Chapter Twenty-Two: A Long-Awaited Party

"Pippin! Isn’t this marvelous?" Merry ran over to his younger cousin, holding a cup of apple cider in his hand, his face flushed with excitement and dancing. Pip nodded and grinned, shoveling a large bite of cake into his mouth. Merry suddenly looked around the pavilion. "Where’s Frodo? Have you seen him?" Pip looked around as well, and then finally spotted their cousin’s dark head amid the enormous crowd of hobbits. He pointed him out, and Merry ran off to see him, while Pippin concentrated on eating – the best part of parties, in his opinion; besides presents, of course.

The band was playing a lively tune, and most of the hobbits, young and old, were dancing. Frodo stood on the side, watching them all with a smile. "All we need are some fireworks!" saidMerry as he ran up.

Frodo nodded, watching as young Samwise shyly made his way through the crowd towards them. "Yes, that would be just the thing to top it all off," he agreed. "Well Sam, not going to dance? I see your sisters and brothers are."

Sam stopped in front of Frodo, his brown eyes shining with excitement. "No sir, Mr. Frodo," he said, somewhat shyly. "I’m not much good at dancin’, sir, if you follow me."

Frodo laughed. "Of course you are! I taught you myself, didn’t I?" Sam blushed and looked down, and Frodo patted his shoulder. "Don’t worry, Sam. You’re a fine dancer. Look," he pointed to a young hobbit lass, around Sam’s age, sitting alone in the far corner. "Rosie Cotton’s got no one to dance with; why don’t you go ask her?"

Sam’s face paled and he looked so appalled at the very idea of asking Rosie Cotton to dance that it was all Frodo could do not to burst out laughing. Poor Sam was always nervous and tongue-tied around lasses; although to be fair, he did considerably better around Rosie as he had grown up with her and she was a good friend to both his sisters. But still, to ask her to dance? That was little too far for Sam Gamgee.

"Oh, n-n-no, Mr. Frodo," he gasped, eyes wide as he stared at the fair-haired hobbit maid. "S-she wouldn’t…I-I mean, what if she doesn’t want to?"

Frodo gave Sam a gentle push towards the far side of the pavilion. "You’ll never know until you try," he said softly, giving Sam a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

Taking a deep breath, Sam shyly walked over to where young Rosie sat alone. He glanced back at Frodo and Merry, who were watching expectantly. Frodo was smiling encouragingly, while Merry looked rather amused. Sam turned back around – and nearly collided with the girl he was gathering the courage to talk to.

"Oh, I-I’m sorry, Rosie," he stammered, turning red to the tips of his ears. "Wasn’t watchin’ where I was goin’, silly thing that I am."

Rosie laughed. "No, Sam," she said, "'twere my fault. I was comin’ over to see what you were comin’ over to do. You looked as though you were goin’ into a dragon’s den, Sam Gamgee!"

Sam, if possibler, blushed even further and managed a weak chuckle. "So, what were you comin’ over here for?" Rosie asked curiously, her brown eyes sparkling in the lights that hung in the pavilion.

Sam hesitated a moment, and then he forced himself to look up. "I was comin’ to ask you if…if maybe you’d like to dance," he said timidly. "B-but I understand if you don’t want to…"

Rosie blinked a few times in surprise, and then laughed merrily. "Why Sam, you silly hobbit," she said. "Of course I’ll dance with you – I was wonderin’ when you’d ask. Your sisters said you didn’t have a dance partner." Without giving the startled Samwise a chance to reply, she grabbed him by the hand and pulled him out into the middle of the dance.

Frodo and Merry watched, smiling as Sam and Rosie danced. "All right, Frodo," Merry said at length, "when are you going to join the dance?"

Frodo looked down at his cousin with a smile. "As soon as you do," he replied jokingly.

Merry laughed, taking a large gulp of his apple cider. "I was thinking about asking Melilot, or maybe Estella," he said, looking at the two hobbit girls as he named them. He suddenly spotted another hobbit lass coming towards him, and his face paled. "But I’m afraid I can’t choose just now," he said hurriedly, pushing his cup into Frodo’s hands. "I have to keep away from Pervinca – she’s been chasing me all evening!" Frodo laughed as Merry dashed back into the thick crowd of hobbits, and after hesitating a moment, Pervincia followed him.

Once again, Frodo was alone. He didn’t feel lonely, exactly, but he had enjoyed Sam and Merry’s company. He spotted Pippin, dancing with Miss Celandine Brandybuck, one of his best friends. Although a lass, and as such forced to wear the irritating thick skirts and uncomfortable dresses, Celandine was as mischievous and troublesome as any Took lad, which explained why she and Pippin were good friends.

Just then, Bilbo came over, startling Frodo out of his thoughts. He was wearing a sparkling new jade shirt with a golden waistcoat, to match with Frodo’s cerulean shirt and silver waistcoat. "Not dancing, lad?" he asked with a teasing smile.

Frodo shook his head. "Just watching everyone else for the moment. Merry’s still trying to elude Pervinca."

Bilbo followed his gaze and laughed as he saw Merry crawling under tables to escape the stubborn hobbit lass. "You know, she only wants to apologize for the trick she played on him the last time they saw each other," he commented.

Frodo raised his eyebrows. "Is that all? By the look on Merry’s face, you’d think she was trying to come through on all her threats and skin him alive."

Bilbo’s gaze scanned the pavilion, taking in all the guests. "Miss Emmaretta Took seems to need a dance partner," he gestured to the young lass, standing apart from the others, sipping some apple cider. Emmaretta was the younger sister of Reginard, who was a good friend of Frodo’s, and two years his junior. She was quite pretty, with thick, golden-brown curls and sparkling blue eyes; and she had stolen more than a few lads’ hearts with her dazzling smile.

But more important, at least in Frodo’s mind, was that she had a kind heart. Despite being from a very wealthy family, she preferred to wear simple clothes, with no extra makeup on her face, and she was well loved by many of the poorer families of Tookland.

Frodo liked Emmaretta as a friend, but the thought of anything further had not entered his mind, although he was fast approaching the marriageable age. He was actually thinking to become a bachelor, like his uncle. Then he’d be free to adventure beyond the borders of the Shire without having to worry for the safety of a wife and children at home.

But that was a long time away yet, and a dance would be enjoyable.

"I suppose I could go ask her," he said, watching the object of their discussion speaking with her youngest sibling, Everard. The young Took presently trotted away, evidently encouraged by whatever she had said, and Emmaretta was left alone again, watching her sisters, Rosemary and Enna, as they danced.

"Now’s your chance, my boy," Bilbo whispered in Frodo’s ear. "You’d best hurry, before you miss the dance entirely."

Frodo gave Bilbo Merry’s cup and threaded his way through the thick crowd of hobbits to stand beside Emmaretta. "Hullo," he said politely, not nearly as tongue-tied as Sam when speaking with girls. "Enjoying the party?"

"Indeed," she returned with a smile, "And I hope you’re enjoying yourself as well."

Frodo smiled back and nodded. "I am, but I should like to join the dance, I think. Would you join me?"

Emmaretta set her cup of cider on the table. "I would be delighted to," she said, a teasing (Tookish) twinkle in her eye. "If you would ask me correctly, Master Baggins."

Frodo laughed and gave a courtly bow. "May I have this dance, Miss Took?"

Emmaretta laughed and curtsied deeply. "You may," she said with the air of a queen, and the two went out to join the ever-increasing group of other dancers.

Both Frodo and Emmaretta were quite talented dancers, and made a handsome pair, though they were unaware of it. Bilbo watched with satisfaction, pleased that Frodo finally had a lass to dance with. He had hoped that his nephew would not want to follow his lonely bachelor’s ways, and settle down. He knew that Frodo had stolen many a maid’s hearts in Hobbiton, not to mention Tookland and Buckland, but the dear boy simply did not show an interest in romance.

Bilbo was not about to force him into anything he did not wish to do, but he did hope that Frodo would marry. Being a bachelor, while it allowed freedom, was quite lonely at times. Bilbo was beginning to think more and more about leaving the Shire to go on one more adventure before he grew too old to travel, but he did not like the thought of leaving dear Frodo alone. He sighed rather sadly and forced his thoughts away from the wandering path they were taking. He could not leave just yet.

He continued to watch Frodo and Emmaretta for several minutes more, before going to speak with some other guests. He was nearly bowled over by Pippin, who was being chased by a furious Celandine. She was shouting all manner of threats about what she would do when she caught him, and chuckling, Bilbo wondered what Pippin could have possibly done to anger her so. But he was not given time to dwell on it, for just then Paladin and Saradoc came over to wish him a happy birthday.

As the lively song ended at last, a laughing Frodo and Emmaretta sat down on a table, their cheeks flushed from dancing. "You are not a bad dancer, Miss Emma," Frodo commented as they sipped some apple cider.

Emmaretta arched her eyebrows. "I suppose I should take that as a compliment," she said with a smile. "You’re not too poor a dancer yourself, Master Frodo."

Frodo dipped his head, the smaller, sitting-down equivalent of a bow. "You’re ever so gracious," he said teasingly. They were silent awhile, catching their breath and listening to the next song that began to play. "Have you finished that book I loaned you last spring?" Frodo asked at length. "The one about that knight, Eorl."

Emmaretta took a sip of her cider. "I did," she said. "I’m sorry, I keep forgetting to return it."

"That’s all right; keep it as long as you like."

"Thank you. It was very good."

"It's a true story, you know."

Emmaretta’s eyes widened. "Really?" Frodo nodded, more than ready to share all his knowledge regarding his favorite subject: tales. He launched into the story behind Eorl the Young, first King of the Mark of Rohan. Emmaretta was fascinated with the tale, and listened intently.

When it was finished, she smiled. "I should like to read more about places like that: Rohan, and Gondor, and all. Eorl was very brave!"

Frodo nodded with a smile of his own, and they lapsed into silence again. When another lively tune began to play, Emmaretta jumped to her feet. "Care to dance again, milord?" she asked with a laugh.

"It would be my pleasure, milady."

After several dances, Frodo and Emmaretta went their own ways, promising to meet back after dinner to talk some more of tales and the like. Frodo was delighted to have found such a rapt listener, and his eyes were shining as he met up with Merry and Pippin. Merry grinned mischievously. "Emmaretta’s nice, isn’t she, Frodo?"

"Yes, she is. And a better listener than either of you two!"

Merry and Pippin laughed, and Bilbo came over to join them. "Enjoyed dancing with Miss Took, my lad?"

Frodo smiled and took a sip of his cider. "Very much," he said. "She’s a good dancer, and she also likes to hear stories of Elves and the like."

Bilbo beamed, quite pleased to hear it, but changed the subject. "Come now!" he said. "Time for dinner!"

Dinner was grand and loud, like the rest of the party, and also lasted a long time (hobbits get quite hungry after dancing for extended periods of time, of course). When it was over, Frodo, after finding Sam sitting with Rosie Cotton and her brothers, went to find Emmaretta. He saw her, engaged in an animated conversation with Pearl Took and her older sister, Rosemary. He decided not to interrupt, but went outside for a breath of fresh air.

The storm had blown out early that morning, and the stars glimmered in the sky, looking like tiny silver seeds strewn about the dark heavens. The poem that Sam had made up and recited by the light of their campfire, seeming so long ago, came to mind, and he whispered it softly to himself.

"The stars of Varda shine up high

Like silver raindrops in the sky…"

He smiled as he spoke the words, feeling the sense of peace and security that always fell upon him when gazing at the stars.

A rough voice shattered the stillness of the moment. "What’re you doing, Bucklander? Shouldn’t you be inside with your Brandybuck cousins?"

Frodo turned around to face Lotho, seeing with surprise that he was not alone. Ted Sandyman was behind him, as well as the Shirriff, Toly, who had been so unfriendly during the trial. Frodo had forgotten to be alert for Lotho; the bully would like nothing better than to spoil his birthday.

"I might ask you the same, Lotho," said Frodo, meeting Lotho’s glare evenly. "I don't believe you were sent an invitation to this party, nor your friends." He could hear laughter and shouting from inside the pavilion and guessed that another dance tune was playing.

Lotho, Ted and Toly walked closer, but Frodo did not move. "Since when does a family member need an invitation, cousin?" Lotho sneered. "It’s a good thing for you my parents aren’t here – or they’d have quite a bit to say about the way you hurt me yesterday afternoon." He gestured to the scabbed up scratches all over his face.

"I didn’t—" Frodo began indignantly, but Lotho cut him off.

"He and that Brandybuck, Merry, attacked me yesterday, and I was doing nought! Do you see these scratches? They made their cat jump on my face and scratch me!"

"That's—" Frodo tried again, but Lotho went on.

"A huge brute with the longest claws and teeth you’ve ever seen! He jumped on me when they told him to, and wouldn’t stop until I’d fought him off."

Ted’s eyes were wide, completely fooled by Lotho’s dramatic fib (he was by no means the brightest of hobbits). "You fought him off?"

Lotho nodded proudly, shooting a smug look at Frodo. "All by myself, and that brute must’ve been at least the size of Farmer Brown’s dog – maybe bigger!" Ted’s eyes, if possible, grew even wider, and Toly sucked in his breath sharply. Farmer Brown’s dog, Bear, was a well-known terror to trespassers that ventured too far onto the Farmer’s land. He was an enormous, wolf-like dog, almost as big as Farmer Maggot’s Wolf.

Frodo listened silently as Lotho rambled on, just waiting for him to stop. He couldn’t slip away without their noticing; for Lotho kept on eye on Frodo all the while he talked. And Frodo was not going to let them spoil the party.

When at last Lotho had run out of words, Frodo said coolly, "Well, now if you are quite finished telling tales to impress your friends, I think I shall head back inside."

He started to leave, but Lotho grabbed his arm. "Not just yet, Bucklander," he said. "I wasn’t finished with you. I expect an apology from you for what your cat did to me." Ted and Toly looked expectantly at Frodo, ready to help Lotho if need be.

"If there was something to apologize for, I would gladly do it," said Frodo calmly. "But as there is not, I will thank you to let me go back inside."

Lotho tightened his grip on Frodo’s arm. "Not 'til I have an apology from you," he said roughly.

Frodo glared at him, his patience beginning to wear thin. "Leave me alone, Lotho. There is nothing to apologize for: Goblin was acting in self-defense -- had you not provoked him, he would not have harmed you!"

"Oh, is the Bucklander angry?" Lotho sneered, and Frodo remembered again why it never paid to lose one's temper with the Sackville-Bagginses. He grabbed Frodo’s other arm and twisted them both painfully behind his back, using his larger size (though Frodo was nearly as tall as he, Lotho was easily twice as thick as his slimmer cousin) to subdue the younger boy's struggles.

Frodo was determined not to give Lotho the satisfaction of seeing how much it hurt him, and did not make a sound. This (as usual) angered Lotho all the more, and he gestured for Toly to come over. Toly did not need much direction, for he was already a well-known bully in his hometown of Stock. He grabbed Frodo’s chin and jerked it up, forcing Frodo to look into his eyes.

Frodo glared defiantly at him, setting his mouth in a thin, stubborn line. "Well, Bucklander?" Toly growled. "We’re all waiting for an apology."

Frodo made no answer, and Lotho tightened his grip on his arms, jerking them up painfully. Frodo had to bite his lip to keep from crying out, and he kicked back at his tormenter, his heel making a satisfying crack as it connected with Lotho's shin.

Lotho fairly howled with pain, and loosened his grip just enough for Frodo to squirm free. He turned for the pavillion, but Ted and Toly were on him before he had taken three steps. They wrestled him roughly to the ground, and used their combined weight to keep him still.

Frodo was winded and half-crushed beneath them, but a spark was in his eyes as he glared up at Lotho who limped in front of him, a black scowl on his face that meant trouble.

"You'll pay for that kick, cousin," Lotho snarled. "Pull him up on his knees, lads. We'll get an apology from this little Bucklander."

Bilbo heard none of the argument going on outside with all of the noise in the pavilion, and he didn’t even realize that Frodo was gone for quite a while. He spotted Emmaretta and walked over to her. "Have you seen Frodo?" he asked. "I can’t find him."

Emmaretta shook her head. "I’m afraid not, Uncle," she said. "He was supposed to me again by the tables, but I haven’t seen him since dinner. Perhaps he’s just talking with one of the guests." Bilbo scanned the crowd, but could not see his nephew anywhere. Merry and Pippin were strolling towards him, talking and laughing about Pip’s narrow escape from the wrathful Celandine.

"Have you seen Frodo?" Bilbo asked them.

They looked around, then shrugged and shook their heads. "No," Merry said. "But it’s hard to see anyone in this crowd."

"He’s so thin, he’s probably nigh invistable," Pippin added.

Bilbo managed a smile at the lads, although he was beginning to worry. "I’ll go check outside," he said, more to himself than Merry and Pippin. "Perhaps he’s gone out for a breath of fresh air." He hurried out of the pavilion, and at first could not see his nephew anywhere. He went around to the back, where the empty ale kegs had been piled, and there he found Frodo.

Frodo was sitting on a barrel, his head bowed in his hands, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. "Frodo, my dear boy, what’s wrong?" Bilbo cried as he rushed over to the lad. Frodo raised his head, trying in vain to stop the torrent of tears, and pulling a sleeve across his eyes.

"What’s wrong, Frodo?" Bilbo asked again, taking Frodo’s hands in his and finding that his nephew was trembling violently.

Frodo desperately bit back another sob and stood up. But he swayed slightly, as though he was going to faint, and Bilbo quickly wrapped an arm around his slim shoulders to steady him.

"I think..." Frodo said softly, his voice tight and slightly hoarse. "I think I need to lie down for a bit. Can we go inside?"

Bilbo nodded, his concern growing. "Of course, my dear boy," he said, trying to sound as cheerful as he could. "We’ll go inside and you can rest a while."

By the time they reached Bag End, Frodo had calmed himself somewhat, but he still felt faint, and Bilbo helped him sink down into his soft bed. "Now then, what is wrong?" Bilbo asked, sitting down beside his nephew. "Did someone hurt you?"

Frodo took a moment before replying, then he silently nodded his head. "Who? Who hurt you?" Bilbo demanded, his cheeks flushing red with anger as he noticed for the first time the bruises around Frodo’s wrists.

"Lotho," Frodo whispered, "and some friends. He…" He stopped, choking back a sob, and shuddered. Bilbo comfortingly stroked his nephew’s hair, waiting patiently for him to gain control and continue.

"He… he said something to me," Frodo murmured after a while.

"What did he say?" Bilbo prompted softly.

Frodo sat up and opened his eyes, a vivid sapphire in the silver moonlight. "He said that…that my parents… that they went out boating, that night..." He paused, then continued hesitantly. "...to get away from me, because I was so much trouble. I-I've heard it before, but this time Lotho and his friends held me down and just repeated it, over and over..." He shuddered again, violently. "...until I... until I half-believed it myself!" He stopped, unable to continue as the sobs he’d been keeping back forced themselves out.

Bilbo gathered his nephew into his arms, shocked silent by Lotho's cruelty and already vowing vengeance. He let Frodo cry into his shoulder for several minutes, until the sobs had diminished to small gasping breaths.

"Frodo," Bilbo said at length. He felt him shift slightly against his shoulder. "Let me tell you something. Your parents loved you. I used to watch your papa’s shoulders straighten every time he saw you, and your mama’s eyes would glow when you were near. I will admit that you were slightly reckless at times," he chuckled slightly at the memories, "and a bit of a penchant for mischief, but no more than Drogo was at your age – and even as an adult. He went with you once, raiding the Brandy Hall pantries, didn’t he?"

Frodo raised his head and ran a sleeve across his eyes. "Yes. He showed me how."

Bilbo smiled. "Well then, why on earth would your parents want to get away from you? Both of them were quite mischievous when they were youngsters, and Drogo often talked with me about how wonderful it was to relive his childhood with his son." He pulled out of Frodo’s embrace and held him at arm’s length. Frodo’s face was still streaked with tears, but he was beginning to smile slightly.

"You were their pride and joy," Bilbo continued. "Their greatest treasure." His eyes watered with pride of his own as he looked at his nephew and heir. "As you are mine, now."

Frodo smiled through his tears as his uncle pulled him into a loving embrace. "Thank you, Uncle," he whispered. Bilbo smiled and they sat together for several moments, taking solace in the other's company.

Then at last, Bilbo sat up. "I must go speak with Lotho," he said, feeling his earlier fury return. "Who was with him?"

Frodo also sat up, color returning to his face. "Ted Sandyman and that Shirriff we met at Mr. Boffin's house, Toly, were with him." Bilbo reluctantly stood up. "Well, I’ll see to it that they leave the party at once." He pressed a quick kiss to Frodo's forehead before striding briskly out of the room.

Frodo sat on his bed for a long time after Bilbo left, mulling over what his uncle had said. He should’ve known better than to believe Lotho in the first place -- but Lotho had never used that particular tactic before, and Frodo hadn't been prepared for how ruthlessly effective it would be. He sighed, hoping that this wouldn’t spoil the rest of the party.

He was just pouring himself a cup of tea when the door opened, and Merry and Pippin came in. "There you are, Frodo!" the older of the two exclaimed. "We’ve been looking everywhere for you."

Pippin looked closely at his cousin. "Are you alright, Frodo?" he asked. "You look like you been cryin’."

Frodo smiled and ruffled the young Took’s unruly curls. "I’m fine, Pip," he reassured him. "I just felt a bit tired, that was all. Too much dancing, I suppose."

A mischievous grin spread over Merry’s face. "Speaking of which, Miss Emmaretta’s looking for you," he teased. "She seemed quite anxious to hear more of your stories."

Frodo chuckled and took a gulp of his tea, feeling much better. "Is she? Good! I was thinking that I’d bring out a book for her to look at."

Merry snickered and nudged Pippin conspiratorially. Frodo started to comment, but just then, Bilbo came in, looking quite satisfied with himself. "Ah, I see you’re feeling better?" he inquired with a questioning look at Frodo, who nodded, unable to speak as he was in the middle of swallowing another mouthful of tea.

"Well, I don’t think they’ll trouble you any more for quite a while," Bilbo said with a chuckle. He glanced down and Merry and Pippin, who were watching this exchange curiously. "And what are you two scamps doing? Shouldn’t you be at the party – or has Miss Celandine chased you away?"

Pippin laughed. "Nope, she couldn’t catch me," he said proudly. "Don’t know why she’s so upset – I only said that I liked Poppy Bolger’s dress better, and it's true -- Celandine's dress is too red, and Poppy's is a nice green." Everyone laughed heartily, and Frodo felt his earlier grief melt away.

"Come now," Bilbo said presently. "Our guests are no doubt wondering where we’ve got to."

Frodo nodded and set his empty cup down on the table. "Half a minute," he said. "I wanted to bring a book out to show Emma." While he dashed off to his room, Merry, Pippin and Bilbo exchanged glances.

"What was wrong with Frodo earlier?" asked Merry softly after a moment as they listened to the sounds of Frodo rummaging through his many books to find the one he was looking for. "He said that he was only tired, but it looked like he’d been crying."

Bilbo sighed. "Lotho said something very cruel to him," he said quietly, and glanced sorrowfully down the hall where Frodo’s room was located. "Listen, could you lads do me a favor?" he asked after a moment, bending down to their level. Both nodded and leaned closer. "Try to cheer him up a bit – he’s liable to go back to melancholy thoughts if he’s left alone. Try to get him to dance again; he and Emmaretta made quite a handsome pair out there. She would no doubt lighten his heart a good deal."

Merry and Pippin nodded solemnly again. "What about presents?" the younger of the two asked. "Presents will cheer him up!"

Bilbo chuckled and ruffled Pippin’s unruly curls. "Don’t worry, you scamp. The presents will come soon enough. The party is almost over – it must be near ten o’clock now."

Frodo finally emerged from his room, smiling, with a thick hardcover book. "The Lost Road," Pippin read slowly, quite pleased with his skills.

"Excellent choice," Bilbo said as they walked towards the door. "Emmaretta is sure to like that."

When they returned to the party, they found that some guests were indeed looking for them, although most hadn’t even realized that they were gone. Bilbo was almost immediately pulled into a conversation with several Bolgers and Boffins, and Merry was dragged into the middle of the dance by Pervinca, who’d finally been able to tell him her purpose and apologize, when she’d cornered him in hiding between two kegs of ale. Pippin took Frodo by the hand and led him to the refreshment table. "Want some cake, Frodo?" he asked as he gave himself a rather large slice.

Frodo laughed and shook his head. "I couldn't hold another bite," he said. "I’ve already had four slices as it is – though I’ll wager you’ve had at least twice that many!"

Pippin looked indignant. "Of course not! This is only my fifth piece." Frodo laughed again while Pippin shoveled the cake into his mouth as though he was afraid it would disappear.

Just then, Emmaretta came over and sat down beside them. "There you are, Frodo!" she exclaimed. "Where did you get to?"

Pippin choked slightly on his cake and raised his eyebrows at Frodo, who ignored him. "I’m sorry. I felt a bit tired and went inside for a moment."

Emmaretta accepted his apology and changed the subject. "What book is that you’ve got there?"

Frodo handed it to her. "It’s called the Lost Road," he said as she leafed through the pages. "It’s about the destruction of Númenor during the Second Age." Emmaretta flipped through full-page pen and ink drawings of warriors, orcs, dragons, Elves and even more. "You can borrow it, if you like," Frodo offered. "I’ve read it at least four times already."

Emmaretta's eyes lit up delightedly. "Thank you!"

The two talked eagerly about various books and tales they had heard or read, while Pippin watched in amusement. Wouldn’t Merry be interested to hear about this! At last, Emmaretta asked, "Are you up for another dance?"

Frodo set the book down on the table. "Of course," he replied with a smile, and the two got up and joined the still thick crowd of other dancers.

Merry came running over to the table where Pippin sat and plunked down beside him. "Well?" he asked. "Where is he?" With a grin, Pippin pointed to Frodo and Emmaretta, dancing a vigorous reel with the other dancers. Merry giggled and the two watched in amusement.

It was quite a sight to see, and hard to keep track of just one pair of dancers. When the ladies twirled, their skirts fanned out like butterflies’ wings, making a whirling bouquet of colors. Their long curling hair, mostly allowed to stream loosely out behind them, the colorful ribbons tied into the locks fluttering like small banners.

The hobbit men and boys were not much easier to distinguish from one another, and their brilliantly colored shirts and waistcoats sparkled in the light of the lanterns. Some couples had bells or tambourines in their hands.

As another, even livelier song began to play, everyone switched from a reel to the Springle-Ring, a very pretty, if vigorous, dance. Pippin and Merry had a hard time keeping track of Frodo and Emmaretta in the whirling mass of colorful skirts, ribbons and shirts. They tried to keep their eyes focused on Emma’s deep sapphire skirt, the same color as Frodo’s shirt, but the pair kept being swallowed up in the rest of the crowd, and eventually, Merry and Pippin gave up.

"Well, he certainly seems happy now," Merry commented as he got himself a slice of cake (his fourth).

"Yep," Pippin agreed starting on his sixth piece. "He sure seems to like Emmaretta, doesn’t he?"

"Mmm-hmm." Merry could not give a clearer reply, as he had a large bite of cake in his mouth. They were silent for a while, each concentrating on their food.

Suddenly, Pippin gasped and choked slightly on his cake. "Look!" he exclaimed. "Uncle Bilbo is" – cough – "dancing!" Merry incredulously turned to look where Pippin pointed, and sure enough, there was Bilbo, dancing with Miss Rosa Proudfoot!

Merry and Pippin exchanged wide-eyed glances as their 106 year-old uncle twirled and spun as agilely as any other dancer. They caught a glimpse of Frodo, also turning to look in surprise at Bilbo as they danced alongside each other.

A few minutes later, the dance ended, and a slower tune began to play. Frodo and Emmaretta came back to the table and sat down, breathing hard from the dance. "Was—was it just me," Frodo panted. "Or was Uncle Bilbo dancing?"

"I didn’t know he was such a good dancer," Emmaretta commented. "But I for one am done with dancing for the night. Would you like to join me outside, Frodo? It’s rather stifling in here." Frodo agreed, and they took the book with them as they went outside to join some of the other relations their age, who were playing some sort of game. Pippin opened his mouth to remark, but just then, a very exhilarated Bilbo came over and collapsed at the table.

"Were you dancing, Uncle Bilbo?" Merry asked incredulously.

Bilbo nodded with a grin, too winded to speak at the moment. Merry quickly rose and got him a cup of cold cider. "Thank you, Merry," Bilbo said, taking a large gulp of the thirst quenching liquid. "Miss Proudfoot’s not a bad dancer, is she?" 

They looked at the hobbit woman Bilbo had danced with, talking with some relatives. She was middle-aged, looking about as old as Bilbo, and had chosen not to marry. Instead, she was devoting her life to the study of herblore, and had already earned a reputation for herself as the best herb mistress in Michel Delving, where she lived.

"She’s very good," Merry agreed. "But I didn’t know you could dance!"

Bilbo pretended to be indignant. "I may be old, Meriadoc Brandybuck, but I’m still in fine shape, I'll have you know!" Merry did not reply, but merely took a large gulp of his cider.

"Now where has Frodo got to this time?" Bilbo wondered, looking around.

"He’s outside with Emmaretta," Pippin answered readily. "I think they’re reading, or playing a game with some other cousins."

Bilbo raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Good! That’ll keep his mind off what Lotho said to him." His eyes grew wide as he saw Pippin get yet another slice of cake. "Peregrin Took, how many pieces of cake have you had?!"

"Um… seven, I think."

"What will your parents say!"

"Oh, they won’t mind – they said that I could eat as much cake as I wanted."

"I don’t think they would have said that if they’d known you would eat the entire thing!"

Meanwhile, outside, Frodo and Emmaretta were sitting beneath a small beech tree, along with a few other cousins, while Frodo read tales from the Lost Road. He had a good voice for such things, and he enjoyed sharing stories with others.

"In a wide shadowy place he heard a voice.

"‘Elendil!’ it said, ‘Alboin, whither are you wandering?’

"‘Who are you?’ he answered. ‘And where are you?’

"A tall figure appeared, as if descending an unseen stair towards him. For a moment it flashed through his thought that the face, dimly seen, reminded him of his father.

"‘I am with you. I was of Númenor, the father of many fathers before you. I am Elendil, that is in Eressëan "Elf-friend," and many have been called so since. You may have your desire.’

"‘What desire?’

"‘The long-hidden and half-spoken: to go back.’

"‘But that cannot be, even if I wish it. It is against the law.’

"‘It is against the rule. Laws are commands upon the will and are binding. Rules are conditions; they may have exceptions.’"

"I’ll tell that to Fosco, next time he tries to convince me not to raid the pantries!" remarked Folco Boffin, a good friend of Frodo’s and quite a troublemaker, when he felt like it. Fosco was his younger, and more sensible, brother. This comment got a laugh from everyone gathered around, and just as they had quieted, and Frodo was about to resume the story, one of the younger cousins, Merimas, came dashing out, his eyes shining with excitement.

"The presents!" he cried. "Uncle Bilbo’s handing out the presents!"

As one, everyone leapt to their feet and raced inside, but Frodo and Emmaretta followed more slowly. "I wish we had gotten to finish the story," she said. "I do believe that it’s my favorite so far."

"Is it?" Frodo said with a laugh. "I think mine is probably the story of Beren and the Silmaril. Have you read that one?"

"I don’t think so. Is it in the Lost Road?"

"No, I’m afraid not. But perhaps after the party, I can show it to you. Uncle Bilbo translated the full tale from Elvish. There’s more to it than just Beren and the quest for the Silmaril – the full story is called the Tale of Beren and Lúthien."

"Do you know any Elvish?"

"Only a little. Uncle Bilbo is teaching Sam and I."

"Could you give me a sample of it? I’ve heard that it’s a beautiful language, but I’ve never heard anyone speak it, myself."

"All right." Frodo was silent for a moment as he thought of what he should say. "Elen síla lúmenn omentilmo."

"What does that mean?"

"A star shines on the hour of our meeting. It’s the way Elves greet each other."

They joined the thick mass of hobbits in the pavilion, and found that for one thing, Merimas had come rather late (he’d already received his present when he made the announcement), and for another, Bilbo was nearly finished. When they finally made their way to Bilbo, he smiled broadly. "Ah, there you two are! I was beginning to wonder if you would ever come." He pulled out a small package and handed it to Emmaretta. "There you go, my dear. Open it!" Emmaretta set it down on the nearest table, and slowly tore off the paper wrapping, while Frodo and Bilbo watched.

Inside, was a small, ornately designed wooden music box. On the lid, it had a beautiful carving of a slender young woman, looking just come-of-age in hobbit years, dancing in a glade. But she was no hobbit. She was tall, and slender. Her hair, painted raven-black, streamed out behind her, and she was clothed in a shimmering sapphire dress. The night sky above her was sparkling with tiny silver stars, and her skin was pale, her eyes grey. A soft glow was about her, gentle like a star.

On one side of the box, a small portrait of the face of a young man, with dark hair and a fair, noble face, peering through some bushes. His eyes held a mingled wonder and enchantment in them.

On the other side was painted an oval-shaped white stone, glowing like the maiden, but even brighter.

Emmaretta opened the lid, and a sweet tune began to play. It was soft and beautiful, and she closed her eyes in delight as she listened. "It’s the melody to the Lay of Beren and Lúthien," Bilbo said as the song played. "And that’s what is depicted on the box. The woman on the front is the Elf princess, Lúthien, and the man on the side is Beren, her lover. The stone is the Silmaril, which Beren sought long and through much peril to retrieve."

"Thank you, Uncle Bilbo!" Emmaretta breathed. "How – how did you buy it? It must have been terribly expensive."

"Milo Burrows carved it for me, going off some of the illustrations in one of my books, and his wife, Peony painted it."

Emmaretta threw her arms around Bilbo’s neck. "You dear!" she cried. "I must go show my sisters!"

 With a bright smile, she ran off to find Rosemary and Enna. "Now, what about your present, Frodo?" Bilbo said after a moment, turning to look at his nephew. Reaching behind the platform he’d stood on, he brought out another package. When the paper wrapping was torn off, Frodo gasped in delight. It was a beautiful hardcover book, its covers made of the finest dark leather. On the front were imprinted, in brilliant gold, the words:

QUENTA SILMARILLION

Being the History of the Elves

"Uncle Bilbo!" Frodo exclaimed. "Thank you! This is wonderful!" He reverently leafed through the ivory pages.

"I’m glad you like it." Bilbo beamed. "I had it imported from Rivendell."

Frodo’s eyes shone as he gently closed the book. "Oh, I forgot your present!" he said. "I’ve had it with me all this time." He pulled from his breeches-pocket a paper-wrapped package, and handed it to his uncle.

Bilbo tore off the wrapping and pulled out the green, woolen cloak inside. "Oh, Frodo!" Bilbo cried. "It’s beautiful! I needed a new cloak!"

"Unfold it – there’s something inside."

Bilbo carefully unfolded the cloak, and inside, he found thin, leather-bound book. On the first page were the words: THE QUEST FOR LOTHLÓRIEN. "I wrote it myself," Frodo explained. "But Sam came up with the idea for the story. It’s about a hobbit who goes on adventures outside the Shire and meets Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn of Lotholórien."

Bilbo pulled his nephew into a grateful hug. "Thank you, Frodo. I’ll cherish this forever."

After the gift-giving, the party was nearly finished. The guests departed, in groups, until there were only a few left. Frodo told Emmaretta to keep the book he’d loaned her, and also gave Merry the slingshot. The young Brandybuck was prohibited from shooting it until he returned home, having nearly knocked over most of the lanterns in the pavilion. Pippin received a new pouch of marbles from Frodo and Bilbo, and somehow managed to lose several of them before the night was over. To Sam, Frodo gave a book full of tales about Elves – and it even included an illustrated part listing Elvish plants and herbs.

Frodo, Merry and Pippin again slept in Frodo’s bed together that night, after playing with Goblin for a while. Surprisingly, the little kitten had behaved himself all day, although he had torn one of Paladin’s shirts to shreds.

Frodo stayed up late reading the book that Merry had given him, which was wholly new. He planned to read the Silmarillion tomorrow, saving it for last. Goblin again slept on Pippin’s chest, and apart from unknowingly digging his claws into his young master’s skin, he was very well behaved.

"You know," Pippin commented as they turned out the light and snuggled under the covers, "I think this is the best birthday party I’ve ever been to."

"Why is that?" asked Frodo sleepily.

"Well, it’s not every day that Uncle Bilbo dances the Springle-Ring!"

TBC...