We wrote these two stories: Gandalf’s Birthday and The Sign at the Prancing Pony Revisited, for our seventeenth birthday party, the theme being an amalgamation of The Lord of the Rings and Bob Dylan (we drew two themes out of a hat).
There are several quotes from Bob Dylan and allusions to his music in these tales.

Gandalf’s Birthday
Pan

“Oh, pour the tea, Sam,” yawned Frodo as he munched a second piece of toast. “It’s too wet to do any gardening this forenoon. Let’s have another mug and go exploring.”
They were at Crickhollow, reclining in the sitting chairs Merry had given Frodo for Yule. The chairs were soft and deep and let one sit the way one had always wanted to, so that when the time came, one was loathe to rise.
The rain pattered gently against the windows, and Sam sipped his tea somewhat dolorously, perhaps wishing Frodo was not so intent upon meeting his neighbors.
For a time they sat there silently, Frodo smoking and lost in thought, Sam spreading butter on more toast, wishing the sun would appear and dry his garden.
Both were awakened from their reveries by the chimes naming the hour. Frodo snuffed his pipe and rose. “We can’t put it off any longer, Sam,” he said. “We’ve been here a fortnight and done nothing but hibernate, and it’s beautiful country.”
“I don’t know, Mr. Frodo,” said Sam dubiously. “That old Forest gives me the spooks. Mark my words, Fatty Bolger’s gone quite queer on me lately. Taken to strange midnight capers, he has. And last night, after I finished trimming the verge, I found this-” and he pulled out of his waistcoat pocket a piece of tightly coiled wire. It shone a bright copper color in the firelight. Frodo scrutinized it closely. ” I don?t think I’ve ever seen the likes of it before, Sam,” he said in bewilderment. “Who do you suppose could have wrought such a thing? The only folk I know who possess the skill are the Dwarves.”
“Never heard of no dwarf waltzing about in the Old Forest for the fun of it, Mr. Frodo,” Sam mused. ” Could it be an elf, do you think? Anyway, I found it near the Withywindle.”
“I guess the neighbors can wait,” Frodo admitted. “This needs looking into. And anyway, I haven’t seen Tom Bombadil in some time. Perhaps he wouldn’t mind us paying him a visit.”
The rain stopped as the two hobbits set out, Sam casting wistful glances at his garden.
“Wait, Mr. Frodo,” he paused. “It wouldn’t be proper to go off without a pipe and a bit of leaf.” And he wrapped some of the Southfarthing’s best and stowed it tenderly in his breast pocket.
They set out for the Old Forest, Frodo humming cheerfully and Sam following close behind, careful not to lose sight of his master.
The Old Forest was dim. It seemed the morning sun had evaporated as shone throughout the tops of the far away trees, and so it hovered in perpetual dusk. Sam shivered and kept his eyes fixed on the ground lest he see unfriendly faces peering out at him. They walked in silence for some time, the Forest growing darker and gloomier and mossier, until Sam noticed Frodo had stopped humming and was studying the ground intently.
“I say, Sam,” he exclaimed. “There are more pieces of that queer coiled wire you found. Who do you suppose is scattering these about?” Sam shivered again. “I don’t know, Mr. Frodo, and I’d rather not think about it. It’s too heavy in here for me to think. I don’t care for this sort of wandering about at all.” ” Well, we’re almost there, anyway,” said Frodo. “There’s the Withywindle and the Old Tree. And look, there’s another piece of wire!” The brook gurgled quietly and seemed to Sam a mite more welcoming than the massive brooding trees. Up ahead, they could see Tom Bombadil’s house, and lights were twinkling from the windows. The door had originally been a bright shade, but was now cracked and peeling. Moss had sprung up on the chinks in the doorstep, and a vine had grown over the threshold. “Now isn’t that odd,” murmured Frodo to himself. “Old Tom let his house grow weedy-never! And a peeling door-I do hope he’s still here.” And he stood in thought, puzzled.
At last Sam grew impatient. “There’s only one way to find out, Mr. Frodo.” he said, and knocked heartily on the door. The knock resounded throughout the house. There was a thump, and the hobbits heard shuffling footsteps. The door swung open.
The hobbits gasped in surprise.
“Oh, come off it,” Fatty Bolger said. “I over came my fear of the Forest some time ago. You needn’t look so shocked. As a matter of fact, it’s quite a nice place, just takes some getting used to.”
“But what are you doing in Old Tom’s house?” exclaimed Frodo.
Fredegar rolled his eyes in exasperation and motioned them inside.
“I got to know Tom when I was in my ‘tweens,” he said, setting plates on the once-luxurious tablecloth. “But I lost touch when I moved out of Buckland. Anyway, one night I decided to go for a walk in the Old Forest, just like I used to. And who should I meet but old merry Tom himself. ‘Hallo, Fatty,’ says he. ‘You’re looking as stout as ever.’ ‘That I do,’ I answered proudly. ‘And your boots are as yellow as the day I met you.’ So we good friends again. Then one day Tom says to me, ‘ I’ve got some business to attend to, Fatty. Will you stay and look after the house while I’m gone?’ So here I am, and it’s been some time now, and still old Tom hasn’t come back. Do you think a wight got him?”
Frodo smiled to himself. “Who would have thought old Fatty would have dared venture into the Forest? But don’t you get lonely all alone and in the dark too?”
“Lonely?” cried Fredegar. “Of course not! Come on in!” And he swung the kitchen door open to reveal a host of familiar faces.
For there, much to Frodo and Sam’s amazement, were Merry and Pippin, Gimli and Legolas playing rummy and Boromir trying to doze.
“Boromir!” gasped Frodo. “Why, the last time I saw you-” “Let’s not mention that, shall we?” Boromir winced. “You know how it is. Lembas is lovely at first, but after a while-”
“Yes, yes, I understand,” Frodo interjected hastily. “I, too, have bad memories of lembas. But where’s Aragorn, and Gandalf?”
“Aragorn’s in Gondor,” Legolas said patiently. “He couldn’t really drop everything and meet in the woods, now could he? And as for Gandalf, well-”
“They should’ve gotten here yesterday,” Fredegar said. “I do wish you’d waited just a bit longer before deciding to go snooping about. It would’ve been a lovely surprise.” He sighed and waddled off to the kitchen and began rattling pots and pans.
“I’m sorry to have ruined a surprise,” Frodo said. “I knew I should’ve listened to Sam. Ah, well. What’s the occasion?”
“Well,” said Merry. “Nobody knows for sure, but rumor has it it’s Gandalf’s birthday today. Can you imagine-a wizard have a birthday. No one has the slightest idea how old he is, or if he was ever, in the conventional sense of the word, born. But there you have it. Today’s his birthday. And he’s still not here.”
The party looked somewhat dejected until Pippin suggested they play Twister, to which all happily agreed.
It was about two o’clock in the afternoon when Fredegar hurried into the parlor, cheeks red, eyes sparkling. “They’re here!” he puffed, mopping his brow. “Thank heavens, everything’s done. Everybody, hide!” The hobbits had a decided advantage in this exercise. It is easy to crawl under a sofa if you are only 3 ½ feet tall, but a 6-foot tall man and a broad-shouldered man find things somewhat more difficult. Legolas hid behind Tom Bombadil’s hatrack, hoping nobody would notice a hat had a head beneath it. Boromir did his best to make himself look like an enormous throw pillow. It was not very convincing.
They held their breath.
The door swung open, and they could hear Tom Bombadil giving directions to a blindfolded Gandalf.
“Ho, there, foot to the right, no, no, not on Goldberry’s slipper, up, ho, up on the threshold, hey, ho, HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”
As Gandalf entered the parlor, the whole party jumped up and shouted “SURPRISE!”
It is not very easy to shock a wizard, and it was not difficult to decide if Gandalf’s expression was one of delighted surprise or hilarity as he watched the party extricate themselves.
Legolas leapt forward, not a good thing to do if you are hiding behind a hatrack that is behind an umbrella bucket, especially if a dwarf is hiding amongst the umbrellas. Pippin leapt up from behind the sofa just as Boromir sat up and both got a tremendous knock on the head. Merry had caught himself beneath the sofa and was trying to crawl out, kicking his legs furiously. Frodo and Sam, at opposite ends of the room, met in the middle with a dull thump.
Even Tom, who was rather upset at what this doing to his parlor, laughed heartily. It took some time for everyone to quiet themselves and notice a third person leaning against the parlor door. “Aragorn!” exclaimed Frodo, and he ran to the man and threw his arms about his waist.
“It ain’t me, babe,” came a confused and somewhat nasal reply. “Oh! I am sorry!” apologized Frodo, absolutely horrified. Tom Bombadil laughed again. “Ho, hey, ho! This is my cousin, Bobadylan. Come to help me sing for Master Gandalf, he has.”
“Probably twice removed on his father’s side,” Pippin whispered. “Look at that nose! And those skinny legs! I do believe he could outstride Strider.”
“Hush!” Merry replied. “They’re bringing in the cake.”
It seemed to the party as though Fredegar had allowed his aesthetic fancy to go wild. Candles and flowers adorned every tier of the massive cake. At the very top was a paper mache wizard’s hat, on which was written “A Long Life to Gandalf” in a wavy gold script. Gandalf blushed.
Bobadylan and Tom Bombadil readied themselves for singing. Bobadylan brought out a wooden harp-like instrument, and lightly touched the strings. Sam gasped. “Look, Mr. Frodo! The coiled wires! It must be!” And he took from his pocket the wires they had discovered that morning. Frodo chuckled. “Lost, Gandalf? Tom must have led them through the Forest for hours. Old Tom sure is sly.”
And Bobadylan sang, “May you stay… forever young.”
And Gandalf blushed again and blew out the candles, and said it was a fine birthday and he should have more of them.

The End

Epilogue
“Mr. Bobadylan, sir,” said Sam, “care for a bit of leaf? It’s Southfarthing’s best and always makes a journey easier. Take it with you and give some to your friends.”