A note from the author on reviews.
Alex. I don't know which archive you represent and, quite frankly, I don't care. I am writing a tale about Frodo's healing after the quest and I'm doing it via mpreg. I have researched pregnancy as thoroughly, if not more so than the medical conditions described in my other tales and I have considered very carefully the mental processes that Frodo would go through as well as the physical ones. I do not consider the subject matter to be a waste of my talents.
I state, quite clearly, in both the summary and the opening that this is an mpreg story and that if you have any problems with that you should simply not read it. Threatening to remove me from an archive will most certainly not make me withdraw this story and I am surprised that you feel you have the power to induce me to do so. I do not take kindly to threats…veiled or otherwise… and would like to request, here and now, that you do indeed remove me from your archive as I would not wish to be associated with it.
Chapter 6
(This chapter contains paraphrases and quotes from Tolkien.)
"Oh, come on Frodo. How long does it take you to change?" called Pippin.
Frodo chewed the inside of his cheek as he considered himself in the mirror. Although he was not yet noticeably "with child" his stomach was a little fuller than was it's custom and he had needed to improvise with his only suit of formal court clothing. The lacings on the heavily embroidered jerkin allowed some leeway but the breeches would simply not fasten. He had managed to pull them together far enough for decency and then secured them with a piece of cord. Fortunately the arrangement would be hidden as the waist was beneath the hem of his jerkin.
He turned side-on to the mirror and took a deep breath, testing. The breaches held but his chest hurt a little. Fortunately, the fabric of the jerkin was strong enough to flatten his small breasts but he hoped he did not have to wear this outfit for too long. He shook his head in despair. Whatever was he going to wear when he got . . . bigger?
"Frodo! Come on! Gandalf is waiting," the small knight of Gondor called in exasperation.
The Ringbearer pulled on his cloak and hurried to the door. "I'm sorry, Pippin. I'm not used to these strange fastenings."
Pippin only took his elbow and practically ran him out of the house and through the streets. They were thronged with people but everyone recognised the two diminutive figures and made way for them as they hurried down the various levels of the city. Frodo had not the breath to question Pippin further on the way but as soon as they came to a halt at Gandalf's side he inhaled deeply.
"What is going on? Why is everyone in formal attire? What are we waiting for?"
The clear ringing of trumpets drowned out any reply that Pippin was about to make. The newly rebuilt outer gates of the city swung slowly open, the gleaming metal of their decoration catching the last copper glow of the sun as it dipped behind the mountain.
An awed silence fell upon the crowds assembled as, against the growing dark of the sky, sprinkled with early stars, appeared a large riding of fair folk. Frodo tasted a new sweetness in the summer air as they entered the city, lead by Elrond's tall, raven-haired sons carrying a banner of silver. Behind them were others of Rivendell's household and Glorfindel bowed slightly to the hobbits as he rode by on Asfaloth.
Behind them rode Galadriel and Celeborn, riding upon tall white steeds and with them many of their people, the grey of their mantles making them appear as an early evening mist. Frodo had been surprised not to see Lord Elrond amongst those from Imladris and now he saw why.
At the very end of the train of elven folk came Master Elrond, mighty among Elves and Men, and beside him, upon a grey palfrey rode Arwen. Suddenly Frodo understood why Gandalf had not let them return to the Shire before. He seemed to be in a beautiful dream and his voice sounded distant, even to him.
"At last I understand why we have waited! This is the ending. Now not day only shall be loved, but night too shall be beautiful and blessed and all its fear pass away!"
Frodo turned to watch as they dismounted and Elrond laid the hand of his daughter in the hand of the King. The shadows which he had felt threatening at his back only minutes before were now welcoming and soft and filled with starlight and song.
He and the other hobbits fell in behind the King and his soon-to-be Queen and Elrond moved to walk behind them with the Lady Galadriel and the Lord Celeborn. Frodo hesitated, his heart jumping as keen grey eyes fell upon him and a slight frown touched Lord Elrond's brow, but then the eyes moved on. They resumed their procession to the High City, where they were privileged to watch the wedding of Arwen Undomiel and Aragorn the King Ellessar in the city of the Kings upon the day of Midsummer.
The feasting and celebration went on long into the night, although the King sent word to Frodo that he could be excused whenever he wished, knowing that he was, as yet, still sensitive to the smell of strong foods. For his part, Frodo ate little but sat enraptured by the company of such fair folk. Their voices, even when not singing, soothed and captivated him much as they had done in the Hall of Fire at Rivendell and he would have nodded off if Sam had not nudged him and helped him from the table.
As the two hobbits left by a side door Frodo turned back to drink in this spectacle, engraving it upon his memory.
The hall was lit with many tapers but their golden glow mingled with the starlight of the elven folk, bathing the whole room in a shimmering radiance. On a dais at the end of the hall sat the King and his new Queen and to either side of them were the Lady Galadriel and the Lord Elrond. The rest of the table was filled with other high folk but it was Elrond that Frodo found his eyes resting upon and the Lord's silvered gaze met and held his, searching Frodo as he had at the end of that fateful council meeting so many months ago. For long moments he could not move and then Elrond turned to answer a question from Galadriel and Frodo used the opportunity to escape.
00000
Frodo had always liked that all too brief period between sleeping and waking. When he was younger it had presaged a day to be filled with new delights and adventures . . . a time to savour the smells and sounds of home and ground himself before setting out upon the open path that stretched before him. Later it had become a time of retreat. It was a comfortable place of peace and calm before staggering off into the darkness once more. Now . . . what was it now?
He lay still, trying to place himself upon the road of his life. He was lying upon a low couch that Sam and Merry had wrestled out of the house and placed under the shade of a tree in the small garden. Frodo could hear the leaves above him stirring gently in a stray breeze as they sheltered him from the full glare of the summer sun. Only his feet lay fully exposed to the golden light and he wiggled his toes experimentally, delighting in the warm caress.
The sounds of the city beyond did not penetrate the high stone walls of the small garden and all he could hear was the rustle of leaves, the drone of many bees in the clover around him and the laughter of Sam and Pippin drifting from the kitchen behind him.
Frodo stretched languorously, feeling like a fat house cat on a sunny doorstep, and took a deep breath. Clover . . . roses . . . warm dusty stone . . . fresh baked apple pie . . . and another smell, woody and warm. He tried to place it but all that came to mind was Rivendell. It had been an occasion like this. He had been on the borders of wakefulness and the cool brush of fingers at his wrist had accompanied the scent. He had felt strangely comforted by it. Then he had surfaced further into the world and touch and scent had disappeared.
He opened sleepy blue eyes, half expecting the smell to fade again but this time it lingered. He was lying on his right side and all he could see was the rough bark of the tree trunk and the bright splash of flowers in the borders beyond. He stretched and rolled over, and then scrambled upward, his eyes wide.
"Lord Elrond!"
Lord Elrond of Imladris sat cross-legged upon the grass before him, his formal robe folded at his side. There was an amused twinkle in the pale grey eyes and he waved Frodo to stillness when the hobbit would have scrambled to his feet.
"Peace, Little One."
The words were not a command but Frodo felt himself calmed at once. The elf rose fluidly and began to arrange cushions at one end of the couch, then he lifted Frodo's feet from the ground and pressed him back into the pillows, before returning to sit upon the grass again. The elf's soft voice seemed to blend with the whisper of the leaves.
"Your sleep is much more peaceful than when last I sat vigil at your couch. And yet I sense that there is still some disquiet in your fea. Your journey has not left you untouched in mind . . . and body." The final words were accompanied by a slight lift of the finely arched brows and Frodo swallowed reflexively in a throat suddenly parched.
Did Elrond know about the child? Or was he just referring to the physical and mental injuries caused by the journey to Mount Doom? If he knew about the babe how could Frodo face such a perfect being? How could he bear to live every day knowing that the evidence of his failure grew inside him and that the Lord of Imladris knew his shame? He swallowed again before speaking.
"I . . . it was a hard journey. But Aragorn . . . the King . . . has helped me in my recovery."
The grey eyes seemed to bore deep into his soul. "Your body carries many wounds. Some will heal, with time, and others . . . others may heal but they will take longer for their power was not just to harm your flesh but your fea as well." Elrond paused a moment and his eyes drifted down to rest upon Frodo's waist. "And your body carries something else. New life."
Frodo slid his hands over his belly, as though to hide its contents from those eyes. "I am sorry, Lord Elrond. You placed a great trust in me and at the end I failed." He could feel the prick of tears and could no longer bear to look into that young and ancient face.
"You did not fail, Ringbearer. You brought the evil to the Cracks of Doom and it was destroyed."
Frodo could hardly speak beyond the lump in his throat. "But I . . . I claimed it. I accepted its promise and this . . ." He pressed his stomach. "This is my punishment."
He looked up in astonishment at Elrond's next words. "You misunderstand me, Frodo. When I spoke of new life I meant just that. The babe that you carry will mean a new life for you . . . a fresh beginning. Your child may have been conceived in a moment of evil but that is not what I sense now. Your road to delivery of this new life will not be easy but it will bring about great healing for you. The life growing within you is something to be celebrated, not feared."
Leaning back into his cushions, Frodo closed his eyes and let the silent tears of relief slide down his face.
For several minutes the elven healer let him recover. "Will you birth your child in Minas Tirith or do you intend to return to your beloved Shire?"
Grateful for the return of the conversation to such practical matters Frodo fished out a hanky to wipe away the tears and blow his nose.
"I would love to raise a child in the Shire but . . . I don't think people would accept him. And I am not sure how I would birth him there. Would any midwife attend me? In Minas Tirith I would be cared for but still . . . my child would be the subject of gossip. And then there is Bilbo. He is growing so old now and I would dearly love to see him again. In truth, my mind has been in turmoil over this for some weeks and I don't know what to do for the best."
Elrond's voice fell like a cool balm on fevered wounds. "My home has always been open to any member of Bilbo's family, Frodo. You are welcome to deliver your babe there and stay for as long as you wish. I promise that no one there will make you feel any shame. My people can see the rightness of that which you bear and we can only love your child and rejoice with you."
The tears returned, only this time they were accompanied by soft laughter and Elrond moved closer to slip a comforting arm about the prospective parent. Frodo leaned into his protector, inhaling the warm comforting scent that was the Lord of Imladris.
TBC