when he wakes."

Nelly rolled her eyes. "I'm going now. Don't worry yourself, laddie."

"I'm not worried about you; I'm worried about my ears. It's too early to hear all the yelling."

"Aw, wee lamb," Nelly drawled, putting her plate in the sink and returning to the bedroom she shared with her sleeping sisters. Pippin had a point – it was not particularly ladylike or acceptable for a girl to flounce around the house in a naught but a knee-length dressing gown, in the Shire or Erebor, but no one was usually up this early anyway.

Shaking her head, she opened the wardrobe, mindful of the squeaking door, and pulled out the outfit her grandmother had made her. Even at the age of ninety-three, her Grandma Daisy was an incredible seamstress.

Nelly began to get dressed, starting with her undergarments and then the ivory coloured undershirt and underskirt, both embroidered with flowers. Next came the dusty blue bodice, embroidered at the front and tied with ribbons at the back, then finally the matching skirt, split down the front to show off the embroidery of the underskirt. The outfit came halfway down her shins – a fashionable hobbit choice that was unseen in Erebor. It had been years since she had worn such an outfit, and she had to admit that she was enjoying dressing up.

By the time she got out her combs and beads, Vinca and Pearl were up and arguing vehemently with Merry over who got to use the bathroom first. Nelly snickered. Careful to keep her hair as hobbitish as possible, she gathered the top half up and braided into a little bun, letting the rest hang loose. In with a decorative comb and – there. She was done.

It felt strange dressing up without the nakhdu id'ubd, the traditional dwarven face paint, but there was something about seeing her naked face in the mirror that she liked. It felt very natural.

When her grandfather called out that food was ready, Nelly ate rather slowly, savouring every bite of Adalgrim Took's famous full Shire breakfast, while her siblings, parents, aunts and cousins wolfed down their food in various states of dress. Once upon a time she would have been the last to get ready, but she had learnt that it was far easier to sort yourself first out and watch the rest run around like headless chickens. She got reprimanded far less for that.

She was playing cards when her grandmother walked into the room. "Cup of tea, my dear?"

"Oh, I'd love one, thank you," Nelly smiled, taking the steaming cup happily.

"Perfect! I made one for your Grandfather, but he had made his own." Grandma Daisy sat down beside her. "I must say, I do love it when you come back to visit us."

"Me too," Nelly squeezed her grandmother's hand.

"Are you happy in that big old city, lass?"

"Oh, yes," Nelly enthused, unable to help her grin. "You should come back with us for a visit! It's really a sight to see. And there's so much to do, all the time! Take Pearl, for example, she teaches dancing to little dwarflings and choreographs all these huge shows with professional dancers. Then on her off days she runs around like a hooligan with the rest of us, doing whatever we want to do! Tea parties, pranking people, dances, concerts, painting, singing – just, anything you can think of. Oh, you would love it Grandma!"

Daisy chuckled. "I'm a bit old for such a journey, Nell."

"You're only as old as you want to be," Nelly winked, and her grandmother laughed again. "No, I do love it. I am very happy there."

"With that Bróin lad?"

"Grandma!" Nelly groaned. "Not you, too! We're friends, that is all."

"Ah, I can't help myself. I'd like to see my grandchildren married before I go on."

Nelly rolled her eyes.

"Speaking of marriage, I'd have thought that young Bilbo and Dís might've had a babe or two by now. Goodness knows they have enough practise raising children."

Nelly's heart fell. "Grandma, I'm not sure that they can."

Daisy's smile collapsed. "What do you mean?"

Looking around, Nelly leant closer and lowered her voice. "Dís has fallen pregnant four times in the past two decades. She lost two before they were much of a bump, and the others were stillborn later. It was awful, Grandma, they were crushed. We all were."

"Oh, Nelly, I'm so sorry for poking in," Daisy put her hand on her heart. "That's just dreadful."

Nelly sighed sadly. "I know. I think they're trying not to, now."

"Poor souls," Daisy shook her head. "I lost a son you know, before your father was born. Peregrin, was his name. He was such a tiny little thing, and he only lived a few hours. It is not something that you ever forget."

"I didn't know that," Nelly murmured. "Is that why Pippin…"

"Indeed," Daisy smiled sadly. "We told Paladin and Esme of their brother, but it is still a sad subject today."

"And that's why Papa and Aunt Esme are called your youngest children by some of the old folk?"

"Aye, it's their way of remembering. My, this is no subject to dwell on when it is the day of such a big party. We should be celebrating!"

"Yes," Nelly took a deep breath and smiled, raising her tea cup like a tankard. "Yes, we should. Despite all bets, Frodo Baggins actually made it to adulthood!"

Daisy laughed. "Pimpernel Took!"

"Oh, but we did such stupid things, Grandma," Nelly insisted. "It's a wonder any of us are still alive, really!"

"And you don't do stupid things anymore?" Daisy raised an eyebrow.

"That depends on your definition of stupid," Nelly said lightly.

Daisy laughed again. "Well, just you be careful, lass. I – oh, there's the doorbell. Be a dear and grab that for me, lass."

"Of course," Nelly jumped up and skipped over to the door. She opened it, and her jaw dropped.

"Am I hobbitish enough for you?" asked Bróin, gesturing to his three-quarter length trousers, braces, light shirt, waistcoat, scarf and jacket. His feet were bare and his hair – his hair had curls in it, and hung just above his shoulders!

She laughed brightly. "Nice! How did you do your hair? You did not cut it?!"

"No, I didn't cut it! I let my sisters at it and slept with knots in my hair all night. Now I have about fifteen thousand pins digging into my scalp to make it look shorter, and I look like a poodle."

"Nelly, who is it?" her grandmother called from the kitchen.

"Just Bróin," Nelly called back.

There was a thud from the adjoining room, and Uncle Saradoc poked his head out of the door. "Good heavens, is that the time?"

"Midday is in five minutes and counting," Bróin nodded.

Saradoc went pale and yelled. "Five-minute warning, let's go, let's go, let's go! Esme, now is not the time to start your hair again, let's go! This is not a drill; I repeat not a drill – Vinca are you not even dressed!"

Ignoring the mayhem behind her, Nelly turned back to Bróin. "You don't look like a poodle."

"You didn't see it loose," Bróin muttered, though he was grinning. "It's alright now that it's pinned up and isn't falling in long, flowing ringlets down my back."

Nelly snorted. "I can imagine. But yes, in answer to your first question. You do look hobbitish enough."

"Good," Bróin leant against the doorframe with a grin. "You should see Thorin. It's hilarious."

"Oh, please tell me there are curls in his hair!"

"Not quite," Bróin admitted. "But he's in full hobbit dress. Red shorts, white top, green waistcoat, red jacket. Ori's drawing a picture of it as we speak, so we can frame it and keep it forever."

"Wonderful!" Nelly clapped her hands together and looked over her shoulder. "Are we ready to go?"

"No!"

Nelly sighed. "Well I am, so we're going to go ahead, alright?" She sauntered out of the door, raising her eyebrows at Bróin. "Well, are you coming?"

He offered her his arm. "Of course."

They were barely halfway down the lane when the sound of music met their ears, and a young blonde tween ran towards them, her blonde hair flying behind her and her blue eyes sparkling.

"Nelly!"

"Who's this?" Bróin murmured.

"Estella!" Nelly ignored him, hugging her young friend tightly. "Where have you been? I haven't seen you since the last trip!"

"I've been down in Deep Hollow, with my mother's family for the last few months, my grandma wasn't too well," Estella explained cheerfully. "But she was well enough to travel up for Frodo's birthday today, we got here late last night."

"That's wonderful – though I'm sorry your grandmother was sick. This is Bróin, by the way. Bróin, this is Estella Bolger, Fatty's little sister."

"Ah," Bróin nodded, grinning at the tween. "It's lovely to meet you, your brother's a riot."

"He starts a riot every time Merry, Frodo and Pippin leave, but if you dare suggest he leave the Shire, nooo, that's out of the question," Estella rolled her eyes.

"There's nothing wrong with loving your homeland," Bróin said, but then he added with a wink, "there's nothing wrong with a bit of wanderlust either."

Nelly rolled her eyes with a wry smile. "Vinca's still inside, I think, if you're looking for her, Stella."

"Thanks, Nelly," Estella beamed, waving goodbye and running off the way that Nelly and Bróin had just come.

"Could you perhaps not flirt with every pretty lass that you ever meet? It's just embarrassing."

"I wasn't flirting," Bróin protested. "I was just being friendly! She's Vinca's friend, is she not?"

"Estella and Vinca were best friends, close as you and I, back when we lived in Hobbiton, and they're still really close now."

"I've heard Vinca talk about her before. I have to say though, Fatty is very odd nickname."

"Oh, he's been called Fatty since we were toddling," Nelly waved her hand. "I can't remember who started it. The boys and Fatty were always really close, but like Estella said I can't imagine him ever leaving the Shire. He's only got more attached to home the more that we leave."

As if summoned by their very voices, Fatty Bolger appeared. "Oh, hello Nelly, Bróin. You haven't seen my sister, have you?"

"Yep," Nelly smiled. "She's just gone back to grandma and grandpa's to see Vinca."

Fatty sighed and rolled his eyes. "Pa told me to escort her to the party and within five seconds she's disappeared."

"Escort us instead," Nelly offered Fatty her other arm and he grinned at took it.

"Alright, don't mind if I do. Do you have this much trouble keeping track of your brothers and sisters, Bróin? I can't imagine having four of them, one is stressful enough."

"Seven. I have seven siblings. The youngest three are still in Erebor," Bróin explained. "Bolin was going to come with us, but he broke his leg a couple of days before we left. Poor kid. Bowin and Olin weren't going to come anyway – our parents thought they were too young for so long a journey. Bowin is five and Olin, well she's just a baby! But yeah, it's hard to keep track of them sometimes."

"I didn't know that," Fatty sounded surprised. "I thought dwarves didn't have so many children?"

"Well, my father never does anything by halves," Bróin said cheerfully. "Luckily I have a reputation for getting into an awful lot of trouble, so I'm not usually put in charge of the little ones."

"This music sounds pretty good," Nelly commented as they drew closer to the meadow.

"It's the Howling Hornblowers, a band who came up all the way from Longbottom," said Fatty. "I saw them perform a while ago now, they're very good."

"Wow," Bróin murmured as they strode, arm in arm, into the meadow. "I didn't realise that there was so much going on! Games, shows, food – this is more like a festival than a party!"

"Oh, look!" Nelly gasped. "Darts! Let's go play!"

They bounded across the meadow towards the large dartboard, parting the gathering crowd. The whole of Hobbiton and the surrounding villages had been invited, as had folk from all four farthings. There were many Tooks present, and almost every member of Brandy Hall had made the journey from Buckland to celebrate their young cousin's birthday. It was, of course, Bilbo's birthday as well, but he had steered all the emphasis on Frodo this year.

Bilbo's organisation was impeccable. The caterers kept a constant supply of food and drink flowing, and when the 'Howling Hornblowers' bowed off of the stage there was another band there immediately to take its place. There were magnificent presents for everyone attending – including the musicians and caterers – and not one of the several hundred guests was lacking something to do.

There were dozens of games set up, for those ranging from their toddling years to adulthood – Kíli, Fíli and Gimli had insisted on dragging Frodo to his first official drinking game later that evening. There were puppet shows and storytellers (Bilbo and Bofur being the most popular) and the merry atmosphere had even the Sackville-Bagginses smiling.

The food stopped coming around two hours before dinner, so when Bilbo blew a loud toot on a horn and announced that it was time to eat, there was an enthusiastic round of applause from the crowd. Frodo could not help but smile when little Eyja got so excited at the sight of outdoor candlelit tables that she ran straight into the back of her Uncle Thorin. The dwarf king cackled and lifted her off of the floor, throwing her into the air with a menacing – "I've got you now!"

"No!" she squealed, a huge grin on her face. "Adad, help!"

"You're on your own, lass!" Dwalin replied, trying to get Frerin into his seat. It was quite a task, because the boy did not want to sit down at all – he had been halfway through making a daisy chain with some little hobbits when dinner way called, and he found it most unfair that he had been interrupted. "Sit down, lad."

Frodo could see Thorin's eyes twinkling as he came to take his seat just a few places down from him, Eyja still sitting on his hip. The young Baggins was delighted to note that his whole family seemed happy and at peace here, especially the dwarves. That was as good a present as any, let alone the fantastic party Bilbo had thrown in his honour.

The whole thing made Frodo feel quite small, really.

"Speech!" Someone called, when the smattering of cutlery on plates had given way to the sound of contented chatter. "Speech!"

Frodo glanced at Bilbo by his side, and his uncle smiled and stood up.

"Well, all right then," he called indulgently, though Frodo knew full well that Bilbo loved a good speech. For all his talk of being a simple hobbit with simple needs, Bilbo Baggins was a drama queen at heart. "My dear Bagginses and Boffins, Tooks and Brandybucks, Grubbs, Chubbs, Hornblowers, Bolgers, Bracegirdles, Proudfoots-"

"Proudfeet!" roared Olo Proudfoot.

"Proudfoots, Goodbodies, Brockhouses, assorted dwarves and other guests," Bilbo began. "And oh yes, not to forget the… dear Sackville-Bagginses! To you all, I say welcome and thank you! Thank you all for coming to celebrate my dear cousin's birthday."

Resounding cheers made Frodo's face burn, but he grinned and clapped with a "Hear, hear!"

"While it is also my own seventy-third birthday, I think that we can all agree that Frodo's thirty-third – his coming of age – is infinitely more important. I have had the great honour of raising him for the past twenty-two years, and I am both delighted and proud to say that Frodo Baggins has become a fine young hobbit."

The cheers at these words were louder yet, and there was an explosion of applause. Beaming, Frodo raised his glass appreciatively at Bilbo, who bowed his head and smiled warmly.

"Your parents would be very proud of you," he said softly, "and I am sure that they are here in spirit with you today."

There was a much quieter smattering of applause now, and Frodo smiled sadly. He still missed his parents, and their absence still hurt, but with the help of Bilbo, his family and the Mind Healers of Erebor he had long since made peace with their deaths. When their faces swam in his mind they were smiling and hugging him. They were happy.

"Does Uncle Bilbo mean that they are ghosts?" Eyja cried, looking around with wide eyes, and there was a ripple of laughter.

"No, sweetheart," Thorin assured her, fixing her askew bonnet. "He means that they are watching from the Halls of Mandos."

"Oh!" Eyja frowned. "Can they do that?"

"Hush now, Uncle Bilbo has not finished talking," Thorin murmured, tweaking her nose. "We shall talk later, alright?"

Bilbo winked at Eyja and Thorin. "After our many adventures and misadventures, there are many stories that I could tell today, but as it is not my day I would lie to invite Frodo to say a few words for himself."

Frodo, who had been expecting this, smiled and stood up. "I would simply like to thank everyone for coming, and thank my uncle, aunt and the rest of our family for organising this wonderful party. So please, my friends, drink yourself merry and enjoy the dancing!"

An enormous, tumultuous cheer rose up like a wave at his words, and as if waiting for that very cue the Howling Hornblowers leapt back onto the stage and took up their instruments, accompanied by several young hobbits with their birthday presents. Many little flutes and pipes and drums had been given out by the Bagginses, and within seconds a lively tune was rousing the well-fed crowd.

Frodo danced until his feet felt like rocks. The night had grown dark around them, the little ones were falling asleep in their seats and the third band were playing by the time he slumped into a seat to catch his breath.

Pearl whirled over to him and pressed a tankard into his hand. "Ale?"

"Thank you," Frodo gasped as he caught his breath, taking it gratefully and rubbing the stitch on his side. "Are you…having a good time?"

"Oh yes," she enthused, hardly sounding out of breath at all. "Dwarven balls are all well and good-"

"Pfft!" Frodo snorted. "You love the balls! You try and convince Thorin to throw them every month!"

Pearl rolled her eyes. "Well, yes, I do love a good ball, but there's nothing quite like a hobbit party. I've missed the dances. Ooh! When we get back we should throw a dance, hobbit style!"

"That sounds like a wonderful idea, but no one will've grown up learning the steps," Frodo pointed out eagerly. "We'll have to teach them!"

Pearl sighed happily. "I can't wait." Then she pushed her hair from her eyes. "Drink up, little cousin."

"Excuse me," Frodo raised his eyebrows. "I am of age now, and you most certainly are not. Being two inches taller than me does not make me your 'little cousin'. You are my little cousin."

"Only six months and I'll be of age too!" Pearl pinched his cheeks and then danced out of reach. "Bye-bye, baby Baggins!"

Frodo simply laughed, taking a swig of the ale she had brought him. Sam danced past with Rosie Cotton in his arms and a somewhat terrified look in his eye, behind his elated smile. Raising his tankard with a wink, Frodo encouraged him to keep dancing and laughed at Sam's face.

Something soft thwacked into his foot and he looked down. There was a small hand resting against his foot, attached to the little arm of a lightly snoring girl. Frodo smiled – Eyja was snoozing under the table, her little brother tucked beneath her arm. Frerin blinked up at Frodo with bleary eyes.

"Frodo?"

"Hello, Frerin. Would you like to go do bed, perhaps?"

"Not," Frerin yawned. "Sleepy."

"Oh, I see!" Frodo nodded.

"Don't tell Ama," the child snuffled, and he wiggled closer to his sister. "She'll make us go to bed and we're not…even…tired."

Frodo winked and stood up, carefully pushing the chair in so that they were concealed once more beneath the table. It was not at all unusual in the Shire for children to put themselves to sleep when the hour grew late, and the dwarves had embraced all other parts of a hobbit party wholeheartedly. Nevertheless, he should probably let Elza know where they were.

Once he had told her, Frodo was dragged back to the dancefloor by Bofin and Bróin, only to be dragged back off again by Fíli and Kíli.

"Drinking game," Kíli said firmly. "We promised."

"Alright, alright, I'm coming!" Frodo laughed, letting the princes push him into a seat around a small table.

They took up the seats either side of him, and Gimli took the seat opposite.

"Right!" the redhead declared, rubbing his hands together. "The rules – the judge gives a category and you go around the circle saying something related without repetition or hesitation. If you do, you must empty your drink. Last dwarf or dwobbit standing wins."

"Very well," Frodo drew in a deep breath and took the mug that Dwalin was offering him. All the hobbits that had been raised in Erebor among the dwarves now shared Kíli's title of 'dwobbit'.

"I'll be the judge," Dwalin explained, ruffling Frodo's hair. "You'll all get the same drinks in the same order. Any spewing and you're out. If at any time you want to surrender, raise your left fist in the hair."

Frodo nodded, somewhat nervously.

"And don't worry," Kíli said soothingly. "You're a hobbit and a newer drinker than we, so really you stand no chance, but it's good fun anyway and we'll look after you if you black out. Should the worst come to the worst, there'll be someone to get you home safely. You don't have to worry about anything. Just sit back, play and for the love of all things holy do not let Bilbo see us. Right, over to you, Mister Dwalin!"

"Right," Dwalin cleared his throat. "The first category… types of flowers."

Frodo laughed as Gimli and Fíli groaned, and the game began. To everyone's surprise, Frodo held out for much longer than anyone expected, but by midnight he was dozing on Kíli's shoulder.

"He's dribbling!" Kíli giggled in delight, his own head lolling a little more freely on his shoulders than usual. "Just like when he was, was a baby."

"You still," Fíli hiccupped, "don't know how to hold your liquor, Kee."

"Le's get him home," Kíli ignored his brother, standing onto his trembling legs and lifted Frodo into his arms.

"No, no, no!" Dwalin let out a growling laugh and peeled the two apart, throwing Frodo gently over his shoulder. "You'll just fall over and break the poor lad's head. It's time for us all to – what do you hobbits say – hit the hay."

"Hit the hay," Kíli nodded fervently. "Smack the straw. Bash the barley. Oops…" He had walked right into a table.

Dwalin grabbed the younger prince by the arm and led him slowly and clumsily up to Bag End. The party was dying, and the lights were fading, the bands had all bowed off stage.

Bilbo Baggins stood alone in the meadow when the last few guests had meandered out and smiled. The buzz of alcohol and dancing was still coursing through his veins, but that was nothing compared to the warm feeling of happiness that enveloped him. The party had gone better than he could have possibly expected. The dark clouds rolling in did not dismay him, and he little felt the weight of the ring at all.

Everything felt perfect.

Or at least, it would have felt perfect, if it were not for the absence of an old friend in an old, grey hat.

I very much hope that you enjoyed that chapter! As ever, I hope to get the next one up shortly, but I cannot make any promises. I also hope to update The Living Years (a drabble series about this particular universe) relatively soon too!

Thank you for reading, please leave a little review if you fancy. I love hearing your feedback!