Fennelwink…you made some good points there. I'll be addressing some of them in later chapters but I have to say that I dithered about them as well. I think this is one of those situations where there just isn't a perfect answer. That's life, I suppose. :-)

Glad I managed to draw you in. I never, ever thought that I would write an mpreg.

As for the rest of my reviewers . . . thank you very much for your support. You are very sweet and kind. I feel all loved now. :-) (And, yes, I am female.)

Chapter 9

Frodo sighed as Sam bent down and laced his hands together to boost his master into the saddle.

"Sam. I'm not an invalid. I can mount on my own."

To prove his point Frodo did just that, although he tried not to let the strain of lifting the extra weight show in his face. He was tired. He was tired of riding. He was tired of carrying this extra weight around and he was growing heartily tired of his friends. They seemed to be forgetting all their own happiness in their haste to run around after him.

Merry would set out Frodo's blankets as soon as they stopped. Pippin would fetch Frodo's food and Sam would do just about everything else. Frodo had got to the point where he was almost frightened to relieve himself, half expecting to hear Sam ask, "Can I do that for you, Mr Frodo?"

As the day wore on Frodo grew more and more tense and waspish and yet, even though his sharp comments were sometimes met with expressions of confusion, still his friends continued to dog his steps. He tried to turn his mood around but, even acknowledging it did not help. Unused to the strange and wild mood swings that his condition brought about, Frodo was having difficulty dealing with them and that knowledge only increased his irritation today.

Finally they sat around the evening fire. The meal was finished but it was yet too early to retire, even though Frodo could clearly see his blankets laid out ready, courtesy of Merry. The parent-to-be was trying to bury his tension in a gentle conversation with Sam on the best way to cook trout, when a vague smell made his nose twitch and his stomach turn a slow roll.

At the other side of the fire Pippin had lit up his pipe, a look of blissful peace upon his features as he blew a large smoke ring in Merry's face, making his cousin flap his hands in mock distaste.

"Pippin. Just because you're the last of us to have any pipeweed doesn't mean you have to flaunt it in our faces . . . you greedy little hobbit." Merry's words would have sounded harsh had they not been formed around a laugh.

Pippin merely grinned broadly. "Oh yes? And who are you calling "little"? I'm sure I'm a good inch taller than you."

Frodo hurriedly stood and stretched. "Well, I'm off to bed. Goodnight," he said, between teeth clenched against the threatening contents of his stomach.

The other three looked up in some surprise and Sam was on his feet in an instant. "Are you alright, Mr Frodo?"

"Oh for goodness sake, Sam. I am perfectly all right. Please stop asking that," Frodo replied peevishly. Feeling guilty at once, he tried to soften his words. "I just thought I'd take a little stroll before going to bed. It's been a long day riding."

With that he turned and strolled off, as nonchalantly as he could, but as soon as he was out of sight of the others he ran into the trees and was instantly and violently sick. Once his stomach had finished emptying itself he sat on a nearby log and wiped his mouth, wishing he had some water to swill.

Pipeweed. How could a hobbit develop such a violent dislike of Pipeweed? He loved to have a quiet smoke after dinner. Not that he'd had much chance for that, ever since they had found that he was with child.

Aragorn had caught him lighting up his pipe a few days after he had discovered the news, and had practically broken Frodo's teeth snatching the stem from his mouth. Apparently, pipeweed smoke was not considered to be healthy for the baby. He had given it up rather grudgingly, often just sitting with his friends so that he could inhale it second hand. There was just something so comfortable about sitting around after a meal and smoking some Old Toby.

However within a few weeks he had realised that the faintest smell of Old Toby, or any other pipeweed, made him feel rather nauseous. At first he had thought that the problem was just a symptom of the daily nausea he suffered but, even having recovered from that, he found that the scent of pipeweed still made him feel ill and he could not bear to even sit near someone who was smoking.

He usually found some way to excuse himself when he saw pipes being filled for he would not dream of depriving someone of a pleasure he would willingly indulge in himself, if only his body would allow it. But Pippin had unexpectedly produced a hidden stash of weed and was taking great delight in taunting his friends with it. So involved had Frodo been in the conversation with Sam that he had not even noticed until the smell drifted across the fire. He swallowed against the sour taste in his mouth.

A soft whisper of silk and Frodo found himself staring down at two tiny, delicately slippered feet, peeping from beneath a hem of cobweb fine fabric seeded with pearls.

"Lady Galadriel!"

He would have jumped to his feet were it not for the gentle pressure of the Lady's hand upon his shoulder. She held out a small cup, her face filled with understanding as she sat upon the log at his side.

"With Lord Elrond's compliments."

Frodo sniffed at the contents and took a sip when he recognised the scent of peppermint, swallowing it gratefully. Galadriel laid a cool and soft hand upon his sweat-damp brow, brushing back his hair, and relief seemed to flow into him with the touch.

"Thank you. I hope the others didn't notice too."

"I believe that Elrond is speaking with them."

"Oh no . . . please. I would not deprive them of such a simple pleasure. They've given up so much on my account already," Frodo protested.

The elven lady merely tucked a strand of Frodo's wayward hair behind one pointed ear and smiled. "Do not worry. They are merely being advised of your distress and the reason for it. I believe they will not smoke in your presence again."

Frodo sighed. "It seems that they are always doing something or giving up something for me, even when they do not need to. I do wish they would stop feeling that they have to look after me, and would take up their own lives again."

The Lady of the Golden Wood stared off into the trees for a moment and took a deep breath, her eyes turning to find a small honeysuckle vine scrambling up a nearby tree.

"Many years ago a honeysuckle vine grew about the entrance to my chamber. Celeborn had planted and trained the vine to thread up the tree and surround the door over many patient years, and it was our delight to lie abed wrapped in its fragrance. It was our favourite place in all the world and often we would sit there even during the daylight hours. It was our sanctuary. A special place where we could put away our cares and be just Celeborn and Galadriel, rather than the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood."

Frodo listened curiously. This lady and her lord had always seemed so high and proud that he had never thought of them as simply husband and wife. Galadriel's voice was as soft as the perfume of rose petals on a summer breeze and that, combined with the peppermint cordial he had taken, settled Frodo's stomach and mind. Her warm voice continued.

"When I carried our daughter, Celebrian, within me it was a time of great joy for us, but as the weeks drew on it became clear that the scent of honeysuckle made me feel very ill. It was inexplicable and for a long time I kept the discomfort from my husband, not wanting him to have to give up the comfort of our chamber. It seemed to me too great a sacrifice to ask of him.

But one morning he enquired what the matter was that troubled me so. I have never been able to dissemble with Celeborn and he soon teased from me the reason for my distress. I remember that he kissed me upon the brow and simply said, "Then we must move to another chamber until our child is born."

It was such a relief and I was a little taken aback. I had thought that he would be heartbroken to give up our bower but he gave it not a second thought. You see . . . he loved me so much that to him it was no sacrifice, if it made me comfortable. It only gave him the opportunity to express his love."

Frodo glanced up at her ageless but wise face, trying to imagine this tall slender lady gravid with child. She brought a hand to rest lightly upon the small round of his belly.

"And your friends would do no less for you . . . not because of this . . . but because of this." With that Galadriel brought her hand up to rest over Frodo's heart. "And because that which you carry is a part of this. Please do not deny them the opportunity to express their love."

Frodo took a deep breath, feeling all the stress and anger of the day melt away at last. "I'm afraid I have been awful to them today."

Galadriel smiled as she relieved him of the empty cup. "They will forgive you. You have been given a beautiful gift, Frodo. Treasure this time and bask in the love that surrounds you."

With those words the Lady stood, bending briefly to touch her lips to his brow in a tender kiss before drifting away into the trees like a cool evening mist.

Frodo lifted his eyes to the stars of Elbereth netted in the branches of the trees above him and breathed in the perfume of warm loam and honeysuckle, before considering turning to the blankets so lovingly laid out for him by Merry.

TBC