In the frenzy that followed Bilbo’s disappearance, few hobbits took note of the birthday cake until they were presented with a piece (or two or three) some time later.

But at least one hobbit watched in awe as Gandalf walked by the cake and extinguished the oversized flames with a flick of his wrist.

No doubt feeling the weight of such curious scrutiny, Gandalf glanced up and met the wide-eyed, inquisitive gaze of one Peregrin Took.

There were more questions found in the young hobbit’s eyes than there was time to answer them. And so, with a tiny wink of acknowledgement, the wizard turned toward Bag End and vanished into the night.

***

“How are you feeling today, Peregrin?” Gandalf asked around the stem of his pipe, a few lazy wisps of smoke curling in the sunlight.

“Quite well actually,” Pippin said brightly, flexing his ankle with only a slight wince. He glanced down at his arm, wishing it was healed enough to warrant the removal of its cumbersome bandaging, but found himself smiling nonetheless.

Gandalf watched Pippin for a moment, puffing thoughtfully on his pipe, before he inquired, “And your ribs?”

“Oh, they’re much better,” Pippin replied. “Though Strider insists on keeping them bandaged. I suppose he thinks I need a constant reminder to be careful.”

“A wise decision,” Gandalf said with a knowing smile.

**

The candles on the cake were lit, though the flames were not nearly as large as they had been on that September evening so long ago.

“Don’t forget to make a wish,” Frodo said, resting a hand, his uninjured one, on Pippin’s shoulder.

Pippin looked past the cake and met Gandalf’s eyes, saying a silent thank you.

“Be careful,” Merry warned, holding back the ends of Pippin’s hair, which dangled close to the leaping flames. “You need a haircut, Pip.”

Pippin laughed in reply, took a deep breath, and blew out the candles amidst applause and cheers.

The candles flickered and went out, only to burst back into flames, stronger and brighter than before.

A look of confusion passed over Pippin’s face, and he turned to Merry, who appeared equally bewildered.

Regarding the candles suspiciously, Sam stepped forward slightly, effectively shielding Frodo from any mischief that might occur. Frodo, however, seemed unconcerned and glanced at Gandalf with the hint of a smile upon his face.

He remembered what had happened at Bilbo’s party, of course, and so Pippin turned to Gandalf for help but the wizard shook his head slightly.

So Pippin tried again, and again, but each time the flames flickered out for a moment before springing back to life.

Ribs protesting and a little out of breath, Pippin stepped back and pondered the still cheerfully lit candles.

“What is this witchcraft?” Gimli grumbled impatiently. He leaned forward and expelled a large gust of air, and along with it, a spray of saliva that landed squarely on the topmost layer of the cake.

Still the candles burned, defiant.

“I shall take my slice from the second layer,” Legolas murmured to Aragorn, a remark to which Gimli growled something about finicky Elves.

“I think one more try should do it, Peregrin,” Gandalf said, and nodded encouragingly.

All eyes returned to the cake – all eyes except Pippin’s, for as he blew out the candles he watched as Gandalf’s hand moved, just barely, through the air. The candles flickered and went out, finally extinguished.

“Well done, Pippin!” Merry cheered, careful not to jostle the sling that encased his cousin’s arm as he pulled him close.

There was a tangle of arms, then, as Frodo and Sam joined in the hug. Gentle teasing and heartfelt wishes were exchanged, and each person in the room could not help but think that, yes, it had all been worth it, if only for moments like this one.

Smiling, Pippin looked past Merry and Frodo to where Gandalf stood watching.

“Happy birthday, my lad,” he said, and gave the tiniest of winks.