DISCLAIMER: I WISH THAT I WAS THE CREATOR OF THIS WONDERFUL, BEAUTIFUL, INSPIRATIONAL MASTERPIECE! ... BUT I AM NOT.

I own nothing from The Hobbit books or its characters.

AND THAT IS SAD FOR ME. BUT, AT LEAST I CAN SATISFY MY NEED TO SHIP IT'S CHARACTERS AND PLACE THEM IN SITUATIONS NOT ORIGINALLY IN THE BOOK/MOVIE SERIES. HERE'S TO (SEMI-) FULFILLED DREAMS!

HOPE YOU ENJOY!

Chapter 1: In A Little, Peaceful Corner of Middle Earth...

The day was nearly done and the majority of the more proper, homely hobbits were either already in their cosy smials or on their way to them.

Older gentle-hobbits could be found sitting on their front lawn benches, huffing Old Toby from their long pipes, only to be drawn inside by tantalizing wisps of dinner floating out from a window. Along the road, young couples could be seen arm in arm, content in devoting their attentions to each other. And, of course, one could not forget the fauntlings. Well, not unless one wanted their gardens picked clean of the more delectable mushrooms, carrots, or potatoes.

However, since it was nearly dusk and most fauntlings were to be found indoors eating a delicious meal, there was little to fear for now. Even as the sun was setting for the day, the hobbits of the Shire had little to fear.

All was right in their little corner of the world and that was the way they liked it; with a little bit of everyday small gossip to add a bit of spice to make their days complete. After all, while hobbits loved the Shire and the security of their peaceful days, they would also say a bit of gossip never hurt to pass along when relatives came knocking for afternoon tea.

Peaceful, Ordinary, and Predictable. Those were the defining features of the Shire that every hobbit knew by heart and coveted. And this evening was no different.

Well...at least, until the residents living off the dirt road of Bagshot Row heard the tell-tale rantings of a certain hobbit lass.

Heads with small pointed ears would stick out their windows and shake their heads slowly at the audible grumblings of one Bilba Baggins, the heiress of Bag End, and the loud laughter of the young Frodo Baggins, as they both walked by. Inside their smials, neighbors saw the duo and shook their heads at the commotion they were kicking up at such a late time of day.

In their eyes, any respectable hobbit would already be inside preparing to sit down to dinner or, at the very least, already be plating the meals onto finely polished plates. However, that didn't mean that they couldn't listen in to see what had the young Baggins in such a tiff. Then, with a small smirk, their heads would pull back in, as well as the windowpanes to shield any gossip that would undeniably follow.

It was well established to every-hobbit that the two Baggins who lived in Bag End were anything but respectable and proper, which fed the rumor mill a bit. Outlandish stories of their trips to Bree, the human village outside the Shire, were told under the Party Tree every year. The gifts that they would distribute to guests on either's name-day were just as exciting, which prompted many in Hobbiton to stay their inner judgements on them. Unless they were a Sackville-Baggins, of course.

But, as it turned out, the wide-birth the other hobbits gave them suited both Bilba and Frodo just as well. They enjoyed their privacies, when they weren't accosted by uninvited relatives, at least.

Truly, Hobbiton had not before seen a more lively pair of hobbits. Brought together under less than ideal, and all-together tragic circumstances, the heiress of Bag End's decision to adopt the young fauntling, Frodo, had made life sweeter for both and more than entertaining for their neighbors.

However, at the moment, it seemed that the Bag End heiress had a bit of a chip on her shoulder, as she stomped down Bagshot Row, her upheld skirts chiming with what sounded like silverware.

"Honestly, that nosey, busy-body doesn't care when she is unwelcome. First, she had the nerve to invite herself for elevenses with the excuse that she was 'in the area', which I am sure was the same excuse she used not two weeks ago! And then, after scarfing five scones down her gullet along with my best tea, she makes off with my mother's engraved silverware stuffed in her dress pockets!", Bilba steamed ahead, bringing out a small laugh from the lad that trailed her.

Turning towards the young faunt, Bilba shook her head, "I swear that -pardon my language, Frodo, but - that she-wolf better learn from this or else she will have no-one to blame but herself when the Sackville-Baggins name is drug through the manure!"

Frodo chuckled a bit at his aunt's heated expression. He found it hilarious, the way Bilba had, not one hour ago, marched the both of them through Lobelia's front door and upturned her entire kitchen to find Bilba's mother's silverware. They were finally found hidden underneath a loose kitchen floorboard. Lobelia, of course, made a scene and tried to make excuses for why she had them; stating that Belladonna had gifted them to her years ago, but that only served to infuriate his aunt.

In the end, Bilba had only needed to make a show of notching her bow at Lobelia's favorite porcelain dishes to have those lies retracted. They cleaned out the lot and Bilba made quite a show of sticking out her tongue, before they both left that awful woman's smial.

As they walked, Frodo continued to smile up at Bilba. He watched as her long, untamable golden curled tresses, which were gathered and reenforced with pins into a tight braided bun, had escaped their confinements to frame her face and bounced with each quick step she took. The ching-ing of silverware clanking together accompanied each step, and undoubtably came from the make-shift basket the lass made from holding up her dress-skirt.

A state that would've made any other hobbit-lass blush and unattached gentle-hobbits stare at the slender legs on display. Not that Bilba cared one way or the other. To her, it was simply the only way to get her mother's silverware home as quickly as possible.

The look on Lobelia's face though, when her own husband's eyes stared a mite too long. Priceless, ha!, Frodo thought, as his hand patted his trouser pockets, which were filled with a few forks and spoons as well.

The short laugh that escaped his lips drew the attention of his aunt. Looking down, Bilba smiled at Frodo as he kept pace with her, his short, but thick, brown-tinted curls bouncing against his head as he skipped alongside the flowerbeds scattered at the road's edges.

Every now and then, the lad would stoop down and pick up the strangest things that other hobbits either lost or simply tossed aside when broken. So far, Frodo's pockets were filled with a bunch of purple flowers, a oddly colored pebble, a misshapen twig, and a leather handle that looked to have once belonged to a hand-shovel. It was a hobby that Bilba supported and, every now and then, the occasional blueberry pie or lemon cake would be brought home for them to share.

Nothing was off limits to the boy, which got him into some trouble with the neighbors who came to her with their claims of 'stolen' trinkets. Of course, Bilba would both deny such accusations, while simultaneously encouraging her nephew in his mischief. A few everyday items going missing wouldn't cause much harm, she told herself. And if she were honest with herself, someone needed to keep the good folk of the Shire on their toes, lest things get too caught in routine around here.

And besides, at the end of the day, it made her nephew smile brighter when he revealed his daily treasures to her. Though it may sound silly to others, to her those moments made her days a bit brighter as well.

A smile broke out across his face as he laughed with joy, "Yeah, Lotho is pretty mean, too. He hit Rosemary Bracegirdle with his largest conker yesterday and made her cry! Didn't even say he was sorry afterwards!"

"Oh, did he?" Bilba smirked, knowing how the story would unfold. After all, word traveled fast in the Shire, especially when a Sackville was involved. It was also a conversation Lobelia lectured at length about during her visit, which took all of Bilba's inner effort to not roll her eyes at the woman's overblown descriptions of her 'terror-stricken' faunt.

"But, don't worry, I made sure he didn't get away with it." The lad stated with pride as he puffed up his chest. "I chased him away with the wooden sword you gave me! I would have chased him into the market circle, but he got to his mum first, so I went back to make sure Rose was alright. She had a bruise on her forehead."

"That's a good lad! It's always good to keep those Sackville-Baggins on their toes. Can't have them thinking we Baggins of Bag End are a bunch of fragile daisies, now can we?" Bilba smiled down at him, juggling her skirts to hold them with one hand so she could tussle his golden locks.

His flushed face and beaming smile sent an arrow of love straight to her heart. It has only been six months since the little tyke came to live with her in Bag End, and already he was smiling again.

"Nope! Can't have that!", Frodo laughed as he bolted down the road towards Bag End. Towards home.

A whirlwind of conflicting emotions came with that thought for Bilba, causing her to slow her pace to sort them through.

Yes, it was home. It was the one where she was raised with love and understanding by her parents, Bungo Baggins and Belladonna Baggins nee. Took.

As a child, to her the Shire had always been a peaceful place.

It's lands untouched by the destructive hands of men, whose search for hidden riches and game hunting had turned their own lands beyond the Old Forest into hollow husks of what they had once been. Although some of the other species of Arda, such as the dwarves who resided in the Blue Mountains, have been known to have passed through it's green pastures and slow rolling hills. These few individuals never stayed longer than a few days, however, much to the disappointment of the ever curious Frodo.

And, why should they stay? The lush, rolling fields of the Shire didn't have anything to offer those who searched for precious rocks that glowed with inner fires or sparkled like starlight from the heavens. Or, at least, that's what Bilba had assumed.

Once at the top of the road that fed into the grounds of Bag End, Bilba took the time to turn around and let her eyes roam over the Shire.

In her youth, she held the belief that one could not ask for richer lands than those that made up the Shire. Ever since the first settlement of hobbits in the Shire, it had yet to fail to provide for them during the growing seasons. The hobbits had enough food to sustain their excessive, at least according to the other races, number of meals and had more than enough left over for the occasional party.

Everything in the Shire seemed like a paradise for a race as defenseless as the hobbits.

However, her entire perception changed with the Fell Winter, when the snow arrived too early and, if that wasn't enough, continued to fall well into the months designated for spring planting. It was the first nightmarish experience to grace the Shire lands since the Goblin invasions, only this time the enemy was one that even Bullroarer Took wouldn't have been able to cut down. No, this was winter. A time where the soil freezes and nothing grows.

In little time, every hobbit's winter stores began to run low, forcing them to brave unforgiving blizzards, harsh winds, and plummeting temperatures for the chance of finding even a bit of game in the forest. Some had simply found their end in the snow, the low temperatures lulling them into a sleep of which they would never awaken. Others met their end when the Brandywine River became frozen over allowing hunger-driven wolves to cross over.

At first, the wolves only attacked livestock and raided chicken coops. But, soon enough their attentions were turned onto the hobbits that cared for them. If Bilba remembered correctly, their first victim was Tomas Brandybuck, a young lad of Bilba's age. It only grew worse from there. For a while, the hobbit's snow-covered fields were, for the first time in an age, stained with hobbit blood.

It was during this time that the Thain sent word to all corners of the Shire for families to come together, and if a hobbit was without family in their immediate area, then neighbors would be duty-bound to provide assistance. It was decreed a state of emergency, and all hobbits were urged to share what they could, be it shelter, blankets, or food.

Of course, once Belladonna caught the news from the Bounders, there wasn't any-hobbit who could have stopped her from packing a small travel pack for the one day trip it would take to collect her favorite cousin, Primula, and her family who lived on the border of the Brandywine River.

Oh, Bungo tried to reason with her at first, pleading for her to leave matters to the Bounders, who could have gone to collect their cousins instead. Needless to say, Bungo's words fell on deaf ears and the morning after found Belladonna on the road with Bungo accompanying her. Bilba was left behind to mind the house with her parent's assurance that they would be back for lunch the following day.

That was the first night of her entire life that she didn't get a wink of sleep.

It was in the early afternoon when Belladonna and Bungo Baggins had returned to Bag End with their beloved cousins Primula and Drogo Baggins, as well as their young son of three years, Frodo Baggins.

The few jars of preservatives and packages of dried fish that came with them had lifted Bilba's spirits, if only a little. The small blessing of extra food made her believe that it would be enough to sustain them, and that, perhaps, this winter will be over before they even ran out. At thirty years of age, Bilba was still considered a tween, but that thought sounded naive even to her.

Both women were strong of spirit when their family's pantries had but a few loaves of bread left on their shelves. They had hearts braver than any other when they decided to sneak out into the forest each night in search of food, despite their husbands' collective concerns. Since they were the only ones with any experience with a bow and arrow, and Bilba was only just training, Belladonna and Primula wouldn't hear of anyone else to tag along with them on their hunts. They left many times during that winder, each time promising to come back home, kissing everyone twice and with a smile on their faces.

Until one night, her mother and her aunt didn't come back.

That night, both Belladonna Baggins ne Took and Primula Baggins ne Brandybuck met their fates at the jaws of wolves and were called back to Yavanna's garden.

The morning after was painful for everyone, but even more so for Bungo and Drogo, whose hearts were so filled with a longing to be with their other-halves that they couldn't make it to the coming spring. First it was Bungo who felt the calling. In the dead of night when everyone slept, he simply left the smial. The next day, his body was found lying frozen underneath the snow. When Bilba saw her father's cold body the first thought she had was: He didn't even stop to put on his coat.

Bilba's grieving for her father was cut short, however, when Frodo came to her crying that he couldn't find his father anywhere in Bag End barely a week later. The snowstorm outside that day was too fierce to go looking until four days later. By the time he was found, Drogo Baggins's body was barely recognizable from how frozen he had become.

Frodo had been inconsolable afterwards. He kept to his room most of the time, even when the snow had begun to melt and the first sprouts of spring began to appear. Bilba was much the same. He was quiet around the smial, keeping to himself and tightly clutching the small lamb-shaped pillow that Primula had stitched for him to snuggle with at night.

It was one morning when nearly all the snow had disappeared that Bilba caught a sight of herself in a hallway mirror. Her hair was a birds nest, red stained the edges of her eyes, her skin took on a sick, pale tint, and her clothes were disheveled to the point someone might have mistaken her for one of the homeless women of Bree. She looked horrendous, but it wasn't her own reflection that startled her.

No, it was her small nephew who had appeared behind her, looking nearly the same as she did.

It was at that moment that Bilba turned around so quickly that she tripped over her own feet, before launching herself at Frodo. Her arms encased his tiny body as she sobbed out apologies and promises all in the same breath. By the end of it, both had a good cry into the other's shoulders and their healing process had begun.

The days that followed were tough, Bilba remembered, but they were days they spent with each other. She made flower memorials for both her parents and Frodo's above the fireplace, where they would remember their lives and the love they had for them. From then on, the task was set before Bilba to provide for herself and Frodo for the years to come.

It helped that Bungo had already named her sole heiress of Bag End the previous year, which gave her a bit of backing. However, with that came all of her father's responsibilities as head of the Baggins family, along with all of his business dealings with hobbits and men alike, as well as her mother's tasks up-keeping the large smial that was Bag End.

It had helped that Bungo had saw fit to begin teaching her the intricacies of his business as a landowner, taking her that last spring to meet the farmers and their families tending to his lands. But, he had not foreseen both he and his wife being called back to the Green Lady's Gardens in the coming winter, and thus, Bilbo was left to stumble a bit to quickly familiarize herself with everything else.

Coupled together with grieving for her parent's deaths, it had taken some time for Bilba to get herself to rights and take control of Bag End's finances and estate. At the tender age of thirty-one, not even being a hobbit "of-age", many hobbits had thought to petition against Bilba's rights to Bag End, stating that she was too young to handle such responsibilities.

She put that to rest straight away, however, stating that she was more than fit to care for herself and Bag End.

Oh, she was met with resistance by more than one greedy hobbit family. The Sackville-Baggins' were the most vocal about their "concerns" for her, stating that looking after such a large estate wouldn't be healthy and that they would "graciously" relieve her of her father's burden.

That pulled her from her grieving like an ice-cold bucket of water being thrown over her. The argument ended with her pointing her bow and arrow, loosing a few to scatter the few more resisting hobbits, as she drove off any solicitors around her home. It was after that incident that Bilba gained the title 'Mad Baggins', and wore it proudly from that day forward.

Of course, in order to save her reputation as well as pacify the masses, the Thain sent her a letter of certification that dubbed her an honorary Bounder and left it at that. Her community soon began to overlook her strange tendencies after that, stating that it was simply her Took blood that bade her to do such oddities. All in all, it was the best Bilba could have expected out of the situation.

Five years of healing had managed to coat over the pain and the loss both hobbits had received from the Fell Winter. Five years had seen Bilba adopting her nephew Frodo before she even reached her majority, something that other hobbits had frowned upon. However, Bilbo dug her heels in when questioned about it, even going so far as to pay a visit to her grandfather, Gerontious Took, who had currently held the position of Thain.

"Auntie Bilba, there's another one today!"

The slightly angry voice of her nephew drew the young hobbit lass from her thoughts, realizing that she had been standing at the top of the road for some time. Looking towards Bag End now, Bilbo could see what had gotten Frodo so upset. Sighing slightly, she adjusted her hold on her dress skirt, making sure that no silverware fell, as she made her way down the road and through the Bag End gate.

In her path, Frodo stood with contempt in his eyes as he glared at the two bouquets of flowers that sat innocently on the stoop.

"Why do they keep sending these? You showed everyone at the Spring Planting Festival that you aren't interested, so why don't they back off already!", Frodo muttered with what looked like a pouting face. If he wasn't so riled up Bilba would almost find the expression cute.

"Well, these ones seem to be particularly stubborn, is all. I'll scatter the petals properly to show that I haven't changed my mind. That should deter these pesky suitors for a while." Bilbo said as she stepped over the flowers to open the door.

To bring them into her smial would suggest that she was considering the proposition, which was the last thing she wished for. So, she left the bouquet on the stoop and entered her home, pretending she didn't see how her nephew blew a quiet raspberry at the offending bundle.

"For now, it is more than enough", Bilba mused as she closed the door, before shrugging her quiver and bow off her shoulder to lean against the entry's coat hanger.

Once that was done, Bilba made her way to the kitchen to deposit her rescued silverware into the washbasin. The collection of forks, knives, and spoons that clattered into the tub sent water droplets splattering into the air causing a section of her skirt to get wet.

"Oh well, tomorrow is laundry day anyway.", Bilba thought to herself as she dropped her skirt to fully flare around her legs. Behind her, she could make out the scuffling of Frodo's feet as he bolted through the hallway towards the inner rooms. If she were to guess, her young charge was off to add his newly acquired treasures to his collection. But, before that...

"Frodo! Make sure that you gather all of the dirty laundry in your room to clean tomorrow. And be sure to check underneath your bed as well, I know you forgot to last week!" A small voice from inside shouted a confirmation in reply.

And, with that settled, Bilba went to work cleaning the dust off of a fork, allowing her hands to work out a rhythm. Clean the fork, dry, set aside. Clean the knives, sharpen, dry, set aside. Clean the spoons, dry, set aside. Soon, the tedious work was done and all of her silverware gleamed before they were neatly tucked away into a kitchen drawer.

It seemed her timing was perfect, since not a moment later Frodo appeared dragging behind him a basket that contained a mountain of dirty laundry. It looked like he had taken the liberty to add her own clothes to the pile as well, making its weight far too heavy for a fauntling to carry. But still, knowing Frodo, he would always try to push himself.

"Here's all of the clothes, Auntie Bilba. I looked under my bed like you said, too."

Looking at the poor lad trying to drag the basket to the front door, Bilba decided to help, "Best let me take over. The basket is too heavy for you now."

"No!" Frodo said with determination, giving the basket a powerful tug. "I can do thi- WAHHH!"

And with that, the entire mountain of smelly pants, shirts, and underthings had engulfed the young fauntling in an avalanche of stench. Bilba couldn't help but laugh as Frodo's head popped out of the mess.

"Well, may this be a lesson to you to always know when a job requires the assistance of others." Frodo grumbled as he picked himself up out of the collapsed mountain of laundry, but conceded to Bilbo's point.

Bilba shook her head at the lad, "At any rate, the day isn't over yet, so we might as well get this out to the wash bin to soak overnight. The nights have been warm enough that the water won't freeze, and then you can go explore nearby while I get supper started."

That perked the young hobbit up, as he quickly helped scoop up the scattered shirts, shorts, dresses, and underthings back into the basket. This time, Bilba was the one to carry the basket up and out, while Frodo at once bolted out of the smial like fire was nipping at his foot-hairs.

Bilba placed the basket down with a 'thud' next to the water basin, before tipping it over to let the clothes fall into the water. As she straightened, she could see Frodo's shadowy silhouette against the fading light.

"Don't go far! Supper will be ready in twenty minutes, and I better see you at the table or I'll come find you again!", Bilba yelled across the field.

Frodo waved back, having heard her, "Don't worry, I won't! I'm going to search for elves really quick and be right back! Maybe I'll meet some this time!"

"Looking for elves, huh?," She murmured to herself, as she watched her nephew disappear into the thicket surrounding the forest, Bilba smiled and her eyes took on a glint. "Now that does bring back fond memories." She murmured, thinking of past times when her mother would send her off much the same way as she did with Frodo.

Oh, mother... I wish you and father were still here with me.

Her thoughts transported her back to a time when she, as a young fauntling so similar to Frodo, had traversed the entire Shire in search of something... other. Some kind of other-ness that the Shire couldn't provide for her curious mind and wandering feet. The need to search for anything out of the ordinary had fueled her imagination throughout her fauntling years and, if she were honest with herself, had never fully been quieted.

While it is true that the Fell Winter had forced her to become more grounded than she had been, her fantasies of wandering to lands outside the borders of the Shire never left her. They buzzed around in her head like it contained a hive of angry bumble bees. Needing an outlet for her imaginings, Bilba settled for writing whole books of fables for her enjoyment, which ironically later become a lucrative source of income for her.

In addition to her hobby as an author of adventure fables, she was managing her father's business position as landlord to tenants all across the Shire, supervising her croplands for their upcoming rotations, and keeping up her prize-winning tomatoes for the sixth year in a row. All in all, Bilba's days were filled to the brim with activity, notwithstanding her nosey in-laws coming over for brunch or tea and the daily declarations of love by suitors whose only interest in her was focused on either the Baggins name or Bag End itself.

Not that she cared for any of them or what they said about her. She cared not one wit for their comments about being a prude spinster at her young age.

At the moment, what she had it was enough.

Oh, she had no doubt that later on, once Frodo had grown into his majority, she would fulfill her wandering feet's desire. Perhaps she would even get as far as Imladris, or Rivendale, as her mother had told her from her travels. Perhaps she would venture farther than even her mother has gone, just to say that she did.

But, for now, this was enough.

She had secured Bag End and a small fortune to keep her and Frodo secure. She protected her home. She gained custody of her nephew. She beat off Lobelia's attempts at stealing her mother's silver more times than she cared to count. She and Frodo were finally able to create a sense of contentment within their routine in the Shire.

What else could she possibly ask for?

And, with that final thought in place, Bilbo turned on her heels to stroll through the back door once more, "Now, what to make for supper? Perhaps I'll have a glass of wine, while I have a look in the pantry."

Little did she know that her nephew's own wandering feet would wind him up in trouble and bring her a few unexpected guests very soon.

Frodo's tiny hairy feet took him beyond the edge of the forest trees outlining the Bag End estate, over two small creeks, and through a small glen just outside of his best friend's, Samwise Gamgee, family smial. Along his make-shift path, Frodo found a multitude of interesting things. Brass buttons, small skipping stones, leaves that took the shape of a dragon (at least to his imaginings), and five well-shaped, pre-pealed conkers.

It was at this last find that Frodo was about to head back when, suddenly, his pointed ears picked up a peculiar sound.

"Huh?", Frodo puzzled over the sound and where it was coming from, twisting this way and that in order to find out where it was coming from.

Once he finally knew which direction the sound was coming from, he began to walk towards it. As he ventured closer, Frodo could finally make out the sounds being made.

It- it sounds like someone's crying...

Frodo came to an abrupt stop when another sound was heard. This time, it was a gruff, harsh voice. It was one that belonged to the race of Man, if he remembered correctly from his few trips to Bree with Bilba. It was enough of an experience to teach him to always be careful around the Big Folk. They were unpredictable and while some were nice and almost hobbit-like, others would soon see a hobbit beaten down and taken for all their worth.

It was during such a trip where the violence of Men was on display that he saw Bilba ready to pull out a knife from her clothes, ready to defend herself and him from a drunken man. Thankfully, Bilba didn't have to use her knife, but the experience did teach them to always be on guard when outside the Shire.

Thus, Frodo listened to the little voice of reason, that was strangely sounding like Bilbo, telling him to climb a tree and get a look that way. So, once he was as close as he dared, Frodo climbed a sturdy tree as quietly as he could. Coming to a stop in one of its more foliage-filled branches, he pushed apart the leaves to look into a small clearing.

What he saw horrified him to his core.

"Oh, dear Yavanna...", Frodo's eyes bulged out of his head at the sight before him. In a small clearing, there sat a group of four Big People in a circle. In the middle of the circle, there were at least four children wearing chains around their wrists. Their faces were smudged with dirt and grim, but tear paths were visible to him from his perch. Looking closer, he could tell that the kids were all around his age, and one of them, a smaller child with red hair, was chocking on his hiccuped cries.

This, however, didn't appeal to one of the Big Folk, as he took the thick stick he had in hand and slammed it on the ground next to the child, "Oie! Shut up, ya little shit stain or I'll beat ya' black and blue!"

This made the child curl up into the group of kids farther, as a child with blonde hair made to shield him with their body.

"Don't get so rilled tha' ya' mess them up too bad, Garffer. They's need to look able to work if they's going to sell for anything.", Slurred another man, who was half-way into a bottle of liquor.

At that, Frodo snapped out of his horrified trance and slowly shifted backwards along the branch. These men that were trespassing into the Shire...they were slave-traders! With his entire body shaking, Frodo slowly inched his way to the trunk of the tree to get down.

I-I have to get help! I have to get Bilba!

A man-sized grip on his ankle froze his brain, unable to cry out as he was tugged sharply out of the tree.

And, with the first chapter is done! I hope you enjoyed it!

Thank you to all my readers!

I hope you all are having a great start to the New Year!

Happy Readings!