It's my birthday.

I don't remind you. With all that's been going on, the Fellowship, the Ring, being so far from home… I nearly forgot myself.

I don't remind you, because I have no gift. What self-respecting Took celebrates a birthday without something for his cousin, his best friend? What do I give to a hobbit forced to lie here on the cold, hard ground, in the dead of winter?

I reach over and give your hand a squeeze. It isn't much, a brief reminder of home and comfort.

"Happy birthday," you whisper.

And suddenly it's the best birthday ever.