Chapter 12

Frodo yawned and tried to straighten his back in the saddle. As the front of his body expanded, so his back had begun to protest, and he was pleased when Lord Elrond glanced back to report that they would be entering the protection of Rivendell when they crested the next ridge. He shrugged his cloak further forward, wincing as his arm protested. Although the sling had been removed several days ago the wound still ached when the cool of evening drew in and his arm was stiff. Frodo sighed. His whole body felt stiff and tired and he wanted this long journey to be over so that he could lie in a soft feather bed.

Another part of his mind did not want the journey to end, however, for Frodo knew that Bilbo would be waiting. How would he explain his condition to his uncle? What would he say?

"Happy birthday for tomorrow Bilbo, dear. And by the way, I'm expecting a child sometime around Yule." No. That would never do.

He looked down at his swollen stomach. He would have to tell his uncle something. A couple of months ago he could have waited until the right moment to bring up the subject but at six months into term it was quite obvious that this was not just a little extra weight, added by good food and gentle living. Frodo's face was as thin as ever, if not more so, and any additional inches were concentrated predominantly in one, now quite obvious, area. Bilbo's mind may not be as agile as it once was but even he would ask questions when he saw his nephew.

In the weeks that they had been travelling between Minas Tirith and Rivendell, everyone in the party had known of his condition and Frodo had become comfortable with it. No one stared or pointed and he had been protected from the world in this small company. Now he would be rejoining the world and meeting strangers. The explanations would have to be made all over again.

Elves seemed to accept such things easily . . . perhaps because they had lived long enough to realise that there was always something new to discover and nothing in life was certain. The thoughts brought home to Frodo how difficult it would be for him to return to the Shire and he was glad he had made the decision not to. Two or three months ago it had still seemed possible but as Frodo's body changed the physical reality of his situation sank in. He and his child would never be accepted in the Shire, where everyone believed that life was sure and ordered; where things had been done the same way for generations . . . and the lasses bore the babies.

The ever-sensitive Sam nudged his pony closer to his master and smiled across at him reassuringly. "You'll be able to sleep in a proper bed tonight, Mr Frodo. Maybe even have a hot bath." There was the slightest of pauses before he went on. "And I expect Mr Bilbo will be right glad to see you back, safe."

Frodo tried to return the smile. Safe. Was he safe? Despite all the care lavished upon him by man and elf, Frodo could still feel the poison of knife and sting in his body and what memories that had not been ripped away were distant and did not feel a part of him any more. Elrond had said that this child would bring him healing but could it purge his body of the poison or return his memories? Could it restore the innocence that had been so ruthlessly devoured by that circle of flame?

They were travelling downhill now, within the deeply wooded valley of Imladris and below him Frodo could see fire of a different kind . . . the soft welcoming gold of candlelight filtering through many delicately paned glass windows. At least in Lord Elrond's home he was welcome. He would have to deal with Bilbo when the situation arose . . . just as Frodo had dealt with his whole life of late. He had given up trying to plan, for too many extraordinary things had happened to him and he was too weary to even try.

As they entered the courtyard Frodo scanned the waiting faces but Bilbo was not amongst those gathered in the large, elaborate porch. There were several minutes of pleasant chaos as people exchanged greetings and ran forward to take charge of horses and ponies, and Frodo and his companions ended up standing to one side to avoid getting lost in the general melee. As things died down and elves began to filter into the house in two's and threes, Elrond approached the hobbits.

"Well, Little Masters. Are you ready to retire to your chambers and soft beds, or would you prefer to talk with Bilbo first? I am told that he has not yet retired for the night."

Pippin spoke up first. "We would love to see old Bilbo." He shot Merry a questioning glance when his cousin jabbed him firmly in the ribs and turned in time to find Frodo staring at the floor, his face pale. Merry laid an arm about Frodo's shoulders, his soft brown eyes filled with understanding.

"Would you like us to come with you or would you rather see Bilbo alone first?"

Frodo's last meal began to churn alarmingly in his stomach and he swallowed hard. Bilbo would have to be faced eventually and he supposed that the longer he postponed the event the longer he would feel this dreadful. Perhaps it would be better to know his uncle's reaction now. Would Bilbo understand why his nephew had put on the Ring and would he be disappointed? Would he accept Frodo's present condition? At least the others had come to terms with the event. He found that, once again, he did not have the strength to start out on this journey alone.

"Yes. Please come."

And what of Bilbo himself? The old hobbit was not as robust as he had once been. Would the shock kill him? Frodo's stomach performed a slow roll and he closed his eyes, swallowing again. Two large hands came to rest lightly upon his shoulders and with their touch his stomach quieted. Frodo inhaled the warm and steadying scent of Elrond and opened his eyes to find the Lord of Imladris kneeling on the floor before him so that their faces were level.

"Would you like me to go with you to see Bilbo?"

Frodo sighed with relief. "I would be very grateful. I'm not sure that I will be able to explain properly and I don't want to alarm him."

"Come then," Elrond replied, rising.

Although all knew the way the little party was content to follow Elrond down the comfortable hallways of the Last Homely House. Opening the door to the Bilbo's room, the elf ushered his charges in. The ancient hobbit was sitting in a well-padded chair by the fire. His grey head was bowed over an open book in his lap but his eyes were closed and he was snoring lightly.

Merry took the initiative, stepping lightly forward and touching him on one shoulder. "Bilbo . . . wake up you old sleepy-head. We're back," he whispered.

The snores stopped abruptly and watery grey-blue eyes blinked open, to focus blearily upon Merry's grinning features. Bilbo's wrinkles re-arranged themselves into a delighted smile and he peered around the large lad before him to search for the rest of the party, his eyes lighting up when he found Sam, Pippin and Frodo waiting by the door.

"Merry, lad!" Bilbo opened his arms and gathered Merry to him in a light hug, which the younger and stronger hobbit returned carefully, fearful of crushing the frail old figure in the chair. Pippin followed him and then Frodo pushed Sam forward. The gardener was somewhat bashful of hugging his former employer but the embrace he received was no less affectionate than that which had been offered to the others.

Looking across the room in confusion, Bilbo beckoned to his favourite nephew. "Don't stand way over there, lad. Come and give your uncle a hug."

Still, Frodo hung back and watched as Bilbo's smile faded, to be replaced by a small frown.

"What's this? No hug for me? I won't break, you know . . . although from the looks of your face, you may. Have they not been feeding you properly?"

Frodo came forward, making sure that his cloak disguised his belly as much as possible and leaned down to hug his uncle lightly. Bilbo drew him into a surprisingly firm embrace and Frodo grimaced as his still healing arm was gripped. That was the least of his worries however for in such a tight embrace there was no way that he could hide his swelling stomach any longer. As Frodo was released the other hobbits faded to the rear of the room and Elrond drifted closer.

Frodo waited silently as his uncle's eyes travelled from face to waistline, the frown deepening. A trembling hand reached forward to touch his nephew's stomach tentatively in confusion, and Frodo fought the urge to move away from hands that he had trusted for most of his adult life.

"What's happened to you, Frodo my lad? Your face says you're half starved but your belly would put mine to shame. Is something wrong?" His last question was directed at the elven healer, now standing close behind Frodo.

Frodo's thought's skittered helplessly through his head and would not pause long enough for him to voice them. Sensing his problem it was Elrond who answered, reaching down to remove Frodo's cloak and then lead him to a chair that Sam had hurriedly placed at the other side of the hearth.

"Frodo has been quite ill for some time, but he is recovering well . . . under the circumstances," he replied calmly.

Bilbo's gaze returned to Frodo. "You seem to have quite a tale to tell, lad. But from the looks of you, little strength to tell it. Was this all because of that silly ring of mine?"

"I'm afraid it was, Bilbo dear. But Lord Elrond is right in what he says. I'm feeling much better now." Frodo paused, biting his lip for a moment, unsure how to proceed. "But there is something that you need to know . . . and I . . . I'm not quite sure . . . how . . . to tell you."

The ancient hobbit leaned back in his chair and a glint of the old Bilbo flashed in his eyes of a sudden. "I've always found it best to just up and say it, lad."

Frodo took a deep breath. "I'm going to have a baby, Bilbo."

TBC