Chapter 13

Bilbo's reaction was not what Frodo had envisaged. The frown smoothed, his lips forming a broad grin.

"Congratulations, lad!"

However, Frodo's heart sank at the next question.

"Who's the lucky lass? I always said you'd be a fine catch for some pretty maid but this is rather sudden news. When were you wed and why didn't you send word? I'm not so feeble that I wouldn't stir myself to attend the wedding of my favourite nephew and heir."

Frodo shook his head. "No, no, Bilbo. You don't understand. There was no wedding . . ." He ran out of words again, drawing back a little as he saw his uncle lean forward in his chair, his bushy eyebrows almost disappearing into the grizzled grey of his hair.

"Frodo Baggins! No wedding and a babe on the way! Gracious lad . . . I thought you had been taught to respect a lass better than that."

Frodo clenched his hands together in his lap in exasperation. This was not going well at all. He tried to rescue the situation and blurted out, "It's not a lass that's going to have the baby . . . it's me. I'm the one with child, Bilbo."

He clutched his swelling abdomen in emphasis and, in the long heart-stopping silence that followed, Frodo would later swear that he could hear Bilbo blink.

His uncle leaned back, shock still written clear upon his face. "Frodo. I understand that a magic ring can play strange tricks on the mind, and I don't know what that journey did to you, but I do know that I taught you all about the birds and the bees myself. I remember that morning vividly because I do believe it was one of the most difficult conversations I have ever had to conduct." Bilbo spoke patiently, as he had that morning years ago. "Lads cannot bear babies, Frodo. That's one of the gifts the Great Creator gave only to lasses." He glanced up at Elrond. "Is that not so?"

The elf's voice was calm and low, seeming to lie upon the troubled waters of the conversation like soothing oil. "In normal circumstances that is the case. But a Ring of Power such as Frodo bore for many months, can affect a body in strange ways. You of all people should understand that, Bilbo."

Bilbo looked down at his own gnarled hands, spotted now with age, and then across at Frodo's abdomen. His eyes drifted back to the elf in confusion. "But why?"

This time it was Frodo who answered, his courage finally coming to the fore. He realised how desperately he needed Bilbo if he was to get through this trial. Ever since he found out the news he had wanted those familiar arms about him . . . had clung to the hope. Elrond was kind and an experienced healer but he needed family . . . needed . . . love.

"It had tried every other means to tempt me into accepting it." Frodo closed his eyes to shut out his uncle's hurt expression and his mind immediately threw other images at him. Eyes flying open in despair, Frodo pushed down memories that the Ring had viciously left intact . . . clear images of every attempt it had ever made upon his reason and emotions.

"It battered me day and night, Bilbo . . . would not let me eat or sleep. At the end I could see only the wheel of fire, feel only it's weight dragging me down, hear only the temptations it whispered in my mind, taste only ashes . . . and smell only death."

Frodo felt hot tears welling and made no attempt to hold them back. "It tore away everything I was and ever wanted to be and I wanted to go back . . . to go back before the Ring. I wanted a home in the Shire with a loving wife and children. I wanted my innocence back and It knew at last . . . and held that promise out to me." He was choking now and yet he could not stop the words that tumbled from his soul, even though he could see the growing alarm in his uncle's features. "I was so tired of fighting, Bilbo. I . . . I put on the Ring. I so wanted that life."

When Bilbo still did not speak Frodo clenched his teeth against his rising panic and went on. "But the Ring was evil. I had been warned . . . but I was so weary and worn down. Everyone had told me that it would turn anything good to evil. It showed me a child, Bilbo . . . and I didn't stop to think . . . It wouldn't let me think any more . . . I just said . . . "Yes"." Finally running out of words and the control to utter them, Frodo buried his face in his hands and sobbed.

Gradually he became aware of gentle arms wrapped around him, rocking him soothingly. He laid his head upon Bilbo's shoulder and let himself be consoled by his uncle's comforting murmurs . . . wailing in relief.

"My poor boy. My poor, poor boy."

00000

The warm weight of an arm was draped over his, the hand resting over his heart, and another stroked his hair. Frodo inhaled the comfortable smell of Bilbo . . . dusty books and lavender soap. There was something slightly different about it but his shattered memory could not provide the missing element and he was too comfortable and worn down to struggle bringing it to the fore.

Bilbo had held him for a long time and when Elrond tried to part them by lifting Frodo from the chair to carry him to his chamber, Frodo had struggled and whimpered forlornly. The older hobbit had provided the solution at once and within a few minutes Frodo had found himself tucked into his uncle's bed, his head resting in Bilbo's lap as he sat back against the headboard.

Frodo's sobs had slowed and faded under his uncle's gentle and familiar touch and he had dozed for a while, aware through it all of the presence of those stroking fingers, soothing his mind and body.

He felt Bilbo shifting his legs a little below his cheek and opened his eyes guiltily, suddenly aware that old limbs were probably uncomfortable from maintaining the same position for so long. Levering himself up, Frodo turned to look into his uncle's face.

"I'm sorry, Bilbo. How long have you sat like this? I'm very selfish and you must be stiff and tired."

There was no censure in those kindly grey-blue eyes, however. "No lad. I'd sit like this forever if I thought it could ease you from the pain that I put you through, leaving you with the burden of that Ring."

Bilbo slipped an arm about his nephew and drew him back to sit, resting his head against a shoulder, the dark, travel-tumbled curls resting just beneath his jowls. Frodo nestled contentedly and pulled the covers up around them both while Bilbo rearranged his own limbs.

"It wasn't your fault, Bilbo."

"And neither was it yours, lad. Elrond agreed to you going because that ring would have overcome stronger and wiser folk much more quickly. They dare not even touch the thing that you carried around your neck for so many months. He tells me that they had never intended you to step into Mordor without Gandalf's protection, and everyone is astounded that you managed to come to the mountain at all. There's no shame attached to you in surrendering at the end, lad."

Frodo closed his eyes, allowing his uncle's words to bathe his hurts. He inhaled Bilbo's comforting smell once more.

"Bilbo? Have you given up smoking?"

He felt, as well as heard, Bilbo's soft chuckle. "I had a bit of a cold just after you left and Lord Elrond made me give it up."

For the first time in days Frodo laughed gently. "Then, that makes both of us. I'm not allowed to smoke for as long as I carry my babe and, for some time afterwards."

There was a soft silence and then Frodo felt Bilbo draw breath to speak. "How does it feel, to carry another life inside you?" the aged voice asked.

Frodo tipped his head back to look into his uncle's face. It showed no distaste . . . only love and a touch of the younger Bilbo's curiosity . . . and Frodo settled against his shoulder once more.

"At first I was frightened. I did not know what kind of being the Ring had planted within me." Frodo felt the comforting arm wrapped around him tighten slightly. "But Gandalf had Legolas check and he and Elrond say that this is a normal baby. Now . . . I'm still a little scared. I don't know whether I can carry him to term because I'm so tired and I don't know what to expect if I do manage." He paused as he felt his uncle stir.

"Him?"

"Oh yes. I know it's a boy. I've seen him . . . I think. He has dark hair and blue eyes."

"You always were a one for visions and dreams, lad. I hadn't really considered until now that the thing you carried was a living person. It's a little difficult to take in."

Frodo smiled and took his uncle's hand, laying it upon the swell of his child, where he had only a moment before felt a slight stirring. "Oh, he's living. Wait a moment."

Bilbo's gasp was audible as he felt the movement beneath his palm. Frodo's smile turned to a giggle.

"Bilbo Baggins, let me introduce you to Calimore Baggins." He waited while his uncle considered for a moment.

"A Quenyan name. There's folk in the Shire would think that a little high minded of you." Bilbo smiled. "Calim, I know means light but why Ore? That means inner mind."

Frodo reached up his hand to rest upon his uncle's chest. "It can also mean the heart or centre of the soul. Calimore is the light of my heart."

Bilbo's hand stroked the swell of his nephew's stomach gently. "I'm a little surprised but very pleased to meet you, Calimore Baggins."

Snuggling closer in his uncle's arms Frodo closed his eyes and surrendered to peaceful sleep.

TBC