The air was crisp and cool on the morning of September twenty second. There was a refreshing breeze blowing through the Shire, and the air was laced with the sweet smell of wood smoke. Sam awoke early that morning, knowing he wanted to make everything just right before Frodo woke, himself. Frodo had planned his annual birthday party for himself and Bilbo, and the day was sure to be splendid.

Stumbling out into the kitchen, Sam stoked the fire and put on some tea. He wasn't used to getting up so early anymore, as sleep seemed to be a much- needed commodity lately. He felt large and cumbersome as he placed the last log on the fire. Even his once roomy nightshirts were feeling rather tight now, and a dull ache had begun in his lower back.

Turning his attentions to the table, he busied himself making breakfast, with a mind to bring it to Frodo, in bed this morning. Sam wanted everything this day to be absolutely perfect, and if he had to work extra hard today in order to achieve that goal, he was going to.

The fire felt warm and comforting against his back, as he set to the task of cutting up some mushrooms before putting them in the pan. He planned to make all of Frodo's favorites this morning, even if he had to vomit several times in the process.

Mornings were still rough for Sam, and already he could feel his stomach begin to protest at the smell of the mushrooms and eggs and toast cooking. Smoothing his hand over his ever-growing belly, he spoke softly almost in a whisper. "Today's a big day, little one. I don't rightly have time to be sick all morning. There are things to be done. This is Frodo's birthday, and I've a right mind to make it perfect for him."

The burning taste of bile rose quickly in his throat, as if in answer. Sam closed his eyes, breathed in slowly and exhaled, then set his teeth and went back to the work of preparing the days first meal.

When everything was near to finished, Sam trudged out into the garden. The fresh air felt good, and his stomach began to calm almost instantly. Grateful for the small break from being nauseous, Sam knelt, with some difficulty, and cut the most perfect rose he could find. He stood up and held the flower to his nose for a moment, enjoying the moment of peace. His hand absently slid over his belly, and he sighed happily. Today was going to be just perfect he could feel it.

Going back inside, he lay the rose on a small tray and set the dishes of food around it. He felt slightly weak as he lifted the tray to carry into the bedroom, though he paid no attention. It had been weeks since he'd felt as strong as he used to. Walking slowly, careful not to spill a single drop of the tea, he made his way to the bedroom and set the tray on the little bedside table.

Frodo was still in bed, curled tightly under the blankets. Sam loved being able to wake his love, and leaning down he gently pulled the covers down to reveal the pale face he so loved. He kissed each of Frodo's closed eyes softly, to which he got a soft, sleepy moan in return. Lifting Frodo's hand, he kissed the palm ever so softly, then turned it over and kissed the knuckles. This elicited a smile from the sleeping form in the bed.

Gently laying the hand down, Sam went to the window and pulled back the curtains to let in the warm September sun. Frodo's eyes fluttered beneath their dark lashes, and finally slide open sleepily. A smile spread across his face at the sight of Sam by the window.

"Morning, my love." Frodo said sleepily, as he sat himself up in bed. "What time is it?"

"Nine o'clock. I let you sleep, seeing as you looked so very peaceful." Sam said with a chuckle as he laid the tray on Frodo's lap.

"My! You need not have gone to so much trouble, Samwise!" Frodo said with surprise as he gazed on the meal set before him, feeling hungrier than he'd originally thought.

"T'was no trouble at all, besides, it's your birthday. You're due for a little pampering, if you follow me."

"Come, join me, then." Frodo patted the bed beside him, hoping that Sam might crawl back into bed and they might spend a lazy morning together. Sam obeyed, and sat against the pillows with a light sigh of relief. He hadn't realized just how tired he actually was, until he had sat down. Yawning, Sam closed his eyes and listened to Frodo enjoying his meal.

The light outside the window was bright when Sam finally woke. He looked around the room, which was empty. Frodo seemed to have gotten up and cleaned the dishes from breakfast, tidied the bed, and tucked a light blanket over Sam while he slept.

Feeling a little annoyed at himself for dozing off like that, Sam slid his feet off the bed and pulled himself up to his feet. There was still work to do, and though he felt more rested, he knew that if he sat in bed any longer sleep would take him once more.

Dressing quickly, he padded out into the living room, searching for signs of Frodo. The fire had been stoked, but everything was as it had been earlier that morning. Except for a small white note set beside the chair Sam usually rested in. With a smile he sat and opened the letter.

Dearest Sam,

I'm sorry to not be here when you wake, but I had to take care of some party business. I shall be home before tea. Please don't push yourself too hard, love.

Frodo

Sam held the note to his chest and closed his eyes. He felt slightly relieved to know that he had a few hours in which to get everything done, before Frodo returned. But there was so much to be done still!

He rose from the chair and went into the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. The fire that had been happily burning was now dwindling down to a few dark embers. Sam remembered that he'd used the last log earlier that morning, and knew he'd have to bring in some wood to keep the fire going.

Outside, the sun was very warm for an afternoon in late September. Sometime over the morning the breeze that had been so welcome that morning had died away. Sam could feel himself begin to sweat as he walked slowly out to the woodshed. The babe within his belly began to turn cartwheels, and Sam felt as though he might be sick once more. He paused by the garden bench, to catch his breath, and then continued on.

Sam knew he shouldn't be carrying such a large load of wood in his condition. It was heavy, and his back ached all the more because of it. He moved slowly, feeling slightly lightheaded at the exertion.

By the time he had reached the doorway, he was so out of breath his lungs burned. He leaned his moist forehead against the cool wooden doorway, and closed his eyes hard. His head was swimming and he could see small dark spots in his vision. Panting hard, he began again to consciously move his feet. Right then left. The kitchen seemed so far away, and the corridor seemed to grow longer as he went. His arms were numb, and his legs shook with the effort. The room began to spin.

Sam felt his legs give out, but he was powerless to stop it. He was plunging down, down, down a dark tunnel. He heard himself cry out, and threw his hands out to try to right himself. Then all was darkness.