"Frodo, I am not as good as you think I am."
One night in Bag End, after Frodo had fallen asleep, Bilbo lit a lamp in his study and began to write a letter.
"I do not even know what made me decide this, but it certainly was not kindness. Perhaps it is because I think that among all my relatives, all those who bear the name Baggins, only you truly have the spirit of the family. So, I have decided to entrust Bag End and all my possessions to you. As for me, do not worry. I only wish to take one last journey before my life comes to an end. I have been thinking about it for a long time, and I fear if I hesitate any longer, it will be too late."
The soft, steady sound of writing came from the study. Clearly, he was writing a great deal that night.
For a Hobbit, he had reached the pinnacle of life. He was wealthy, respected, the eldest living Hobbit in the Shire, and head of the Baggins family. All of which could only be described as honorable and venerable.
Yet, in the end, his adventurous heart once again triumphed over his love of comfort.
Just as it had sixty years before.
After finishing the letter, or perhaps one should call it a will, he sealed it carefully and began another.
An invitation.
"To Garrett."
---
"An unprecedentedly grand one hundred and eleventh birthday party," Bilbo had written.
In the year 3001 of the Third Age, in September, at the stronghold of Wayfort, Garrett opened a newly delivered letter and read it carefully from beginning to end.
Then he turned to Gandalf beside him to discuss it.
"Yes, I know. I have been preparing for this for quite some time," Gandalf said, puffing on his pipe, a thin stream of smoke curling from his lips.
"You mean that wagonload of fireworks over there?" Garrett tilted his head toward it.
He had noticed it when Gandalf arrived. The wizard had a small pony hauling an entire cart full of fireworks of all shapes and sizes. Clearly, he intended to put on quite a show at Bilbo's birthday party.
"Indeed. Do not underestimate my custom fireworks, Garrett. They may not have much power, but they will look far more magnificent than those combat fireworks of yours. Trust me. I have been perfecting this craft for over a thousand years."
"Is that so? Then I shall look forward to it."
"You will be dazzled," Gandalf said cheerfully, with the look of someone sure of his own brilliance. "Well then, I had better be off. That little pony does not move very fast, and if I am late, Bilbo will give me quite an earful."
"The pony..." Garrett asked, "Why not use that swift horse of yours?"
Gandalf fell silent for a moment, then sighed.
"The swift horse, yes. Fast indeed. Too fast. So fast that last time, my entire cart flipped over, and I was thrown off along with it. You do not want to know what that looked like. My back still aches."
"Well, that is... unfortunate," Garrett said with a slight shrug.
It seemed that when hauling too much cargo, going fast was not necessarily a good thing.
"When are you leaving?" Gandalf asked him in return.
"In a few days. I'll arrive before the party begins."
"Very well."
Gandalf departed.
Garrett leaned back slightly in his chair, tapping his fingers on the desk, his thoughts drifting northward.
Since Angmar had been completely purged, the land there had slowly softened with time. Grass now spread across it, steady and persistent.
Several outposts had been built near the former capital of Angmar and farther north still, to watch for any movement beyond the great northern snow mountains.
In theory, such precautions should not have been necessary, yet for some reason, the barren, uninhabited tundra beyond filled him with unease.
The Rangers felt the same.
Because of that, neither Angmar nor the Ettenmoors had been reclaimed as new settlements. Only a few watchtowers stood there to mark their claim.
A cautious decision, to be sure. Until every possible danger was resolved, neither Garrett nor those responsible at Wayfort would allow settlers to move north.
Most people still lived south of the great fortifications, keeping wary watch toward the Northern Waste, the wild lands beyond even Angmar.
After tending briefly to the many affairs of his realm, a few days later, when the time seemed right, Garrett mounted his horse and rode westward, following Gandalf's trail.
He was on his way to attend the long-awaited feast.
---
Rumble...
The wheels of the wagon rolled along the country lane, occasionally clattering and bouncing as they struck the ruts in the road.
"The Road goes ever on and on,
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can..."
A warm, deep voice carried the tune, light and cheerful, its melody easy and pleasant to the ear.
"You are late, Gandalf."
From the top of a grassy hill, a young Hobbit stood with his arms crossed, calling out to the singer.
"A wizard is never late, Frodo Baggins," Gandalf replied, stopping his cart and looking up. "Nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he means to."
The two stared at each other for a moment, and then burst into laughter.
"It is wonderful to see you again, Gandalf!" Frodo cried, rushing forward to embrace him.
"Oh, you did not think I would miss Bilbo's birthday, did you?" Gandalf chuckled. "If I ever missed such an occasion, he would give me a proper scolding. And I heard from Garrett that this party is going to be 'unprecedentedly grand."
"That is right," said Frodo. "The whole Shire is in an uproar. Half the Shire has been invited, and as for the other half, well, they will come anyway."
"So the entire Shire will turn up, then. Just as he said, quite the spectacle indeed."
Gandalf smiled around his pipe. The fireworks he had brought would certainly be worth it. Such things were always best enjoyed with a great crowd.
Lively and merry, just as they should be.
As he was thinking this, Frodo suddenly said, "He has been staring at maps lately, drifting off into daydreams. I have a feeling that has something to do with you, does it not?"
"What?" Gandalf blinked at him, looking almost innocent.
"Oh, do not play ignorant," Frodo said, narrowing his eyes. "Before you showed up, the Baggins name was spotless. No one ever even thought of going off on adventures."
"That is not entirely true," Gandalf said, shaking his head. "You cannot pin that all on me. Bilbo has probably never told you this, but when he was a lad, he was quite the mischief-maker. Once, he even ran off from Bag End all the way into the Old Forest. He did not come back until nightfall! His poor parents nearly lost their wits."
"Really? I have never heard that story." Frodo looked genuinely surprised.
To him, Bilbo had always been the mysterious old storyteller, full of secrets and tales. Even after decades together, that sense of mystery never faded. There was always something new to discover about him.
"Well, of course you have not," Gandalf chuckled. "He would not tell you about that sort of story."
"In any case, believe what you like, but all I did was give him a small push. The choice to go on that adventure was entirely his own."
"Is that so?" Frodo asked, clearly unconvinced.
"Believe me or not, it does not matter. I have already been officially branded a 'disturber of the peace' by the Shire."
"You are joking."
Gandalf's eyes grew even more innocent.
He glanced toward a nearby Hobbit who was tending the garden by his gate. The Hobbit looked up, met Gandalf's gaze, and smiled, only to be immediately whacked on the head by his wife emerging from the house.
"Well," he sighed, "it seems prejudice still runs deep around here."
"Gandalf!"
Just then, a group of Hobbit children came running out from a nearby garden, shouting his name and clamoring for fireworks!
"You see, the children at least are free from such prejudice," Gandalf said with a grin.
Whoosh... Bang!
With the aid of the Ring of Fire, a small firework shot into the sky, bursting into bright butterflies of light that fluttered for a moment before fading away.
The children squealed with delight.
Listening to their laughter, the two in the cart exchanged a glance, and then they too began to laugh.