A/N: This was written to celebrate my 18^th birthday, years ago, which makes it one of my first LOTR stories.

Happy Birthday

 Cool autumn winds swept through the Elven realm of Imladris. Trees rustled, bushes swayed, and the grass around The Last Homely House rippled as a stone thrown in a pond. The grounds were strewn with leaves: bright yellow, sunset orange, rust red and the dry brown ones that crackled when stepped upon.  On the porch stood two short figures, their hair dancing about their face and shoulders. At a glance one might mistake them for children, as their heads only just reached the top of decoratively carved banister that surrounded the porch. Upon a closer inspection, one would discover that they were, in fact, Hobbits.  

By the likeness of their cheek bones and chins one is tempted to assume, and would be correct in doing so, that they are related. Both are dressed warmly against the weather, in brown trousers and thick grey cloaks—except for their bare, and rather hairy, feet. One of the Hobbits is elderly, with snowy hair, dressed in a white shirt with a red vest embroidered with yellow leaves. The other Hobbit is younger, although how much so is impossible to tell, with brown curly locks. He is dressed in a green tunic embroidered at the cuffs and collar with brown vines. The tunic is too long for him, falling to his knees with sleeves that cover his hands.

The elderly Hobbit spoke over the wind. “I must say, that even under the circumstances, I am glad you are here, Frodo.”

“As am I, Uncle. I have missed you greatly over the years.” His companion replied softly.

“As have I, my lad. It has been my wish ever since I left the Shire—Nay! ‘Twas even before that—I have always wished that you would one day accompany me in Rivendell. I knew you would enjoy this places as much as I.”

“It is beautiful,” The younger Hobbit said with great emotion.

“That it is, my lad, that it is. Peaceful too. ‘Tis hard to imagine that any evil exists whilst living here. That is part of why I wished to come here again, even if one must forgo living in a proper house.”

The younger hobbit frowned slightly. His right hand drifted to his chest, unconsciously it seemed, he fiddled with the fabric of his tunic as though feeling something underneath. They were both silent for a moment peering between the slats in the balustrade, watching the wind toy with the fallen leaves.

“I feel like I should thank you for celebrating my birthday all these years, my lad. Though I am not certain you should have bothered to go through all the trouble,” Bilbo added wryly.

The elderly Hobbit started a bit when his nephew placed an arm around his shoulders.

“There is something I have been wanting to say to you for a long time, Bilbo.”

“Oh?” the elderly Hobbit asked, eyebrows raised.

The younger Hobbit turned to look through the railing once more. He smiled and said affectionately,

“Happy birthday, Uncle.”