Chapter 7

Frodo eyed the small white pony with some trepidation. He had ridden Bill, and the ponies that Merry provided when they left the Shire were not frightening to him. But this pony looked so delicate compared to the sturdy animals bred by the Brandybucks. Sam had wanted him to ride with Merry, for he had the most experience of riding of any of the hobbits but Elrond had insisted that he did not want Frodo to be squashed into a saddle with another body. Frodo had to admit that he could understand the sense in that.

Eowyn and Legolas had assured Sam that this seemingly sedate creature would be perfect for Frodo. Although he trusted the Lady of Rohan Frodo glanced aside to where Elrond was mounting his own tall horse at the head of the procession, and received a nod of encouragement from his protector.

Legolas supported him with a hand beneath his elbow as he climbed the stone mounting block and settled himself gingerly astride the well-padded saddle. The pony did not so much as shuffle and Frodo began to feel a bit more confident as the Prince of Mirkwood handed him the reins. Legolas patted the pony on the neck and paused to whisper something in its ear before he left to join Gimli upon Arod.

At least Frodo's new clothes were comfortable. He had to concede defeat nearly two weeks ago with the original suits of clothing given him in Ithilien, when he had finally been unable to fasten his breeches in a way that managed to preserve his dignity. Before he could do anything about it himself Sam had mentioned the matter to Aragorn. The King, much to Frodo's embarrassment, had sent Arwen and Eowyn and the two ladies had taken great delight in arranging a new, more appropriate, wardrobe for the parent to be.

Frodo had endured several embarrassing sessions with one or both of these ladies as they measured him, in ways that he found far too intimate for ladies to do, and discussed the practicalities of his wardrobe. For his part he insisted quite vocally that whatever they designed include breeches and absolutely no embroidery. Arwen had pouted prettily at that but Frodo had remained quite adamant on the point.

He had not been too displeased with the end result of their haggling. He now had a selection of breeches with drawstring waists and braces and several soft loose linen shirts, along with some long warm overmantles for the cooler weather later in the year and a soft full cloak. The fact that Arwen had managed to slip in one shirt with a fine line of embroidered leaves around the cuffs had not escaped his notice, however, and he had instructed Sam to place the offending garment at the bottom of his luggage.

Sam had fretted for days about the dangers of his Mr Frodo riding "in his delicate condition" but all the big folk had said that this early in his term there would be no danger to parent or baby, as long as they took the journey slowly. As this was, to all intents and purposes, a funeral cortege for King Theoden that was not going to be a problem.

Frodo was relieved that he had been allowed to ride. Much as he was uncertain of his mount it was definitely preferable to being transported in a litter, which had been the only other option. A carriage would have been far too uncomfortable in the open country they would be travelling.

The nausea that had plagued him in the early weeks was now diminishing and, much to Sam's delight, Frodo's appetite was returning. If he found his master's new craving for strawberry conserve and cheese sandwiches at odd hours of the day and night to be a little unusual, he was at least willing to indulge it if it meant that Frodo was eating something.

Frodo glanced down at himself as they began to move through the city, a little self-conscious as people in the streets stopped to pay their respects to the dead King Theoden, and watch the column of riders pass. Frodo's stomach was a little larger than he was used to seeing it but all the other hobbits were looking a little more rounded by now, so well had they all been cared for. Bilbo would be proud to see them. Frodo could imagine him now . . .

"Perfectly proper shape for a hobbit. You were always far too skinny, my lad."

Frodo sighed. He could imagine the words but he still could not hear Bilbo's voice. And what would Bilbo say to Frodo's condition? Would it all be too much for the ageing hobbit? Would he turn away from his nephew? Frodo wanted so much to be hugged by his uncle, as he had been when he was a child frightened of the dark.

The loud call of trumpets as the large cortege exited the gilded city gates drew his mind back to the present and he found his eyes lingering upon the fine linen of his shirt. The loose shirt worn over the top of his breeches, hid his small breasts quite well, much to his relief, for of all the changes, he found this the most uncomfortable to live with. He had always been delicately featured and this "swelling" of his chest could give someone completely the wrong impression regarding his gender.

He bit back a sudden giggle, earning himself a curious glance from Sam. Just exactly what gender was he now? The giggle grew and he clamped a hand over his mouth. This was silly. He had spent the first few weeks of his term permanently on the verge of tears and now here he was, in the middle of a funeral cortege, wanting to laugh hysterically. Sam nudged his pony closer to his master.

"Are you alright, Mr Frodo? Would you like to rest for a while?"

Frodo shook his head, not daring to remove his hand or open his mouth, for fear that the mounting laughter would escape. Just as he feared that he had lost the battle and was about to shake himself apart all mirth died, as he felt a light flutter of movement in his belly.

Sam took the pony's reins as Frodo's eyes widened and his hands flew to his slight stomach in alarm. Turning all his attention inward he made no protest when he distantly heard Sam's voice calling out urgently for Lord Elrond. What was happening? Was he about to give birth? Surely the child was too small? Was he going to lose the babe? Oh please . . . no.


Within minutes he had been lifted from his pony and laid upon a blanket on the ground within the shadow of some trees. Elrond and Arwen settled either side of him and Frodo could see Sam, Merry and Pippin hovering in the background.

The giggle had long faded and was being replaced by sobs as Frodo contemplated the loss of that which he had begun to want more than anything in his life. He watched through a mist of tears as Elrond lifted the hem of his shirt, loosened his breeches and laid gentle hands upon his stomach. The flutter returned and Frodo whimpered in alarm.

His cries froze on his lips however, when Elrond leaned back and chuckled. Taking one of Frodo's hands he laid it atop the hobbit's belly and held it there. His voice was tinged with laughter.

"Is this what so alarmed you?"

Beneath his fingers Frodo felt the faintest of flutters, as though in answer to Elrond's question and nodded, not daring to speak. Elrond glanced across at his daughter and took one of her hands, laying it beside Frodo's. There was another tiny ripple of movement and Arwen looked down at Frodo, her grey eyes soft with wonder.

The hobbit finally found his voice. "What is happening to my baby? Will I lose him?"

The ageless face of the elven healer turned towards him. "Not unless he decides to shuffle himself right out of there, no."

Frodo frowned. "I don't understand."

Elrond smiled. "Frodo, could you lie perfectly still for nine whole months?" When Frodo shook his head he continued. "Well, neither can your baby. He is merely finding a more comfortable position."

Blue eyes widened. "I never thought . . . I mean . . . I suppose I have heard my aunts mention it . . . but I never knew that it . . . that it felt so . . . so real."

Arwen re-arranged Frodo's shirt and dabbed at his face with her kerchief, then she and her father helped him to his feet.

"Oh believe me, Frodo. In another four months that movement will feel very real indeed," Elrond chuckled.

Frodo looked at his friends sheepishly, his cheeks blazing, as Elrond helped him back into the saddle and he heard Pippin yelp as Merry jabbed him in the ribs for giggling.

As their journey continued Frodo focussed only half his attention upon his surroundings, keeping one hand resting upon the small swell of his stomach and smiling softly as he felt the occasional restless movements of his son. It seemed the child disliked riding about as much as Frodo did.

The thought brought a new sense of wonder to the parent to be. This being, growing within his body had arms and legs that could move and a mind of his own already . . . could decide what he did and did not like and when he was uncomfortable. Frodo stroked his stomach gently, trying to soothe his son and, to his surprise, the tiny movements slowed and settled.

TBC