Drogo took one last look outside the front window and then scurried to the kitchen where his nine-year-old son was already standing on a chair at the kitchen counter, ready to mix up a cake as his birthday present for his mother.

“It is safe now, Papa?” Frodo asked.

Drogo smiled at his lovely son. A bottle of sunshine Primula liked to call him and indeed the name fit. “Yes, my lad. Bilbo will make sure your mama is occupied for a good time there at the market.”

Frodo giggled and clapped his hands. He reached over, standing on his toes to reach the large container that held the flour. He carefully broke the eggs that he had so cautiously gathered that morning and mixed those together in a small bowl. Then he added in the flour, poured in some milk and oil and sprinkled in some spices and started kneading the whole mix.

Drogo watched him but didn’t interfere. Frodo had insisted on wanting to do everything himself so it would be truly his own gift to his mother. When Bilbo had come to share their joint birthday and after all the tickling that had Frodo howling with laughter, the little hobbit had leaned close to his uncle’s ear and whispered his secret plan to him.

Bilbo’s eyes had widened and he had assured Frodo that the secret was safe with him and he would do all he could to help keep it that way. It was he who had insisted on taking Primula down to the market so her son could plan his surprise. Bilbo had confided to the lad’s mother that he planned on giving Frodo some colored drawing sticks as his birthday present to his favorite cousin, but he couldn’t decide on all the colors and he was sure that Primula would be able to help him out. Drogo had sighed in relief at that because he hadn’t be able to think of any way to get his wife out of the hole.

Frodo had giggled when he had overheard Bilbo, then had covered his mouth and scurried away from his hiding place where he had been listening.

Though Primula suspected something was amiss, she let herself be led out by Bilbo down the path and away from the hole. She didn’t know exactly what her two lads planned, but she knew they were up to something for more often than not, the two had identical mischievous looks and no more than this day.

The cake was ready for baking a half hour later and most of it was in the pan, though a good measure of the flour and a little of the eggs covered Frodo from head to toe. It was sprinkled through his dark curls as well and smeared on his rosy cheeks with some of the oil. He was smiling from ear to ear, quite pleased with his effort.

Drogo carefully took the cake off the table and placed it in the oven. Frodo slid off the chair, which was also covered with flour, and left his footprints from the counter to the oven as he watched his father. Once the cake was safely cooking away, father and son returned to the table and trailed their fingers through the little batter that remained.

“Now, my little flour dumpling,” Drogo said, tapping said dumpling on the nose, “it’s to the bath with you!”

He scooped his son who squealed with laughter and put him in the tub. The clothes he rinsed out in another tub as his son splashed about. Frodo loved the water. As he lathered a lot of soap on, he hummed and sang a song. Drogo didn’t understand any of the words, but he loved to listen to his child sweet voice. Frodo had told him he didn’t understand the words either, but it was from a dream he had had. When the lad had told Bilbo about it, he had repeated the words to him and Bilbo had been rather stunned to discover that his favorite cousin had been dreaming in Quenya. It was a lovely song and Frodo had been quite thrilled to learn that it was Elvish. Bilbo had told him what it meant, but the hymn didn’t mean anything to such a little lad. “But I like the way it sounds so I like singing it,” Frodo had told his father. “The voices in the dream were very pretty, but not as pretty as Mama’s.”

After the bath and dressed once more in a clean shirt and breeches, Frodo ran to the kitchen to see how his cake was baking. Once he was satisfied that it was indeed progressing nicely, he brought a broom from the corner of the room and began to sweep up the flour that he had spilled on the chair and floor. The curls of his foot hair returned to a chalky white until he dipped them back into the tub. After that, he checked his cake again and it was nearly done. He hovered close by as his father took it out from the oven and placed it on the counter to cool. Once it was, Frodo drew a chair over to stand on and leaned over to put a mushroom on top. He grinned at his father and thought the cake looked very good.

He ran to the door to see if his mother and uncle were coming back yet, for he was very anxious to taste the cake, but they weren’t yet. He had to run two more times before he saw them walking up the path. Then he drew another chair over and reached up on his very tip of his toes to reach the knob and ran down to meet them. Primula swept her son up in her arms and hugged him tight and kissed his cheek. Bilbo looked up with a large smile and a bag in his hand.

“Is that for me, Uncle?” Frodo asked, looking at the bag.

“And what makes you think that, my lad?” the elder hobbit asked mildly.

“Because it’s our birthday, silly!” the little one said with a giggle.

“Well, then, mayhap it is for you. Or perhap I just wanted something for myself.”

Frodo laughed again. “I think it’s for me!”

“We shall see, we shall see.”

Bilbo didn’t think he had ever seen such a child so filled with light and cheer. He had watched him sleep at times, curled up in his bed and covers and his arms wrapped around his stuffed bear and wondered at the beauty of such a pure being. There was something almost Elvish about him, wrapped up in the skin of a hobbit.

“Wait ’til you see what I made you for my birthday, Mama!” the child cried, turning his attention back to his mother. He squirmed out of her arms and took her hand, tugging her toward the kitchen.

“I made it all by myself!” Frodo said proudly as Primula gazed at the cake on the table. “Do you like it, Mama?”

She hugged her son close. “Oh, my sunshine, it looks beautiful! And smells delicious!”

“Can we have some of it now? I’m so hungry.”

Primula looked down at her shining, beautiful son. “Perhaps a little, dearling, but you should save some for after dinner.”

Frodo promptly took half of the mushroom, restraining himself from taking it all, though his parents and uncle saw how dearly he wanted to and dug in his fingers to take a small handful of cake.

It was joyous birthday celebration for all. Primula loved her cake as did everyone else for they all took seconds. Frodo got his drawing sticks from Bilbo which he started to use straightaway and Bilbo got a drawing and a small story, drawn and written in a very careful hand. “I wrote down all the letters like you told me, Uncle,” the child said. “And that’s you and the dragon in that picture in case you can’t tell.”

Bilbo looked at the stick figures and accompanying text. “I see that, my lad. Very good. Very good indeed.”

Frodo beamed. “I’ll have more for you at Yule. I want to draw Gandalf next. How do you spell his name again?”

The evening progressed very well and ended with Frodo being tucked in by his parents and ready for his bedtime tale. He read out loud to his parents from one of his favorite tales instead of they to him since they could not read. Bilbo had written him a series of small adventures and Frodo had been thrilled to learn that his uncle had put him in each one as the hero and illustrated them too.

It was past the lad’s usual bedtime when finally said goodnight. He kissed his mother soundly on the cheek and squeezed her as tight as his little body could. “I love you, Mama, so much, even more than mushrooms! I’m so glad you’re my mama.”

Primula hugged her son back and kissed his head. “And I love you, my darling, much more than mushrooms.”

Frodo’s eyes widened a little at this. “Much more? That’s a lot!”

Primula smiled. “Yes, that’s a lot. I’m so glad you are my own sunshine.”

Frodo hugged and kissed his father next. “I love you, Papa.”

Drogo smiled and hugged his son tight. ““More than mushrooms?” he teased.

“Yes, Papa!”

“I love you, too, my little lad, more than many mushrooms.”

Frodo hugged Bilbo too and kissed him. “I love you, Uncle Bilbo.”

“Those poor mushrooms,” the elder hobbit said with a sad shake of his head. “I thought you loved them more than anything in the world.”

“I love to eat them more than anything, but I love Mama and Papa and you more than them.”

“We are honored,” Bilbo said solemnly. “We love you just as much. Goodnight, my lad.”

“Good night, Uncle. Good night, Mama. Good night, Papa.”

Primula gave him one last tuck and kiss to the head and made sure his stuffed bear was firmly clasped in his little arm. How she longed to give him a little brother or sister to hold. What a wonderful brother he would make! But at least she had him and she considered herself the luckiest hobbit in the whole Shire. When she came to check on him later, all snuggled up with his stuffed bear and softly lit from within, she thought of how perfect the day had been.

* * *

It was many years later when after a night of rain, Frodo heard from across the water the song he had often dreamed of and sang in his childhood. He looked up at Bilbo and Gandalf and smiled a little. He was too weary for it to reach his eyes yet, but the song reached into him and soothed him. It was even lovelier than he remembered it from before.

But he still thought his mother’s voice was better.