A great tent had been raised on the Party Field, where the elders lounged on benches and drank beer, chatting about all the trifles of Hobbit life.
The younger Hobbits danced with infectious joy to the bright notes of country music, and children wove among the crowd, shrieking and giggling in their gas.
Compared to the bustling field, Bag End felt still and calm.
Bilbo, dressed in a pale yellow waistcoat, looked exactly as he had decades ago—lively, agile, untouched by the long years. Only his air had changed, deepened by the passage of ti into a peaceful, wise composure.
He sat on his settee, eyes soft with nostalgia as he leafed through his well‑worn adventure diary, reliving his days in the Company of Thorin Oakenshield.
A sudden knock at the door broke the quiet.
A young Hobbit ca in, fresh-faced and bright-eyed, a mane of chestnut curls tumbling onto his brow.
"Uncle Bilbo, the party's started—everyone's waiting for you!" Frodo's voice was cheerful as he hurried him along.
Bilbo turned, warmth in his eyes, and carefully marked his page with a golden mallorn‑leaf bookmark before closing the book. "A birthday cos every year, Frodo; a few more minutes won't matter," he said, glancing toward the hearth with a spark of anticipation. "Besides, the most important guests aren't here yet. When they arrive, we'll go together."
"Guests? Are there more coming tonight?" Frodo asked, surprised.
"Of course. I wouldn't throw a party just to chat with the crowd of nosy relatives always peering after my treasure," Bilbo replied with a dry chuckle.
Frodo only grinned at his uncle's ways and tried a different tack. "So, Uncle—who are these guests? Who are you waiting for so intently?"
Before Bilbo could answer, the fire in the hearth blazed erald green.
Bilbo's whole face lit up as he leapt to his feet. "They're here!"
A beautiful child stepped from the green fire—perhaps eleven, draped in long black hair and crowned with a band of shining silver. Their skin was pale as winter, androgynous but with a proud lift to the brow and an otherworldly glow in the dimness.
The child walked from the flas and bowed politely. "Happy birthday, Uncle Bilbo!"
"Elthir!" Bilbo exclaid in delight, embracing the child who stood nearly as tall as himself. He was clearly fond and proud of this visitor.
"Are your father and sister just behind?" he asked.
Elthir nodded. "Father and Elroth are coming now. Uncle Bilbo, this is my birthday gift for you. I hope it brings you luck."
He handed over a small, elegantly wrapped package.
Bilbo's face brightened, "Oh, dear Elthir, anything from you would delight !"
Inside the box was a little vial filled with golden liquid, and Bilbo gasped at the sight.
"What is this?" he asked, unable to believe what he held.
"I made it myself—a draught of Felix Felicis, enough luck for a whole day."
Bilbo marvelled at the gift's value. He'd only seen such a potion once before, when Kael gave him a drop to find Frodo safely after the boy had gone missing, and the day had unfolded with improbable good fortune.
"Take it, Bilbo," Kael's voice ca from the green flas as he arrived, leading Elroth by the hand. "This is Elthir's best work. He brewed it half a year ago with this day in mind."
"Kael! Elroth! You've co as well!" Bilbo's heart was full.
"Happy birthday, Uncle Bilbo! I've brought you a gift too," Elroth said, wriggling free to present a chess set, larger than her brother's package.
Elroth resembled Elthir almost perfectly—save for her bright grey eyes and cascading black hair, over which she wore a delicate Elven coronet gifted by their great-grandmother. Unlike her brother's steady gravity, Elroth's spirit sparkled with lively mischief, and her joy was infectious.
She opened the box to reveal chess pieces carved in black and white—human kings, Elves, Dwarves for the white; Orcs on wargs, Trolls, and Nazgûl for the black. On the board, they would co alive, bickering, fighting, and acting as a miniature battlefield.
Bilbo jumped as several black pieces snarled in chilling detail, mories of his adventures with Trolls and Orcs rushing back.
"Uncle Bilbo, this is my own design," Elroth explained, laughing. "You can play both sides alone, or invite a friend, but I think you'll enjoy playing the black—watching the Orcs and Trolls take a beating is ever so satisfying, and even in defeat, you'll never regret it."
Bilbo shook his head, torn between laughter and exasperation, but thanked her warmly all the sa.
When Kael's turn ca, he handed over a shimring vial. "It's no surprise, just as before—my gift is life itself. Happy eleventy‑first, my friend."
Bilbo looked at the Elixir of Immortality in his hands and sighed, "This is what so many covet—a gift greater than any re surprise."
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