Lady Jaina…thank you very much for the continued support. I'm glad you're enjoying the tale.

Chapter 17

Frodo took a deep breath and tried to slow his heart down to something close to its normal speed as Elrond reached out to steady him. He had not been paying enough attention to the path ahead and he could hardly see his feet, beyond the swell of his belly. Indeed, if he had not been a hobbit it was likely that he would have been unable to see his feet at all, he noted sadly. As it was, Frodo expected to wave goodbye to his toes any day now.

He just could not seem to balance this huge swelling in front of his body and that was the third time that he had tripped, nearly falling, during today's stroll. He was beginning to understand why Elrond had insisted that an elf accompany Frodo every time he took a walk in the gardens. However did elven ladies manage to balance such an encumbrance upon their small delicate feet? But then, elves were so graceful. Frodo sighed, rubbing the small of his back and wincing. At the moment he was anything but graceful. Pausing, he rocked from side to side, trying to relieve the pain in his lower back. It didn't work and he let out another sigh as he caught up with Elrond, who was waiting patiently a couple of steps ahead of him.

"We have nearly arrived back at the house, Frodo. It is around the next bend in the path."

"Thank goodness. I really think we should stop these walks. I'm getting so huge and the weather is turning cold," the hobbit grumbled.

Elrond frowned. "I have explained this to you before. If you keep yourself fit in the months before the birth your muscles will be better prepared to cope with the stresses of the labour."

Frodo grimaced and continued to walk. Walk? It was more like a waddle, he grumbled silently. He had always been light upon his feet . . . the lasses had practically fought to dance with him at party's. Now he waddled like a large, ungainly duck. Frodo Baggins did not like this aspect of pregnancy at all . . . in fact he was beginning to wish that the whole thing would just be over and done with. It was lovely, feeling Calimore moving within him, but he seemed to have been like this for so long . . . Elrond had assured him that there would be at least another two months of this and that during that time his girth would continue to expand.

Even those clothes that had been provided by Arwen and Eowyn were becoming snug and Elrond had arranged for a few new items to be made. Frodo had stared at the breeches in horror when he saw the fully expanded waist. Surely he could not grow that big? He had worn them today, however, along with one of the newer, warmer shirts (he had ignored the embroidery . . . pride giving way to comfort) and the lovely fur-lined overmantle, that he tugged closer as a stray breeze teased at the fastenings.

Once indoors, Elrond helped him out of the mantle and insisted upon escorting Frodo back to his chamber. Stepping into the room, Frodo paused.

The fire had been restoked and now blazed redly in the hearth. But what made him stare was the pile of cushions scattered on the floor before it, and the heavily padded stool planted in their centre. He glanced at Elrond in query as the elf crossed to the table, on which was stored a selection of dilute oils that he had instructed Frodo to use when bathing.

"Please remove your shirt and braces, Frodo, and settle yourself on your knees upon the cushions, resting your head on your folded arms on the stool."

He glanced back, to find Frodo still staring curiously at the cushions. Returning with a vial of oil, Elrond knelt before his charge and started picking at the tiny buttons on the soft woollen shirt. Frodo merely looked at him and swallowed, a little uncertain of what he was to be subjected to now. He had endured an examination only a few days ago. Elrond eased Frodo out of his shirt.

"Your back has been hurting, has it not? A light massage will help, and in your present condition, lying upon your stomach on the floor or on a mattress would be somewhat difficult."

Frodo relaxed at last and slipped his braces from his shoulders, accepting Elrond's assistance to assume the requested position. He had to admit that the slight tilting forward of his body was rather comfortable and was made even more so when the elven healer slipped a cushion beneath his ankles and others beneath his stomach.

Warm and gentle hands, redolent of lavender, began to glide up and down the length of his spine in slow sweeping motions and then moved down to concentrate upon the area about his waist and the top of his buttocks.

Frodo took a deep, contented breath as a lost memory popped to the forefront of his mind. Aunt Esmeralda had given him a back rub once, when he had fallen out of a tree at the age of sixteen. She, however, had used a foul smelling liniment and her movements had been brisk and firm. It had eased his aches but it had not felt like this.

He half-lidded his eyes in dreamy compliance as deft fingers worked their magic upon muscles pulled tight from trying to balance the unaccustomed weight. At this moment he would have been willing to believe every tale of elven magic he had ever heard, as Elrond isolated each individual muscle and soothed it gently into relaxation. Frodo felt like a melting wax candle as he draped ever more bonelessly over the cushioned stool. The perfume of lavender reminded him of Bilbo and Bag End and the firelight's hypnotic dance soothed his eyes, until he could resist no longer and let them slide all the way shut. Maybe, if he rested them for just a moment . . .

By the time Elrond carried him gently to the bed, removing the last of his clothing and dressing him in a warmed nightshirt, Frodo was deeply asleep and he only snuggled more closely into his pillow as the blankets were tucked about him.

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"Frodo, lad. Come on now. Time for dinner."

Frodo yawned and stretched, blinking open drowsy eyes to find Bilbo's smiling face almost level with his own where it lay upon the pillows of the big bed.

As he levered himself upward the younger hobbit tried to reconstruct the events that had led to him being in bed and glanced across at the fire, to find that all the cushions had been replaced by a hobbit-height table and two chairs. The table groaned beneath the weight of covered dishes arranged about an intricately branched candelabra, and the delicious smells of roast chicken and honeyed vegetables drifted to Frodo, making his stomach growl loudly in anticipation. Bilbo's smile widened into a grin as he held out Frodo's dressing gown.

"I think you'd better climb out of that bed, before the whole of Rivendell comes to see what that strange rumbling sound is."

Giggling lightly, Frodo pushed back the covers, setting his feet upon the top step before pausing to stretch and realising, with great relief, that his back no longer ached for the first time in nearly four weeks. He fastened his dressing gown as he settled himself at the table before the warm fire and he and Bilbo began to delightedly explore the contents of the various dishes laid out.

Frodo ignored his uncle's questioning glance when a search of the deserts revealed some delicately cut cheese and strawberry conserve sandwiches. For his part, Bilbo made no comment as he watched Frodo finish off the fine meal with several of the sandwiches, although he did grimace slightly at his nephew's apparent relish of the strange combination.

Frodo was feeling very comfortably full and just contemplating one last sandwich when a strange but powerful feeling in his swollen belly made his pause and gasp in alarm. Bilbo noticed at once.

"What is it, lad?"

Frodo shook his head, concentrating upon the sensation. It was not his bowels. He was a hobbit, after all, and he was acquainted intimately with every well-used inch of his alimentary canal. This was a strange tightening, squeezing of something in his abdomen . . . not painful, exactly, but rather disconcerting.

"Frodo?"

Was he about to deliver the baby? Elrond had said that there were several weeks to go. If this was a birthing contraction it was not as bad as he had been led to believe. He could cope with this.

"Frodo, lad?"

But if it was early . . . would the baby be all right? Gradually, the squeezing tension eased and faded away.

"Frodo . . . speak to me. What's happening?" There was a rising edge of panic in Bilbo's voice now and Frodo realised that it was not the first time he had been addressed. He grasped his stomach, waiting for the sensation to return.

"I . . . I think . . . Elrond . . . I need to see Lord Elrond," he whispered.

For someone of his years, Bilbo managed to cross the room with considerable alacrity.

"I'm on my way, Frodo. Don't you go anywhere!"

Frodo did not need that last instruction. He had already decided that he was staying right where he was until the healer arrived.

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Elrond knelt before his patient, his large hands exploring gently the mound of belly. After several, heart-thumping moments, Frodo let out his breath as he saw calm certainty in the elf's serene face.

"A squeezing, tightening sensation you say?"

Frodo nodded. "Am I about to give birth?"

Elrond settled back on his heels. "Do you remember me telling you that your body would go through some further changes as you grew nearer the end of your term?"

Frodo's heart speeded up again. "Yes. It . . . it isn't time . . . is it?"

A small smile played at the corners of Elrond's lips. "No, Frodo. It is not. But your body is . . . practising . . . for the event. The muscles you felt contracting are the ones that will help to expel the child from your body. It is a very good sign and one I have been waiting for. I was not entirely sure that your male body would grow the necessary muscles but it appears that this circumstance has been anticipated."

Anticipated. Frodo tried to digest this information. Who had anticipated it? The Ring . . . or someone else? He pushed the thought away. There was too much to consider and Elrond had said that this was a good sign. His body seemed to be going to an awful lot of trouble to accommodate his child. Looking down at the changed contours of his frame he paused a moment before asking . . .

"Lord Elrond . . . when . . . I mean . . . after . . . after the birth . . . will I go back to . . . normal? Not just my shape. I mean . . . all of me? Will I always have this . . . these other . . . organs?"

Elrond arranged himself, cross-legged, upon the floor by Frodo's chair. It should have looked incongruous, but Elrond managed to make it look elegant.

"I do not know, Frodo. If your body has been given the capacity to grow them, I would not be surprised if it also had the capacity to dispose of them. Although, if you wish to feed your child you will need to retain some, for a while at least."

Frodo glanced across at his uncle when he heard a slight intake of breath from him and Elrond turned towards the old hobbit. These thoughts had obviously not occurred to Bilbo. Before Frodo could apologise for dragging his uncle into this, Elrond spoke up.

"Frodo will need someone who he knows and trusts, to support him both physically and mentally through the birthing. Elrohir and I will deal with the medical aspects but he will need someone to help him focus through the pain."

Bilbo looked past the elf to his nephew, waiting silently in the opposing chair. "I have always tried to be there for Frodo when he needed me. If he is happy with the arrangement, I see no reason not to be there for him now."

"It will be a trying time . . . for both Frodo and his helper," Elrond warned, before Frodo could reply.

Bilbo was the one of the two people in the world Frodo knew he would be comfortable with during the difficult event. But his uncle was very old now, and not as physically able as he once was. Elrond had led him to believe that it would be physically exhausting for Frodo. Would it be fair to put Bilbo through this stress? Perhaps Sam could come back? But then, Sam had already written to his master of the trouble with Saruman that they had quelled upon their return. Frodo needed to know that his beloved Shire was in good hands and this would be a bad winter for them. Bilbo seemed to sense his thoughts.

"I'm sure Sam or one of your cousins would come if you'd prefer. But I still feel a little responsible, in a way, and I would like to be there to see little Calimore into the world. I'm not as strong as I was but I'm willing, lad."

Frodo glanced across to Elrond and saw a slight nod of approval.

"Elrohir or I can help with the physical support, but I will need to coach you both through the sequence of events and techniques to maintain your breathing. The more preparation you do, the calmer you will remain and that will make the pain easier to bear."

"Thank you, Bilbo. I would dearly love to have you with me."

"Well. That's settled then." Bilbo winked. "Having sat with a few prospective fathers over the years, however, it's been my experience that the ladies have no trouble breathing . . . at least I always assumed so . . . from the volume of their yells."

His comment was met with a somewhat hesitant laugh from Frodo.

TBC