Of Birthdays

By: Elemmírë

Summary: Bilbo & Frodo reminisce on their birthday

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings does not belong to me, nor am I making any profit off either its story or characters.

"Yes, yes, thank you for coming. It's very nice to see all of you again," I hear myself say as I greet the guests whom are latecomers to my ... the party. As much as I love my birthday parties and spare no expense toward them, it seems that lately it has been the same dull routine, year after year, like everything else in the Shire. I, like the next hobbit, enjoy traditions, but this is becoming almost dreadful! Every year the same hobbits are invited. And every year, the same ones show up--it makes finding an appropriate birthday mathom such a chore lately, especially for the adults, since there have been very few children born into the family as of late.

I feel as if I have been giving the same birthday speech year after year and in more recent years, I hear the same prattle in return about how I don't look my age ... about how well preserved I am--as if I were an aging bottle of the Old Wineyards. And of course, year after year the same humongus cake is served; the number of burning candles adorning it the only thing changed.

I hear a sudden shrieking amongst my numerous guests and turn to see what the commotion is. Lobelia Sackville-Baggins is going on about something or other. She is pulling at the arm of her five-year old son, Lotho, dragging him away from his rather large piece of cake. The boy seems to be a very messy eater, cake crumbs lining the front of his vest. But how on Middle-earth did he manage to get such a large piece of it in his hair? I mean really, a lad that age should have developed some manners by now!

Then again, this is Lobelia and Otho's son I am referring to. The same hobbits who were distinctly not invited to the party, but showed up anyway. As much as I wanted to, it would have been very impolite of me to have refused them entrance, not to mention the ruckus Lobelia no doubt would have caused.

Oh well, they'll be surprised when they see the extra birthday mathom I had to scrounge together for them. Nothing says 'Happy Birthday' quite like a set of jarred pickled eggs, now does it? Perhaps they'll get the hint next year.

Not really interested in whatever hullabaloo my most ghastly of relations is squawking about, I start to turn away when suddenly something comes flying through the air and hits Lobelia smack dab in the middle of her beak-nosed face. She lets out an even louder shriek and with a crying Lotho in tow (who is being forced to leave his cake), runs across the Party Field toward the tent where the wash tubs are set up. Otho is currently nowhere to be seen--probably trying to break the lock on my door in order to get at my silver spoons inside Bag End.

Ah, now that my line of vision is no longer obstructed by so odious a hobbitess (if one can even call her that) I spy the source of the cake projectiles and I laugh. It is the other birthday lad. He is being held firmly in his father's lap being admonished in a loving tone, while his mother attempts to pry the chunks of cake from his hands and clean the smears of jam, crumbs, and frosting from the chubby little cheeks at the same time. A futile effort I must say, but as all new parents, Drogo and Primula will learn. Funny thing that coming from me, a life-long bachelor.

I watch as the now one-year old hobbbit babe waves his hands around, the tiny fingers of one hand smashing down upon the smaller version of birthday cake placed special in front of him. I sigh--only a single blue candle adorns his cake. I quickly find myself smiling in return as Frodo spots me with his big blue eyes and gurgles happily when he recognizes me. He laughs joyfully when I approach, clapping his little hands together in glee. "B'bo!" he squeals in delight.

"Thank you, my dear lad, that was most kind of you to get rid of the unwanted guests," I say, bending to kiss the top of his dark curly head and inhale the fresh scent all infants are blessed with. "I've been trying for years, but I guess you didn't want them here either for my- ... for our party, now did you?"

For 78 years, Halimath 22nd has been my birthday and mine alone. Now it seems, I must share it with this little imp. But I would rather share my birthday with this one small hobbit than with anyone else in all of Middle-earth ... or in all Creation.

* * * * *

How odd it is to not share my birthday anymore. Although, I am pleased to not have to partake in a humongous gathering of well-meaning hobbits. As much as I enjoyed our combined birthday parties, Uncle Bilbo always held such large, grand parties, the likes of which the Shire will never see again. I always preferred a much more quiet and intimate affair shared with those loved best, not the whole of Hobbiton or the Shire.

It decidedly feels odd enough though to finally sit here in Bag End with only those whom are most dear to me. It is so quiet, compared to long ago. There are no children running rampant to discover where the birthday mathoms are being hidden. There is no giant birthday cake alight with well over a hundred candles. There is no music to be heard or lights to be seen hanging from the branches of the Party Tree. The Party Field remains vacant and there is no noise save the evening chatter of the birds and insects. There is no Bilbo.

Many of my relatives are shocked, wondering why I refused to go into mourning this past year. Why should I? Bilbo's not dead, he is just gone ... disappeared from the Shire. They are even more shocked that I hold a party in his honor.

I know Bilbo and I continue to share the same birthday, but for my entire life, a shared birthday is all that I have ever known on this day--however comfortably or uncomfortably celebrated it was. Now, I am celebrating alone.

No, not alone.

I look up to see Merry, Pippin, Fatty, Folco, and Sam all raise their glasses in toast of the Hundred Weight Feast. "Happy Birthday, Frodo!" they shout out.

I raise my own glass in toast. "Happy Birthday, Uncle Bilbo ... wherever you may be."

~The End~