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It had all come out by accident.
The weather being unseasonably mild for early summer, there was simply no question of remaining inside that afternoon, and so Frodo and Sam found themselves lying in a patch of dappled sunlight beneath the spreading branches of a willow tree. On days like this, Sam liked nothing better than to lean back against the warmed bark of the trunk, pull his hat low over his eyes, and listen to birdsong. He was content, like a lizard basking in heat, to remain there for hours, just enjoying the afternoon sun. Though Frodo could never bear to sit with his thoughts like that, he had got into the habit of curling up next to him with a book, often resting his head on Sam’s soft stomach as he did, and like that, they would pass hours often in near silence, and total comfort.
“D’you hear that?” Sam murmured, one of his hands buried absent-mindedly in Frodo’s curls. High above them, a rhythmic twittering was sounding. “That’s a greenfinch, that is.”
“Oh?” Frodo mumbled back politely, concentrating on his book.
“Such pretty little things. I hope that one’s found our bird feeder.”
Frodo grinned into the pages. “I’m sure she has, Sam.”
“And our bird bath, so’s she don’t get too hot. It’s right gorgeous, and no mistake.” Sam gave a little stretch. As Frodo was shifted slightly, he enjoyed the gentle tickle of the cool grass against his calves. What a perfect, peaceful day… “I hope it’s just as nice tomorrow.”
“What’s tomorrow?” Frodo asked serenely.
“Well, it’s my birthday, it is.” said Sam, as if announcing that tomorrow was Thursday. “Always lovely to have nice weather for it. Listen – there goes that greenfinch aga-“
But Frodo had sat bolt-upright so quickly that his book slipped onto the grass, crushing several daisies as it went. “What?” Above their heads, a ruffling of feathers and a rustling of branches told them that the startled greenfinch had flown away.
“What d’you mean, what?” Sam pushed back his sunhat to look at him, concerned. “Is something wrong?”
Frodo gaped at him in disbelief. “Tomorrow is your birthday?”
For a second, Sam looked relieved, before shrugging, and leaning back against the tree. “That it is, alright.” he muttered, offhand.
But Frodo was appalled. “Why didn’t you say anything before?” he demanded.
“Well, I suppose I didn’t think it was – are you alright, there?”
“No!” Frodo felt that he could laugh out loud at the horror of the situation he had just been plunged into. Oh, hammers and tongs! How could it be that he had not known the date of Sam’s birthday? His Sam? After all these years of knowing one another, how could it possibly be that he had never troubled to find out? Was he really that absorbed in his own problems that something as simple and vital as the birthday of the hobbit he loved slipped his mind? Guilt sat in his chest like a stone. “Oh, Sam, I’m so sorry!”
Now, Sam’s concern became acute. “Whatever for?”
“It’s just that you do so much for me, and yet I couldn’t even remember something as simple as your birthday!”
As he took this in, Sam was quiet for a moment. Then, with a hint of a smile, and a shake of the head: “Frodo – “
But Frodo had already leapt to his feet. “Well, you haven’t left me with much time to sort it out, but what do you want?” He folded his arms, shoulders squared. “A party? An outing? Anything! I’ll make it happen, I promise.”
“Frodo!” Sam reached up, and attempted to pull Frodo back onto the ground. Though he resisted at first, he was no match for Sam’s strength, and a moment later, he had landed back on the grass with a bump. “I don’t want nothing at all!” Sam was insisting. As his grip on Frodo’s arm slackened, he shuffled uncomfortably. “To tell y’the truth, I’ve never been too fussed on birthdays. When I was a lad, I couldn’t stand having to blow my candles out with everyone starin’ at me, like! I ain’t one for attention, me – my face goes as red as strawberries, and I start to shiver and shake something terrible!” He let out a chuckle at himself. “And then there’s all the bother of presents. Not that I’d ever begrudge a friend a gift, mind, but it’s such a hassle to find things to give everyone, and I used to get terribly worried that folk wouldn’t like them, or they’d be offended somehow, or…” He sighed, then folded his rough fingers around Frodo’s. “Look, I’m happy to let the whole thing pass me by, like a boat on the water, with no mess and no fuss neither. As long as you’re with me, m’dear, I have everything I could possibly want.” He raised Frodo’s hand to his lips and kissed it, before catching his disbelieving gaze. “Seriously! Don’t bother yourself with it. Just let it be an ordinary day. Though I’ll never say no to a birthday kiss!” Already, Sam was settling back against the bark of the tree, closing his eyes. “Besides, I’m going to deadhead the roses tomorrow, they’re desperate, they are…Oooh. There goes that greenfinch again…”
Clearly, the subject was closed. Flabbergasted and frustrated in equal parts, Frodo pretended to go back to his book – but behind his eyes, cogs were turning at a thousand miles per hour. For goodness sake, did Sam really expect him to just ignore his birthday? Especially as there was no one in the world more deserving of a little bit of appreciation. After everything they had been through, not just during the war, but every day since, Sam had continued to show up for him. When Frodo woke up in a cold sweat, crying out, Sam was there. When Frodo’s morgul wound burned as badly as the day he had received it, Sam was there. Every day, and every night, Sam showed him the kind of love, care, and patience that most people went their whole lives lacking. Without him, Frodo would not be here, there was no question about that. He owed him his life, and every little inch of joy he had left in it. There was nothing in the world he could ever say or do that would show Sam just how grateful he was, how much he owed him, how he loved him right through to his very bones. Nothing could ever be enough, and he had to make his peace with that. But here was an opportunity to give him a taste.
Alright. No fuss. No party. He certainly did not want to make Sam uncomfortable. But there were a hundred little ways for Frodo to make this “ordinary day” extraordinary. Excitement bit at his stomach as he quietly made plans…and his plans began, as every hobbit’s day did, with a good, hearty breakfast.
There was nothing for it. Sam was going to have a lovely birthday whether he liked it or not.
Frodo scarcely felt that he had slept at all that night before he woke up with the sun the next morning. Blinking in the half-light, he could hear the soft, steady snoring from the next pillow before his eyes had become accustomed. Good. Shaking himself awake, he slipped out from beneath the blanket and touched his feet down on the cold floorboards as quietly as he could. He would dress in the entrance hall to avoid any clattering around in the dark. Before he left, he chanced an excited glance back at the birthday hobbit. Sam was sleeping, as he always did, flat on his back, his arms and legs spreadeagled across the mattress. This sleeping arrangement worked perfectly, for Frodo liked to curl up small on his side, his knees tucked under his chin. My little hedgehog, Sam would say, kissing his curls. Nowadays, it was impossible to Frodo to sleep without listening to the sound of those gentle snores, without the sensation of his weight on the bed beside him, without his big, lovely teddy bear to cuddle up to for comfort. The sort of comfort only Sam could bring. Frodo’s heart glowed as he took a last, long look at the peaceful face of the hobbit he loved most, thinking of the surprises he was planning for him…and he couldn’t wait another second to get started. Having dressed as quickly as he could, Frodo inched the front door open, and silently closed it behind him, before hurrying out into the sharp early morning air.
A little under an hour later, Frodo returned with his first surprise, wiping his feet dry of dew on the welcome mat. It was quite a task to hold his prize steady while ensuring the door did not creak, but he just about managed it. Having hidden it in his study, Frodo crept back to the bedroom and pressed his ear to the door. That gentle snoring endured. Heart hammering, Frodo beamed to himself, before sneaking off towards the kitchen.
Although all young hobbits were taught cooking and baking from the time they could stand upright and stir, some were more naturally gifted at the culinary arts than others. Sam had always been one of those hobbits, and had gladly taken over most of the cooking in this smial. On the other hand, Frodo regarded himself as fairly average, preferring the exact science and measurements of baking over the artistry and instincts required to cook. But breakfast foods were simple enough – any fool could put together a simple fry-up. How hard could it possibly be?
Right. Time was ticking, and Sam wouldn’t stay in bed forever. He had to get a move on. Making plans in his head, he cut off the heel of the fresh loaf of bread and stuffed it into his mouth. First breakfast. He was going to need some sustenance if he was going to pull this off.
Frodo might have forgotten his birthday, but he knew that Sam’s favourite breakfast food, of course, was potatoes; potatoes in a thick, gooey cheese sauce that were crispy on the outside and perfectly soft within, which filled their smial with the sort of smell that never failed to set Frodo’s mouth watering. But how to make them? By the weak morning sunlight, Frodo studied the shelf of cookbooks above the kitchen counter – before remembering that he had never actually seen Sam touch one. Oh, for goodness sake, Sam’s recipes generally existed only in his mind, and that was no good to Frodo whatsoever. But no matter. Sam had made his famous breakfast potatoes enough times that surely Frodo knew what went into them. Surely?
Having chopped the potatoes into cubes, Frodo tossed them hopefully into the buttered cooking pot, where they sizzled and let off an enormous amount of steam. Excellent – that had to mean they were cooking. Clearly, all he had to do was toss cheese over them, and they’d come up as gooey and golden as always. Feeling a little more confident, Frodo moved on to something he definitely knew how to cook – mushrooms. They were beautiful things, as big as his hands, fresh from the woods. It was the work of only a few minutes to de-stem and de-gill them, before tossing them into the pan to fry off in yet more butter. Already the kitchen was starting to smell delightful. Once more, excitement stirred inside him as he began to slice apples – Sam was going to love this.
Having put the apples in a little dish, along with a few handfuls of fresh blackberries, Frodo set the kettle over the fire to boil, and busied himself with milk jugs and sugar bowls until the beginning of a fine breakfast spread was emerging. As the kettle began to bubble, he stooped down into the cupboard below and quietly groped until he found their biggest tray. It was a pretty thing, blue willow-patterned, and just about large enough to feed two hobbits. Rescuing the kettle before it began to whistle, lest the noise disturb, Frodo quickly poured its contents into the teapot, where the leaves were already beginning to brew. Right. As soon as he had checked on the progress of the toast, it was time to turn his attention to the most important part of any good cooked breakfast – eggs.
Eggs?
Oh goodness, how did Sam like his eggs? The first seeds of panic set in as Frodo racked his brains. Hammers and tongs, how many times had they eaten breakfast together, and Frodo did not know! He had seen Sam eat fried eggs, scrambled eggs, boiled eggs, and omelettes with apparent enthusiasm. Why didn’t he know which Sam liked best? Suddenly, it seemed terribly important and an awful failing on Frodo’s part. First the birthday, now this…He leaned back on the kitchen table, wondering what on earth to do. Well, the successful making of omelettes had always eluded him – he always gave up and just scrambled them – and besides, Sam’s birthday breakfast had to be perfect. But would Sam like scrambled better than fried? Or boiled?
Well. There was only one thing for it. It was time to get cracking.
It was quite hard to babysit three different types of eggs at once, but he just about managed it. As he did so, a strange smell began to waft towards him. Frodo sniffed the air suspiciously. It was the unmistakable aroma of – the potatoes! With no more than a second to spare, Frodo threw in yet more butter and dislodged them from where they were burning onto the bottom of the pot with a wooden spoon. Well, they certainly didn’t look pretty – but it was nothing a few handfuls of cheese wouldn’t fix. He liberally sprinkled it on, and decanted the potatoes into a large dish.
It was finally ready. Frodo took a deep breath in and out, steadying himself. Time to wake the birthday hobbit.
“Sam?” Frodo pushed the bedroom door open with his back, careful not to spill the teapot onto the toast. Already, he was beaming all over his face. “Happy Birthday, my darling! I made you –“
But as he turned around, to his horror, he found that the bed was empty.
For a moment, he gazed at the scene in disbelief, as if someone was playing a trick on him. Then, panic began to set in. No, no, no, no, this wasn’t what he had planned! Flustered, Frodo carefully laid the breakfast tray down on the end of the bed, and dashed from room to room, calling Sam’s name. He was not in the drawing room, nor the wash room, nor the study, nor the – oh, for goodness sake, there was only one place Sam was going to be. What else was Frodo guilty of not knowing about the hobbit he loved best?
Seconds later, he threw open the front door, bracing as the cool morning air blew through his shirt.
“Sam!”
There, crouching down amongst the rosebushes, was Sam – so surprised that he had almost dropped his pruning shears.
“Ah! Morning, m’dear.” His casual tone may as well have been a foreign language to Frodo, who felt as tightly wound as a spring. “Thought you’d gone out!”
“What are you doing there?” Frodo demanded, in utter disbelief that Sam had not conformed to the plan of which he knew nothing about.
Confusion and concern creeping into his expression, Sam gestured vaguely at the bushes. “Er…Deadheading the roses?”
“But I made you breakfast in bed!”
“Oh!” Sam looked as though a ray of sunlight had shined directly onto his face. He covered his mouth with his hands, emotion misting over his eyes as he cried out: “Oh, Frodo, that’s just about the sweetest thing –!”
“Come inside!” Frodo could not keep his voice from growing unnaturally high-pitched.
After a beat, Sam laid down his pruning shears and got directly to his feet. “Yes, dear.” Obediently, he marched straight into the smial.
“Where are you going?” Frodo snapped at Sam’s retreating back.
“To the kitchen?”
“No! Get into bed, right now.” He practically pushed him into the bedroom, where both of them came face to face with that morning’s efforts waiting on the end of the bed.
Sam looked down at the breakfast tray; the burned, sludgy potatoes, the pale toast, the blackberry-dyed apples, and three types of anaemic, overcooked eggs beside the suspiciously perfect mushrooms– and laughed aloud. It was not a mocking sound, however, It was pure, unadulterated joy. Grinning all over his face, he threw his arms around Frodo so tightly that he was lifted right off the floor. “Oh, m’dear Frodo!” he chuckled, kissing his cheek. “It’s perfect, it is!”
“Well.” Frodo could feel himself growing hot as he too regarded this far-from-perfect tray. It was Sam’s birthday, and he wished this breakfast was as wonderful as he deserved. But then again, he believed Sam was deserving of nothing short of solid gold, and so nothing he could ever have produced would seem good enough. “It was never going to be as good as yours.” he mumbled, embarrassed.
But Sam held him fast, gazing at him with the softest eyes he had ever seen. “You made it for me, because you care.” He kissed him again. “That makes it the best breakfast from here to Gondor in my book! Come on, pet, before it gets cold.”
Tucked up cosily under the blankets, Sam and Frodo ate from the same tray. Having quietly smirked at the potatoes, Sam ate them gamely enough, while explaining to Frodo how exactly to make a cheese sauce. He crunched up the fruit, and downed the toast with the help of copious amounts of butter. He even managed to stomach the fully cooked fried yolks and pretended not to notice how watery the scramble had gone, though he conveniently forgot about the boiled eggs, which neither of them dared touch. The mushrooms, however, were a complete triumph. It was extremely difficult for Frodo not to finish off every single one.
“Go on.” Sam smiled, pushing the plate towards Frodo. “Eat up.”
“Oh no.” Frodo speared one with his fork, and fed it to Sam. “You should at least enjoy a bit of this.”
“Mmm…” Sam licked his lips clean of butter, before talking with his mouth full. “I’ve enjoyed all of it, I have!” He swallowed, and squeezed Frodo’s hand. “I can’t tell you how much this means to me, m’dear. Though there was really no need –”
“Sam.” Frodo covered Sam’s hand with both of his own. “It’s your birthday. There’s no better time to let you know how much you mean to me.”
That mist returned to Sam’s eyes as he bent to kiss Frodo’s hands. “Ah, pet…” he murmured, a slight waver in his tone. “I love you so much, I do. More than I have the learning to say.”
Ordinarily, such words would have softened Frodo’s heart into a puddle of liquid. But now, he was not about to be outdone. Today was all about Sam, and he would know how much he was appreciated at any and all costs. And so, Frodo threw his arms around Sam’s soft waist, snuggling into his shoulder and planting a kiss on his rounded cheek. “What would I ever do without you, my darling?” he cooed, kissing him again. “Where would I rest my head? Who would I cuddle up to at night? How would I get on without my teddy bear, the only person in the world that makes me feel safe?” Such adorable chubby cheeks were utterly impossible to resist, and Frodo was powerless to do anything but kiss and kiss them. “Oh, Sam, I couldn’t love you any more if I tried!”
“Ha!” Sam chuckled, his cheeks tinged pink from the kisses and praises. “You’re on one today, you are.”
“I mean it!” Frodo cupped his face in both hands and kissed his soft lips, tasting butter and apples. “I don’t know where I’d be without you. I think I’d take off and float right up into the sky if you weren’t here to keep me tied to the ground. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I just can’t believe I get you all to myself!” He stroked his cheeks, allowing himself to swoon a little as he looked into the face of the person he loved most in all the world. “My handsome, gorgeous, wonderful hobbit. My teddy bear. Mmm…”” He made to kiss him again – before realising that Sam was laughing. “What?”
“You daft thing.” Sam sniggered at him, patting his curls. “All this is going to go to my head, and no mistake!”
“Well, I hope it does – you deserve it.” Frodo continued to kiss him. “I want you to feel as good as you make me feel.”
“Mmm…” Sam allowed himself to relax into the kisses – before catching the teapot seconds before it slipped sideways onto the bedclothes. “Whoops! Nearly!” Having steadied it, he wrapped his arms around Frodo, kissing his forehead, before making to get out of bed. “Much as I ain’t got no complaints about this whatsoever, the last thing I want on my birthday is for you to get burned! Let me just get rid of this, then I’m all yours.”
“Wait!” Frodo sprung up, trying to take the tray out of his hands. “I’ve got it. You just –“
“Don’t worry, I’ve got it!” Already, Sam had gathered everything up, and was making for the kitchen. So much for being spoiled. Rolling his eyes, but smiling in spite of himself, Frodo followed, wondering if Sam was physically capable of not helping him.
When they arrived, Sam chuckled at the explosion of dirty pots, pans, and paraphernalia that was the kitchen. “What a pretty picture. I can’t believe you did all this for me!” Seemingly automatically, he began to gather everything up and load it into the kitchen sink. “You’re too sweet, you are.”
“Hey!” Frodo protested. “I can’t let you wash up on your birthday! Let me –“
“I’ve got it, m’dear.” Sam grinned, filling the crowded sink with soapy water. “You’ve done more than enough.”
“But – “
“Besides, I need you to do something else for me.”
“Anything.”
Frodo let out a squeak of surprise as Sam lifted him right up off the floor, and perched him firmly on the kitchen counter.
“Sit right there, and let me enjoy the pleasure of your company.”
Slightly put-out, but knowing he was beaten, Frodo swung his legs on the countertop, watching as Sam made his way methodically through the dishes. Though he just laughed at the remnants of burned potato at the bottom of their cooking pot, Frodo couldn’t help but feel guilty as he scraped and scoured at it. Urgh. It was clear that there was only one hobbit who belonged in this kitchen. But still…kitchens weren’t just for cooking. Cooking, after all, was an art. It was time for Frodo to return to science.
As Sam scrubbed away, Frodo climbed down, and busied himself with the kitchen scales, weighing sugar, measuring butter. Having located their biggest mixing bowl in the lower cabinet, he creamed them with a wooden spoon, until they were as light and fluffy as clouds.
“What’s all this, then?” Sam smiled over his shoulder, up to his elbows in soapy suds. Mmm. Goodness, what was it about household chores that made him more attractive than ever? Frodo simply had to dash back to the sink to give him a kiss, before whisking eggs and sifting flour. By the time he was folding the mixture together, all the washing up was neatly stacked in the drying rack, and a pair of strong arms had wrapped themselves around his waist. “You’re too good to me, you are.” Sam nuzzled into his neck, covering it with kisses. “What did I do to deserve the best cake-baker in the Shire?”
Frodo leaned back into him, that soft, warm body against his sending tingles from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. He was home, he was safe, he was loved, and soon there would be cake. He could never have imagined that life could ever be so sweet again.
“Let me get the cake pans for you, pet.”
“Ah!” Frodo set the bowl down on the table, turned, and locked his hands in the small of Sam’s back. He was filled with that special kind of fond frustration that had characterised this whole morning. “I can get them! Do you know how infuriating it is to try and spoil someone who simply won’t sit still?”
“It’s no bother at all, it’s not!” Sam had already twisted out of his grasp, and was griping in the back of the cupboard. “Here they are! Want me to grease them for -?”
But his words were lost as Frodo grabbed him by the collar and kissed him squarely on the mouth. Filled with that same affection, and that same exasperation, Frodo dragged him over to the kitchen table, sat him down in one of the chairs, and climbed straight onto his lap.
“There.” he said firmly, wrapping his arms around his neck. “Now you have to sit still.”
“Well.” Sam’s arms snaked around his waist. “I can’t exactly complain, can I?”
“No, you can’t.”
For a long while, the bowl of cake batter sat forgotten on the table as they lost themselves in kisses. Pink with pleasure, Sam beamed up at him. “Now this is a birthday gift!”
Gift? Frodo had almost forgotten.
“Hold on. Stay!”
Frodo dashed off towards the study. A second later, he reappeared – almost completely obscured behind the most enormous bouquet of flowers either of them had ever seen.
“Happy Birthday, my darling.”
For an hour that morning, Frodo had raced around the village, collecting armfuls of flowers from anywhere he could get them; wildflowers, meadow-flowers, even a few surreptitiously plucked from front gardens where they would not be missed. There were wild roses, chrysanthemums, germinis, goldenrods, sea lavender, and bunches of frothy baby’s-breath in every colour of the rainbow. The clumsy arrangement was accented with enormous sunflowers, standing up yellow and tall. Stuffed into a vase that barely contained them all, they were an explosion of colour that instantly filled the kitchen with a heady perfume scent.
“What do you think?”
Sam could not make a sound. He stared at the flowers in disbelief, mouth hanging open, utterly speechless…before, at last, tears began to spill down his cheeks.
“Oh, Frodo!” he gulped out, bright red and so happy he didn’t know what to do with himself. “Oh, ninnyhammers! Oh, noodle!” Flustered, he took the vase from Frodo, and breathed in great gulps of their smell. “No one has ever given me flowers before! Oh, would you look at them? They’re the most beautiful flowers in all the world, they are! Oh!”
On the edge of tears himself, Frodo beamed at he watched Sam flap and fizz. It was fun making him so flustered. He rather thought he ought to do it more often. “I’m glad you like them!”
Seconds later – Frodo found himself locked in an enormous bear hug. “Like them? I love them! They’re the best thing I’ve ever had!” He pulled back, wiped his tears, and kissed him so softly that Frodo could have wept afresh. “You’re the best thing I’ve ever had. I don’t half love you!”
As Frodo’s heart glowed, then melted, he gazed at the love of his life in wonder at their very continued existence. There was so much he wanted to say to his Sam, and none of it would ever be enough. So much he wanted him to know. How much he loved him, how much he meant to him, how he was the only thing that kept him tethered to this world. But then, as he looked into his eyes, he knew that Sam knew it all. He just knew.
“I love you too.”
At least he had got one thing right.
Ten minutes later, the kitchen was filled with the delicious smell of baking. As Frodo whipped cream, Sam was caring devotedly for his first ever bouquet, which was set in pride of place in the middle of the kitchen table. It was truly heartening to see how something so simple could make a hobbit so happy. “Oh, ain’t they glorious?” Sam was gushing over it like a first-born child, stroking the petals and straightening the stems. “Ain’t they just wonderful? I think I’m going to dry them and keep them right here forever!”
Frodo giggled, his own cheeks going as pink as the peonies. “Well. At least until your next birthday…” When it came around, he knew exactly what to do. He would fill their smial with flowers, beautiful and bright, and each one a tiny piece of just how much he loved his heart's darling, his saviour, his love. Perhaps, after all the birthdays they were going to be together, there would almost be enough…But in the meantime, he would leave making breakfast up to his Sam.