Chapter 4

Frodo shifted slightly in his warm nest but tried to remain upon the shores of wakefulness, not wanting to touch the beach. He did not want to wake up for he was safe and comfortable here, buoyed upon sleep's surface. But life's currents began to tug at his consciousness.

His body registered that it lay upon a soft feather mattress, his head cradled in pillows. He was wearing a loose linen shirt and was draped warmly in light blankets. Sunlight caressed his drowsy eyelids and noises drifted into his ears and coalesced slowly in his mind . . . the rumble of wheels and clip of hooves on cobbles, distant voices hawking wares, birdsong. He realised that he could deny the world no longer. These were not the sounds that normally filtered into his bedroom at Bag End. He tried to swim back to the deeper waters of sleep but the tide pushed him forward inexorably to land upon life's shifting and uncertain sands. Then someone threw him a lifeline . . . familiar whispering nearby.

"I've brought his breakfast. Is he awake yet?" Sam's light notes were answered by Gandalf's strong but life-worn voice.

"He has been drifting for some time but I think he is awake now."

Frodo sighed, opening his eyes, and was washed up in a tangle of limbs among the jetsam of his life. Blinking uncertainly, it took him a moment to establish where he was. They must have moved him while he slept. He recognised his small bedroom in the house he and the other hobbits shared with Gandalf in Minas Tirith. He was back in his living nightmare.

Frodo squeezed his eyes closed and turned his face into the pillow, curling tighter but large hands folded back the blankets and slipped beneath his shoulders, lifting him and then leaning him into the support of a pile of cushions. He had not the inclination to resist.

"Good morning, Mr Frodo. I thought as how you'd like first breakfast in bed today."

About to protest that he was not hungry, Frodo opened his eyes and sighed again as Sam placed a tray in his lap. He peered down at a small dish of smooth oatmeal, swirled with cream and fragrant honey and a large cup of cambric tea. There was also a small glass of some dark brown liquid and he wrinkled his nose against the smell as Sam held it out to him.

His friend's tone was apologetic. "Master Aldern said you were to have a glass of this every morning. It's only two good swallows and I've brought you plenty of tea to wash it down."

Frodo drew back from the obnoxious smell, seeking out Gandalf's support. The wizard sat in a chair at the other side of the over-large bed and his expression offered no relief as he stared at the once-Ringbearer from beneath heavy white brows. He said nothing and Sam continued to plead with his master.

"Come on now, Mr Frodo. It's only a tonic. Master Aldern says you need it if . . . if your body's going to . . . to grow that . . ." His words tailed off and Frodo could see a flush creep up Sam's neck.

"Baby, Sam. I think it's a . . . baby." He took the glass, downing the contents with a grimace and following it with a long swig of tea. The Ring had promised him a baby and if he was to go through with this he had to continue to hope that this much at least, was true to the vision. Frodo looked down at his flat stomach and wondered.

Without further ado, Gandalf rose and crossed to the door. "I think it is time to admit your guest. I asked Master Legolas if he would visit you this morning."

Frodo set down his cup in alarm. "Please, Gandalf. I don't . . . please . . . I don't want to see anyone."

The wizard did not pause, however, and opened the door, beckoning the elven Prince of Mirkwood into the room. From his sombre expression Frodo knew that he had been told what ailed his friend and wondered just how many people were now privy to his plight. Aldern had sworn himself to silence but Sam and Aragorn had made no such promise. Frodo once more wished that Mount Doom had swallowed him along with the Ring.

Legolas flitted across the room, his feet seeming to float half an inch above the floor and his soft loose archer's clothing making not a whisper of sound.

"Good morning, Frodo. I hope you are feeling a little better today." He paused at the bedside, eyes the colour of fresh spring grass and the air about him charged with sunlight.

Frodo did not know how best to answer that question. Did he feel better? He did not feel dizzy or sick and his headache had gone. But . . . better? He was a male hobbit, pregnant with a baby given him by Sauron's Ring. He took a sip of the light, milky tea as he considered.

"I am . . . well enough. Thank you, Legolas."

At the other side of the bed Gandalf cleared his throat. "I have asked Legolas here in order to answer your question, Frodo."

The hobbit turned to him in query. "What question?"

Gandalf settled himself in his chair and adjusted his flowing snow-white robes. The fabric glowed in the early sun, pouring through the window, making Frodo blink.

"Elves have senses not available to mortals and Legolas is the only elf in Minas Tirith at present." Gandalf replied, matter-of-factly. "You are worried about the nature of the child that you carry within you because of the manner of its conception. Am I correct?"

Frodo lowered his cup. No longer interested in food or drink. Not that he had been particularly interested to begin with, he reflected ruefully. His voice cracked as he answered the wizard.

"Yes."

Legolas handed off Frodo's tray to Sam and settled himself upon the edge of the bed, facing the trembling hobbit. He gathered Frodo's hands into his own and his voice fell in the room like fresh spring rain.

"All elves are linked to the Great Song that encompasses Middle earth. We can hear the melody that is played within each heart . . . and we can tell when it has been written in a minor key. Will you allow me to listen to the song of your child?"

Frodo swallowed in a very dry throat. Did he want to know? What would he do if the song were in a . . . minor key? Would it be better to live in hope, rather than know the worst? And yet, if it were a normal child would that not be reason for celebration? It would be a pity to miss such joy. The questions whirled round and round in his mind and the more he considered the faster they spun. Could he spend the next nine months in this turmoil? He looked into those clear emerald eyes, so full of compassion.

"Yes please."

With a slight squeeze of re-assurance the elf lowered Frodo's hands to the coverlet and brought his own to rest lightly upon the hobbit's abdomen. Frodo could not bear to look down and, instead, stared into his companion's face. He had trusted Legolas with his life on more than one occasion. He could trust him again.

Clear eyes grew distant and Legolas tilted his head to one side, listening to a symphony that no other in the room was privy to. Frodo searched the fair features, waiting for the first sign that the elf had heard the tiny song that whispered beneath his long cool fingers.

Legolas' focus shortened and he met Frodo's frightened gaze. A gentle smile turned the corners of his mouth as he moved his hands away from the small belly.

"I sense nothing amiss with your child, Frodo. His song is as pure and clear as a mountain spring at the birthing of the world."

Frodo buried his head in his hands and wept.

TBC