Frodo awoke to someone pounding on the door. He blinked, dazed by the fact that he was lying face down in broad daylight, fully dressed, until he remembered it was his birthday and that he had fallen asleep. He jolted upright just as the door opened.

Bilbo hurried in. "There you are, Frodo! Haven't you heard me call—Good Heavens, lad! What's wrong! You look like you've seen a ghost."

Frodo caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He was pale—paler than usual. Dark rims were forming under his eyes and his eyelids were drooping shut. He wiped his eyes and forced them open wide. "I feel asleep."

"Asleep? At this time of day?" Bilbo frowned.

"I'm fine, Bilbo, honestly." The slightest bit of color returned to Frodo's cheeks as he smiled.

Bilbo eyed him carefully a moment, then turned back to the door. "Well try and stay awake through the party, if you can. I must be a very dull host indeed, if the birthday lad falls asleep!"

Frodo tried to smile at the remark, but it took too much effort. He started to worry staying awake might prove harder than it sounded. He longed to crawl back into bed and sleep for hours. Yet he had come this far. He would try a little longer. Maybe the party would distract him from his pain.

Straightening his clothes and combed his hair with his fingers, he followed Bilbo down the hall. The guests were beginning to arrive. Frodo watched their carriages wind up the driveway with growing apprehension. The last thing he wanted was attention and that was just what he was going to get. Putting on his best smile, he waited patiently as various acquaintances and relations greeted him with charming smiles and polite embraces before moving on to do the same to Bilbo, who handed them each a carefully wrapped present. Frodo coughed quietly into his shoulder between guests. The prolonged standing was beginning to make his head-spin. He was just about to sit down on the front steps, when he saw Sam walking up the path at his father's side.

"Sam!" Frodo forgot his pain for a moment and ran towards his friend. "You made it."

"Of course we did," his Gaffer said. "We wouldn't turn down no invitation from Bilbo, not when he's come an' asked us himself."

"Well I'm glad." Frodo shook hands with Sam, then followed him and the Gaffer back up the stairs to where his uncle stood in the parlor entertaining a crowd of lads far younger than Frodo. Frodo wavered on the porch, clutching the side of the door frame.

Sam looked up at him in concern. "Are you alright, Mr. Frodo?"

Frodo tried to nod, but found it to painful. He shut his eyes. "I don't know, Sam. I think I just need to sit a moment." His vision was beginning to blur. The edge of it darkened. He sank to his knees right there in the doorway and leaned back against the frame.

He heard someone shout. Dresses rustled and feet clambered as people hurried towards him. Merry was at his side first. The poor hobbit was trying to talk to him, but Frodo couldn't make out a word he was saying, for there was a loud pounding in his ears, then a high pitched ring, then silence. Blackness descended and he lost consciousness.

"Is he alright?"

"Of course he's alright."

"He doesn't look alright."

"That's because he fainted. Look, he's waking up."

Frodo blinked to see Merry and Sam hovering over him, frowning. He was no longer in the parlor, but had been moved to his bed. He lay under a blanket, still dressed, only his vest had been removed. The curtains were drawn though slender rays of sunlight slipped beneath them.

Bilbo ushered the younger hobbits aside and took their place looming over Frodo. He brought a hand gently to Frodo's forehead. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," Frodo said instantly. "You should get back to the party, I'll be there in a moment."

"You most certainly will not!" Bilbo glowered. "You will not be going anywhere, my dear lad, until you are better. You're burning with fever!"

Frodo frowned. Well, that explained the pain, at least. He shut his eyes, regretting the fact he had become ill on today of all days.

Frodo felt Bilbo take his hand. "I'm sorry, my boy."

His Uncle's tone had softened, now clearly full of affection and pity that made Frodo's guilt swell. Bilbo was sorry? For what? He had done nothing wrong and yet the party was ruined all because Frodo had come down with a fever.

"I'm sorry, Uncle." Frodo swallowed. His throat stung and his face ached. Every word burned, but he willed through the pain to continue, "—for ruining your party."

He heard Bilbo suck in a deep breath. "Frodo, my dear child, you didn't ruin anything. First of all, it's not my party anymore than it was yours. And secondly it hasn't been ruined. You can't help getting ill. It happens to the best of us."

Frodo glanced up at him from the corner of his eyes. "But all that planning! You put so much work into the party and now you're missing it." He frowned at the thought. "You can still go back, you know. I'm fine."

Bilbo shook his head. "Frodo, my lad, you are certainly not fine. I don't want to hear you say that anymore until it's true. Drink this."

He handed Frodo a mug of some vile-smelling concoction that Frodo drained without question. He lay back down grimacing, trying to rid the taste from his mouth.

Bilbo watched him carefully. He brushed Frodo's bangs from his forehead. The fever was so fierce, it occurred to him the lad must have been suffering for quite sometime in silence. His strange behavior that morning suddenly made sense. His silence at breakfast, his pale completion, falling asleep in broad daylight: the signs were all there. He felt a pang of guilt that he hadn't noticed them earlier. "Listen, Frodo," he said softly, "my concern for you is nothing to apologize for. I would rather spend today here at your side than attend the most spectacular party with a thousand guests."

Frodo looked at him skeptically. "You're just saying that to make me feel better."

Bilbo shook his head. "No, Frodo, I mean it. The party, the presents-" he waved a hand dismissively, "-it's all just fun and games. Half the joy is in planning it, really. But none of it—and I mean none of it—compares to spending time with you."

Though his eyelids were heavy, Frodo looked up to meet Bilbo's gaze. He saw the sincerity there and couldn't help but smile in return. Of all his living relations, Bilbo was the only one that ever felt like a father—like his father. He sighed and his eyes flickered shut. "I'm glad you're here."

Bilbo held his hand as he slipped once more into darkness.