Chapter 16

Arms aching, Frodo laid down the large tome, but the increasingly prominent swell of his stomach meant that he had to place it some distance along his legs, and having done that he now found that the small and intricate tengwar script was all but illegible. He slammed the book closed with a loud sigh and reached across to the bedside table for his drink.

Unfortunately, in rolling to his side, the ancient and beautiful volume slid off his legs. It was assisted in its decent to the floor by the slippery satin coverlet, landing with a very loud thud. In his panic, Frodo made a grab for it, the juice forgotten, and within moments the cup joined the book, splattering its contents all over the polished floor. At the end of his tether, Frodo let out a mild oath as he leaned uncomfortably over the edge of the bed, trying to retrieve the cup, at least.

To add to his discomfort, the babe protested all this jostling and gave a mighty kick just beneath Frodo's right rib, resulting in a yelp from his parent. Letting go the bedside, Frodo clutched at his throbbing ribs. The resulting imbalance produced another yelp as he leaned over too far, and the unaccustomed weight of Frodo's belly threatened to spill him from the bed. He watched in horror as the polished wood of the floor, with it's dressing of spilt juice and the large book, rose up to meet him.

Suddenly, his motion was arrested and Frodo was caught in strong arms and righted amongst his pillows. Trembling, he clung with both hands to the arm of his rescuer.

"Calm yourself, Frodo. Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth. Slow deep breaths. You are safe and your babe is unharmed. Breathe."

Frodo followed Elrond's instructions and felt his alarm fading as the elf continued to support him gently. When he finally released the strong arm he noted with some embarrassment that he had crushed the fine embroidered silk of Elrond's shirt.

Once he was released, Elrond knelt down to retrieve both book and cup, using a cloth from the bedside table to mop up the spillage. Frodo watched, feeling his cheeks heighten in a blush as the elven lord cleaned up the mess. Elrond, however, showed no sign of distaste, simply setting all to rights, pouring Frodo a fresh drink in a clean cup and perching upon the edge of the mattress as he handed it over.

"Thank you," the hobbit offered, sheepishly as he sipped, his efforts quickly halted by a sharp gasp as Calimore kicked in exactly the same place again. One thing at least was certain . . . Calimore had hobbit feet. Elrond's hand came to rest unerringly upon the spot, his eyes growing distant for a moment, and Frodo sighed in relief as his baby turned, settling himself in a more comfortable position for both parent and child.

"I came to see if you were comfortable," Elrond frowned. "I take it that you are not?"

"I'm sorry, Lord Elrond. My arms were aching so I decided on a drink . . . then the book slipped . . . and the cup . . . then Calimore . . ."

The elf raised a hand to stem the garbled tide of explanation and his frown turned to a smile as he glanced at the cover of the book. " 'The Ainulindale', and a particularly ancient version. I am impressed by your growing skills in translation."

Frodo could not help but grimace. "I've little else to do at the moment." He turned pleading blue eyes upon his host. "You've ordered me confined me to my bed for a week now."

Elrond's eyebrows rose as though in offence, but there was a note of amusement in his voice. "Do you not enjoy your surroundings? I ensured that you had one of the most elegant rooms in the house."

Frodo felt brave enough to respond in like manner. "Twenty-three!"

This produced a faint smile and the slightest hint of confusion. "Twenty-three? Is this some new form of the riddle game that you and Bilbo have created?"

"No. It is the number of the leaves carved upon the wall opposite the foot of my bed."

Elrond chuckled as he spared a glance at the offending wall. "Actually, there are twenty-four, but you would be forgiven for missing the one hidden behind that chest."

Grinning at last, Frodo took a sip of his drink. "I may have found it, if I had been allowed to get up and investigate." He put on his most pitiful face, the large blue eyes angled upward under thick dark lashes. "I don't want to sound ungrateful, but I really am feeling much better now, and I would love to go for a walk, or even just sit in another room," he wheedled. He had not needed to use such tactics since he was a tweenager and he hoped he remembered how to do it correctly.

Elrond rose and Frodo was frightened that he may have gone just a little too far. However he need not have worried as, when Elrond turned at the door, he was still smiling.

"Then it is well that I instructed them to lay out our luncheon in the library. You had better dress quickly if you wish to partake of it before it grows cold."

With those words, he left and for several precious moments Frodo merely sat, open-mouthed. Then he giggled. He had been out-manoeuvred again.

00000

Frodo swallowed his mouthful of perfectly cooked mushroom and looked at Elrond across the arrangement of late blooming honeysuckle and ivy, that sprawled almost casually from the bowl in the centre of the table.

"I know we're at the luncheon table and all . . . and it may not be considered a proper topic . . . and you can refuse to answer if you wish . . ." Having started, Frodo was unsure how to proceed and blushed deeply. For his part, Elrond laid down his fork and took up a delicately cut crystal glass of white wine, his steady gaze letting the hobbit know that he had his luncheon companion's full attention.

Still, Frodo fumbled for the right words. He did not wish to appear childish. He had survived the rigours and hardships of the quest, after all. And yet . . . Elrond waited patiently.

"When I was younger . . . at Brandy Hall." He realised that the elf may not know his history. How much had Bilbo told him? This was getting complicated. Frodo sighed and tried again.

"I was quite young when my parents died and for several years I lived at Brandy Hall, in Buckland." When Elrond nodded, he drew breath to continue. "I was quite shy at first and my favourite place was the library. I used to curl up in the window, behind the curtains if I didn't want to be found." Frodo grinned as he slipped into a memory he had thought torn from him. "If I sat really quiet, no-one knew I was there, and sometimes grown-ups would come into the room and start talking about things that young hobbits were not supposed to hear." He gave Elrond a lopsided smile. "I was an overly curious hobbit even then."

Elrond's eyes returned his smile as he took a sip of wine. "Go on, Frodo. I have not yet heard anything unsuitable for table conversation."

Frodo took a gulp from his own glass before continuing. "Sometimes the ladies used to talk about . . . about . . . when they . . . they . . . gave birth. I didn't understand a lot at the time but one thing they all said was . . ." He downed half the glass in one gulp before rushing on. "They said it was very painful. Is . . . is it . . . does it . . . hurt . . . a lot?"

Setting down his glass and taking a little plain omelette on his fork, Elrond simply replied. "Yes," before slipping the delicacy between his lips.

Frodo sat, blinking, the empty glass forgotten. "Oh."

Taking pity on him, the elf removed Frodo's fingers from the glass, refilling it with apple juice before replacing it in the still open hand. "Slow sips, Frodo."

The hobbit obeyed, mechanically, his mind still focussed on his memories of blood curdling conversations overheard from behind heavy velvet curtains on cold winter evenings. Elrond's voice cut through his frightened reverie.

"If your gestation follows the pattern normal for a female, and I have little doubt that it will deviate on the evidence so far, you will birth your child in the same way as others have.

Your body will have to make adjustments as the time for birthing arrives and the muscle spasms that create these changes are often intense. In addition, once those changes have taken place you will have to push the child from your body."

The elven healer nodded at Frodo's quite prominent stomach. "At least your babe appears to be of a normal size for a hobbit. Not overly large."

Frodo dark brows drew together as he glanced down at what seemed to him to be an enormous mound of stomach. Not overly large? He had nearly another three months to go and already this child seemed too large to him. Trying hard not to blush, Frodo tried to visualise a baby's head and shoulders being expelled through the tiny opening his curious fingers had investigated recently in the bath. His thoughts must have been clear on his face when he looked up, for Elrond smiled gently.

"Part of the change that your body will undergo is a softening and stretching of the opening of the birth canal. This makes the birthing easier . . . but there will be pain."

When he saw Frodo blanch he continued gently. "The pain usually comes in short spasms, with time for you to recover between. And with the correct breathing and training to relax your body, the pain can be dealt with."

When Frodo still did not speak Elrond reached across the table, taking the Ringbearer's maimed right hand in his and rubbing the small nub of his missing finger. "You, of all people, know that many good things in life come at a price. The pain will be for a short time only, and at the end of it you will hold your child in your arms."

Frodo met his gaze and nodded. He had thought he could not continue after Moria, but he had. He had continued through his interrogation by Faramir, he had continued through the marshes, through the encounter with Shelob, through his incarceration in the tower, through Mordor and beyond. This time, there would be joy waiting for him at the other side of the pain. His empty life would be refilled. It would be worth the pain and indignity.

Indignity . . . A stray thought floated into his mind and Frodo suddenly could not resist the urge to giggle, the giggle grew up into a laugh, that went on and on. This was not hysteria but genuine amusement, and it was some minutes before he could master himself enough to explain to the somewhat perplexed elf what it was that he found so entertaining.

"I'm sorry, Lord Elrond." Frodo wiped his eyes. "I have some very unpleasant relatives . . . the Sackville Baggins . . . and I just realised that Lobelia must have gone through a similar process to produce her son, Lotho. The image of Lobelia Sackville Baggins going through such indignity is almost more than anyone could cope with. If she can come through it, I certainly can."

TBC