=D Ok!!! How are you, my friend? Well, here's my second chappy, hope you like, bye!

~:Hoshiko

Mysterious Gift

Ondril Baggins sat outside his hobbit-hole, and took his pipe out of his mouth. It was 4012, Shire Reckoning, in the Fourth Age. He was turning 45 in a week, and everything was going as planned. His birthday would come, and the Tooks, and Brandybucks, and Gardiners, and everyone would be invited. His plan was to have it as he had always heard of in the old stories about a hobbit named Bilbo Baggins.

I believe now would be a good time to describe Ondril Baggins. He was a hobbit, nothing arguing against that. He shared the slightly heavy built body, and large, furry feet. He had blue eyes, and dark brown hair. He lived in the Shire, and ate his six meals a day, enjoying ale and pipe-weed (preferably Lane-Toby) and lived in a hobbit hole in Hobbiton.

But there was something different about Ondril. He was a past-reader; that is, he studied the history of Middle-earth. When he had just come of age he did some research, and found that his great – great- (there are many more, exactly 28 'greats' in all, but we will not count them) Uncle was a hobbit by the name of Frodo Baggins, the fabled hobbit from the old stories. From then on Ondril was a very proud hobbit. Over the years, the family name had been changed from Baggins to Baffins, to Braggen, and many more, finally falling into Broggins. When he found out his ancestry, he changed his last name back to the beginning, back to Baggins. If he had anyway of knowing, he would have been more pleased at the fact that he looked exactly like his many-great-uncle in every way.

He sat there, thinking of his plans, until he saw an elderly man walking up the pathway. Being slightly wary of strangers, he stood, and when the man stopped, he shifted uneasily.

'Yes?' he asked, and a smile cracked on the old man's face. Ondril became a bit suspicious at that smile. 'Yes, what would you like, sir?' he asked, and the old man switched his staff into his other hand.

'Are you Ondril Broggins?' he asked, and Ondril nodded.

'Yes…' he said, and in his mind ran the thought of something he had read before. Before he knew it, his mouth was speaking with out his brain thinking first. 'Gandalf?' he asked, and to his surprise, the old man laughed. It was a full, hearty laugh, and it calmed the small hobbit down a little.

'Yes… some people have mistaken me as him before, but if I did not know better, I would say you were Frodo Baggins.' He said, and Ondril raised an eyebrow. 'I remember when Frodo used to walk this very road to get to this very hobbit-hole; it used to be called Bag End.'

'As it still is. Who are you?'

'My name, young hobbit, is Brendalin. I am a Wizard.' Brendalin said, and Ondril's eyes opened wide.

'A wizard?'

'Yes, an Istari of the third age. I was sent here when Gandalf's tasks were over, to take off where he let off.'

'But that is impossible.' Said Ondril, gathering his senses. 'A wizard has not been seen in this part of the Shire for-'

'And age of this earth.' Brendalin said, finishing his sentence. 'I am Brendalin the gray.' He said, and Ondril stared at him in disbelief. After a long moment of silence, Ondril found himself inviting Brendalin into his house.

'Tea?' Ondril asked, and Brendalin nodded.

'Oh, certainly, thank you.' The wizard said as he poured hot tea into a cup that was much too small for the Istari.

'Why have you come?' Ondril asked as Brendalin looked around the room.

'I have come to- bring you something. A gift, if you will.' The bent wizard said, and the Tookish side of Ondril (his grandmother was a Took) became frightfully interested.

'A gift?'

'Yes, left to you by your uncle Frodo. He went on an adventure, Master Ondril, weather you know of it or not. On this adventure he acquired a stone, a precious jewel, though he was hardly aware. How it fell into his possession is a mystery, and I doubt the answer will ever be found. It was given to me by Gandalf those thousands of years ago, and I was told to only give it to one of Frodo's relatives when I though they were ready. Well, I believe you are ready, Ondril, and here it is.' He said, and handed Ondril a small bag with one lone, round jewel in its depths. 'Keep it safe, and tell no one of it, not until I tell you that you must.'

'Thank you, sir, I think… now… is there anything else?'

'Yes, there is. In an envelope in this very house, there is a note that you must read. I believe you will find the envelope behind a brick in the fireplace. Now, I must be off, and I hope our friendship will last, Ondril.' The wizard said, and Ondril took his out-stretched hand.

'Yes, of course. Now, if would like me to, I'll show you to the door.' Ondril said and started for the door. When he turned around, though, Brendalin had disappeared. 'Brendalin?' he asked, not finding him. He shrugged it off, though, and looked at the small bag in his hand.

It was strange- he had trusted the Wizard, if that was what he really was, quickly, with no real reason. Something seemed… pleasant, though, about the man. But Bilbo Baggins, if the story held true, had trusted Gandalf quickly. He put the stone in on the fireplace, and quite forgot about it.

Ondril looked about his hobbit-hole, and sighed contently to himself. It was very neat and tidy, as it had always been. Today was his birthday, and he could see the hobbits outside, setting up for his party. Outside he could hear the working of Bromwine Gardener, surname serving him correctly, for she was his gardener.

Brom was ten years younger than Ondril, with curly, golden hair, and brown eyes. His father was a very heavy-set hobbit whom went by the name of Granwine, all decendents of Samwise the Brave, the original Gardiner. They were a kind bunch, as most Gardiner's were, and terribly fast talkers. The family, he had learned, had inherited thousands of gold coins from their founder, Samwise, though it had been so spread out in the thousands of years you would not have known it.

He was whistling a rather happy tune while working today, and when the noon-bell rang at noon, he could see his head peek just over the bottom of the window. He wiped some sweat from her brow, and smiled in on him. It was in the middle of September, but it was still rather hot.

'Hello, Ondril!' he said cheerily, and walked into the door. 'How are you today?'

'I'm wonderful Brom.'

'They're setting up for a big party, I see.' Brom said as he washed his hands at the wash-tub. 'I hear it's for Halfast.' He said, and the twinkle that was normally in Ondril's eyes faded.

'For who?' he asked, going slightly pale.

'You know, Halfast Brace-girdle?' he said, as he rushed over to the window he smiled contently with himself. The script on the sign clearly stated 'Happy 45th Ondril Baggins!' When he looked out the window Brom burst out laughing, and he regained color.

'Wonderfully funny, Bromwine, absolutely brilliant.' He said, but couldn't keep the smile from his face.

'Well it serves you right, you were getting pretty high on your cloud, if you get my meaning.' Brom said, and he shook his head. They ate lunch together, and their seconds half and hour after that. They then went down to the Mithril Coat afterwards, and as they walked down the road they chatted happily.

The Shire looked as it always had. Vibrant greens and other bright colors filled the area. In 3526 the Shire had to be totally re-grown after the great fire. Most homes had been destroyed except for the ones on Bagshot Row. They were virtually untouched, and most of the hobbits had dismissed it as pure luck, but some said there was some funny things going on. Nothing could stop a fire that huge. But, no one was alive who remembered it, and it was dismissed over the hundreds of years.

The rest of the Shire, however, had to be rebuilt. Pubs were redone, and new hobbit-holes were rebuilt. The Green Dragon had perished so much in this fire, that it had to be totally cleared, and rebuilt. They called the new pub the 'Mithril Coat,' for the story was very well remembered, and everyone loved it.

Besides that, little had changed in the Shire. Besides the fact that it had spread out to the Tower Hills, and part of Anor, it was still the Shire. Everyone dressed the same as they had for thousands of years, and talked with the same accent. If you were to sleep for hundreds of years, and wake up later, you wouldn't know you had slept more than a day. The hobbit's culture and way of living had been successfully preserved.

When Ondril and Brom opened the door to the pub, they were greeted by cheers and cat-calls from the hobbits in the pub. A younger hobbit immediately recognized them, and jumped up, shoving two ales into their hands.

'And here he is!' the young Brandybuck said, clapping Ondril on the back. Ondril took the ale, and guzzled down half of it.

'I promised a party, and a party we will have!' he said, and the young hobbit showed them to his table.

'So, Teriadoc, what did you do all day?' Brom asked, and Terry made a face like he was in extreme pain; it was his thinking face.

'Well, I… went into a farmer's crops… with the help of Param, of coarse, and… then ran from him because he had heard us laughing… and… came here for a few ales before the party!' he said triumphantly, remembering his day successfully. He raised an eyebrow in a very manly 'so what do you think about that?' way, and Brom shook his head.

'Terry, how much have you had to drink today?'

'Enough.'

'I see.'  Ondril laughed, shook his head, and when his other cousin Param sat down he was surprised to receive a rather large hug.

'Ondril, cousin, old pal!' Param exclaimed, and threw his arms around his older cousin. When he let go he held out the half-eaten part of a carrot. 'Carrot?'

'No…' Ondril said, declining the offer. Param shrugged it off, though, and took a rather large bite, followed by a gulp of ale. 'So, when are you going down for the party, father says he's ready for you at any time now.'

'Oh? You were just there?'

'Well…no… but I thought you might like to hear that. It's been ready for a while now.' Param said, and Ondril laughed. Param and his younger cousin Terry were both very young, hyper, hilarious hobbits. Param was twenty-eight, and Terry was even younger, about twenty-two.

'Down to the party we go, then!' Terry announced, and hopped up. He staggered a little bit, but with the help of Param they were off down to the party together. Brom was still shaking his head, and downed his last bit of ale.

'Come along, Brom, we don't want those two out alone with all that food.' Ondril said, and did the same as Brom had just done. They then stood, and helped each other out to the Party Tree.