A Long-Expected Party

When Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he would shortly be celebrating his eleventy-first birthday with a party of special magnificence, there was much talk and excitement in Hobbiton

Bilbo was very rich and very peculiar, and had been the wonder of the Shire for sixty years, ever since his remarkable disappearance and unexpected return

The riches he had brought back from his travels had become a local legend, and it was popularly believed, whatever the old folk might say, that the Hill at Bag End was full of tunnels stuffed with treasure

And if that was not enough for fame, there was also his prolonged vigour to marvel at

Time wore on, but it seemed to have little effect on Mr. Baggins At ninety he was much the same as at fifty

At ninety-nine they began to call him well-preserved; but unchanged would have been nearer the mark

There were some that shook their heads and thought this was too much of a good thing; it seemed unfair that anyone should possess (apparently) perpetual youth as well as (reputedly) inexhaustible wealth.

'It will have to be paid for,' they said. 'It isn't natural, and trouble will come of it!'

But so vast was the interest in Bilbo's doings that he had become the centre of a sort of hobby

Everyone was keen to see what he would do next, especially on this occasion

The party was to be held in his honour, but it was also to be a farewell, for Bilbo had made up his mind that he would not stay in the Shire after his birthday

He intended to leave, and go on a holiday — or rather, an adventure, for he could not make up his mind whether to call it one or the other

He had been thinking about it for years, and as the day drew near, he spoke more openly about his wish to see mountains again, to find some quiet place where he could finish his book

And he had made arrangements.

All that morning Bilbo was busy He was putting the finishing touches to the presents that he intended to give away

There were to be gifts for all and sundry

To the Sackville-Bagginses he had left, in his will, a pretty little number of waste-paper baskets; and to others he had in mind various trifles: birds that would sing when you pressed a spring, diamond studs that fastened themselves, and the like

But the chief present was intended for his young nephew and heir, Frodo, who lived with him

Frodo was coming of age, and Bilbo meant to give him a present that would be both useful and remarkable: his magic ring, which made him invisible when he wore it

It was a trifle that Bilbo had picked up in his travels long ago, and he had kept it secret, using it chiefly to avoid unwanted callers

He thought Frodo would enjoy it, and it would be a useful thing for a young hobbit starting out in life.

The guests began to arrive at three o'clock By four the Party Field was full

They sat on benches or on the grass, or wandered about among the tables laden with food and drink

There was beer in plenty, and a mighty cake, the like of which no one had ever seen before

It was decorated with sugar roses and bore the inscription: 'THE LORD OF THE RINGS'

When the cake was cut, and the first slice given to the old gaffer, there was a general cheer Then Bilbo rose to speak.

He stood on a chair in the illuminated pavilion, and his clear voice rang out. 'My dear Bagginses and Boffins,' he began, 'and my dear Tooks and Brandybucks, and Grubbs, and Burrows, and Hornblowers, and Bolgers, Bracegirdles, Goodbodies, Brockhouses and Proudfoots

Also my good Sackville-Bagginses that I welcome back at last to Bag End Today is my one hundred and eleventh birthday: eleventy-one years old.'

There was a flutter and a murmur. 'Eleventy-one years old?' cried several of the younger hobbits, and some of the old ones too. 'Why, that's twice as old as the old Took!' And indeed the Old Took (as he was called) had only lived to be one hundred and three

Bilbo went on: 'When I was your age I went on an adventure, and I found a ring

And I have kept it all these years, and now I think it is time to pass it on.' He paused, and then, with a sudden motion, slipped the ring on his finger — and vanished.

There was a stunned silence

Then a great shout went up, and the hobbits leapt to their feet, laughing and cheering, for they thought it was a splendid joke

But Bilbo did not reappear He had slipped away quietly, using the ring's power, and was making his way down the lane towards the woods, whistling a tune

He had made up his mind to leave, and nothing would turn him back now.

Frodo stood very still, his eyes wide. He had seen his uncle disappear, and he knew, with a sudden certainty, that this was no mere trick. The ring was real, and it was powerful. And now it was his.

The Shadow of the Past

Years passed. The Ring lay hidden in Frodo's pocket, or sometimes in a drawer, forgotten. He used it rarely, only to avoid the Sackville-Bagginses when they came sniffing about for Bilbo's things. But though he forgot it, the Ring did not forget him. It waited.

Then one evening, long after Bilbo's departure, Gandalf came to Bag End

He stood in the doorway, his grey beard flowing, his eyes sharp beneath his brows. 'Well, Frodo,' he said, 'I see you are living comfortably

But I have come on a matter of some importance May I come in?'

Frodo welcomed him in, and they sat by the fire Gandalf smoked his pipe in silence for a while, then spoke. 'I have been away, Frodo

Away to the south and east, seeking news And what I have learned troubles me greatly That ring you possess… it is not what it seems.'

Frodo frowned. 'But Bilbo told me it was just a magic trinket. He used it to avoid the relatives.'

'It is far more than that,' Gandalf said. 'It is the One Ring, forged in the fires of Mount Doom by the Dark Lord Sauron himself

Long ago, he poured his cruelty, his malice, and his will to dominate all life into that one treasure

He lost it in battle, and it passed from hand to hand, until it came to Bilbo And now it has come to you.'

Frodo felt a chill. 'But… what does it want?'

'It wants to return to its master,' Gandalf said softly. 'It seeks to be found And while it is in the world, Sauron’s power grows

He has sent forth his Riders — the Nazgûl, his most terrible servants — to search for it They are already on the move.'

Frodo’s face went pale. 'Then I must get rid of it. But how?'

'There is only one way,' Gandalf said. 'It must be unmade in the fires where it was forged. You must take it to Mordor, and cast it into the Cracks of Doom.'

Frodo gasped. 'Mordor? But that is the Land of Shadow! It is miles and miles away, through wild and dangerous lands. I am only a hobbit of the Shire. I cannot do such a thing.'

'You must,' Gandalf said. 'Or else all that we hold dear — the Shire, Rivendell, Lothlórien, even Gondor — will fall into darkness

The Ring will not let you rest It will try to betray you But you are not alone I will help you, and others will come.'

He paused, looking into the fire. 'Keep it secret. Keep it safe. And whatever you do, do not use it. The more you use it, the sooner it will reveal you to your enemies.'

Frodo sat very still The weight of the Ring seemed to grow heavier in his pocket

He thought of Bilbo, who had gone on his adventure and found peace Now it was his turn

And he knew, with a sinking heart, that he would never see the Party Tree again.

Three Is Company

The next morning, Frodo set out

He sold Bag End to the Sackville-Bagginses — a bitter transaction, but necessary — and took only what he could carry: a few clothes, some food, and the Ring, which he kept chained about his neck beneath his waistcoat

He was joined by his two young cousins, Merry Brandybuck and Pippin Took, who had insisted on coming, though Frodo had tried to dissuade them. 'It is too dangerous,' he had said

But they would not be left behind.

They took the road toward Buckland, where Frodo had a home at Crickhollow The first days were quiet, the green lanes of the Shire passing slowly by

But unease began to grow They felt watched Shadows seemed to lengthen at the edge of hearing

Once, as they rested under a tree, Frodo swore he heard the sound of hoofbeats — not the round trot of a hobbit-pony, but something steadier, colder.

That night, at an inn in the village of Woody End, they met a strange Ranger

He sat in the corner, cloaked and hooded, his face hidden in shadow

When Frodo asked for a room, the man spoke. 'You are being followed,' he said in a low voice. 'I am Strider I know of your errand

Gandalf sent me to watch over you Come with me — I will keep you safe.'

Frodo hesitated, but the Ranger’s eyes were keen and kind. He agreed. They left at dawn, taking a path through the Old Forest, hoping to lose their pursuers.

But the Forest was alive with malice The trees seemed to close in, their roots tripping the hobbits, their branches snatching at cloaks

They stumbled into the Withywindle, where the waters sang a drowsy song, and Pippin and Merry fell asleep against their will

Frodo fought the spell, splashing water on their faces, until at last they broke free — only to be caught by Old Man Willow, who seized Pippin and began to drag him toward his trunk.

Just then, a voice rang out: 'Hoom, hah!' A great figure stepped from the trees — Tom Bombadil, in his blue coat and yellow boots, singing nonsense

He laughed at the tree, and with a word, freed the hobbits He took them to his house, where his wife, Goldberry, welcomed them with river-water and lilies

For two days they rested, safe from all evil, hearing Tom’s strange songs and feasting on honey and cream.

But they could not stay. The Quest called. Tom gave them directions and a warning: 'Beware the Barrow-downs. And whatever you do, do not trust the sweet voices in the mist.'

They left with heavy hearts, grateful but eager to be on their way The Barrow-downs lay ahead, a ridge of ancient graves under a waning moon

As they crossed it, a cold fog rose, and they lost the path

Then, from the mist, came a sound like a sigh — and long, pale hands grasped at their ankles, pulling them down into the dark.

Frodo woke in a stone chamber, his friends bound beside him, a sword laid across their necks A wight, tall and crownless, chanted over them

But Frodo remembered Tom’s gift: a small horn He blew it, and the clear note rang out like a bell The wight shrieked and vanished.

Then Tom Bombadil came, laughing, and drove the wights from their barrows with song and stick. He set them free, gave them ponies, and sent them on their way with a blessing.

They rode hard for Bree, where they hoped to find Gandalf But the inn was empty of the wizard

Instead, they found Strider — who revealed himself as Aragorn, heir to the kings of Men

He had been waiting. 'Gandalf is delayed,' he said. 'He bids me take you to Rivendell Come We must make haste.'

They left Bree at dawn, the ponies tired but willing. Behind them, the land grew wilder, the hills steeper. And sometimes, when the wind blew from the east, Frodo thought he heard a cry — not of wind, but of something wings, searching.

The Ring Goes South

The journey to Rivendell was hard They crossed the Lone Lands, where no trees grew and the wind bit like ice

They passed the ruins of Weathertop, where Aragorn told them of the ancient watch-tower and the sorrow of fallen kings

That night, as they camped in the shadow of the hill, five Black Riders came silently through the dusk.

They wore cloaks of black, and their faces were unseen, but Frodo felt a piercing cold, as if an icy hand clutched at his heart

He was compelled to put on the Ring

The world shifted: the trees became faint and shadowy, the sky a vast emptiness, and the Riders — no longer cloaked, but terrible figures in white mail, with eyes like burning coals — glared at him, their voices a hiss in his mind: 'Give us the Ring, Frodo Baggins

We seek it for our Master.'

Aragorn leapt forward, shouting, and swung his torch

The Riders shrieked and fled into the night, but not before their leader stabbed Frodo in the shoulder with a knife that glowed with a pale light

The pain was not just in the wound — it was a freezing poison that spread toward his heart.

They rode on through the night, Frodo slumped in Aragorn’s arms, his face grey. At last, as dawn broke, they saw the river Bruinen ahead, and on the far bank, the shining halls of Rivendell, tucked into the valley like a jewel.

But the Riders were close behind

As Frodo stumbled toward the ford, the Witch-king of Angmar raised his arm and cried in a voice of thunder: 'Ford of Bruinen!

Ford of Bruinen!' The waters surged upward, forming towering waves that took the shape of white horses with foaming manes — the guardians of Elrond, summoned by his power.

The Riders screamed as the flood bore them down, their horses rearing and vanishing in the spray. Frodo fell forward, unconscious, into Aragorn’s arms.

He woke three days later in a soft bed, the scent of athelas in the air

Gandalf sat beside him, his eyes weary but kind. 'You are safe, Frodo,' he said. 'The Ring is still yours — for now

But the wound… it is not of this world It will never fully heal.'

Frodo looked down at his shoulder. The scar remained, pale and cold. He touched it gently. 'I thought I was done for,' he whispered.

'You were,' Gandalf said. 'But you have a strength you do not yet know

And you are not alone.' He looked toward the door, where Aragorn stood talking with Elrond, the lord of Rivendell. 'The Council will meet soon

The fate of the Ring will be decided.'

Frodo sat up, wincing. 'Then I will go to Mordor. I will take the Ring, if no one else will.'

Elrond entered, his gaze deep and knowing. 'You offer yourself, Frodo of the Shire? You do not understand what you say.'

'I do,' Frodo said. 'It is my burden. And if I do not take it, who will?'

Elrond smiled faintly. 'Then the Ring shall go with you. But you shall not go alone. Nine shall walk with you: for the Nine Ring-wraiths, nine companions shall be set forth.'

And so the Fellowship was formed: Frodo, Sam, Merry, Pippin, Gandalf, Aragorn, Boromir of Gondor, Legolas of Mirkwood, and Gimli of the Lonely Mountain. They left Rivendell at dawn, the sun glinting on their weapons, their hearts heavy but resolved.

Behind them, the mountains stood silent. Before them, lay shadow, and the long road toward Mordor.