Chapter 20

Frodo laid the tiny clothes out in small heaps on top of the chest of drawers. He had been feeling the need to sort through them for days but a vague back ache and more frequent than usual cramps had made it impossible to settle for any length of time this morning. Something to do. That's what he needed.

To those provided by Rose, several more gowns and shawls had been gifted by various elves of Imladris. They were very beautiful but Frodo placed them at the bottom of the heaps. They were so delicate that he would be terrified of tearing them. Once he had the garments sorted to his liking he replaced them in the drawer. Gowns to the left, knitted articles in the centre and shawls and bonnets to the right. They needed to be exactly where he could put his hands on them. Having done that he smiled, smoothing the softly padded top of the chest. Elrond had arranged for a removable unit to be added, with low padded sides and a soft pillow as a mattress. It would be a safe place to change Calimore.

On a small table to one side were salves, lotions and powders and Frodo began to re-arrange those, pausing for a moment and breathing slowly through it as his stomach cramped again. At least his babe had been more settled these past few days. He patted the enormous mound of his stomach and smiled. Today was a good day. He even seemed to be able to breath more easily. Now if the backache would just let go . . .

Elrond had told him to just ask if he needed anything and Frodo wondered if the healer would think him too demanding if he requested another of those lovely back massages. Perhaps a gentle stroll through the house would help? But then, his legs ached a little today . . . not surprising with all the weight he was carrying about on them. If he did go for a walk, though, he may encounter Elrond and be able to ask more casually about the massage.

Yes. A stroll . . . after he had been to the privy. Elrond would certainly not need to dose him with that awful oil today. This was the third time this morning. He decided that was something he would not mention to the elf as it would probably only result in him being made to swallow some other foul concoction.

Some time later he found Bilbo in the library. The wrinkled features lined up to form a wide grin as he watched his nephew waddle slowly into the chamber. Actually, it was more a sort of rolling gait . . . like a sailor too long at sea, the elder hobbit mused.

"Hello my lad. What brings you here? I thought you weren't due to take your walk until after second breakfast."

Frodo blinked in surprise. What time had he got up? It had been dark but he had never thought to check the time. The winter mornings dawned so late now. He glanced about the room, decked with holly and ivy for the coming Yule celebrations. The room smelled of green and growing things, instead of leather bindings and paper, for once . . . not that he minded leather and paper . . . His mind drifted off on its own.

"Frodo? You're wool gathering again." Bilbo touched his arm to bring his nephew back to him. "Have you even had first breakfast yet?"

Frodo's intended reply turned into a sigh as yet another mild cramp took him and he breathed through it automatically. Bilbo waited patiently. He was well used to these by now. There were usually two or three a day. When Frodo's bright blue eyes re-focussed on him Bilbo asked again.

"Have you eaten yet, today?"

"No." Frodo replied vaguely . . . wishing that he could find some way to walk away from the nagging ache in his lower back. He turned away from his uncle and towards the long windows. Outside, it was raining and the trees were all bare of leaves but Imladris still seemed to look stately and elegant, even in the grey light of this winter day.

Bilbo followed him, exasperatedly. "Why ever not? You know that Elrond said you should make sure that you eat and drink a little and often. And, good gracious lad, you are a hobbit." He chuckled. "What sort of an example are you setting for that little lad?"

His uncle's nagging was beginning to annoy him. He was not hungry. Why did everyone insist on trying to feed him? Frodo would not have been at all surprised if, having given birth to his child, he remained the same size. Perhaps most of this heavy lump at the front of his body was just "good hobbit roundness", as his father would say.

Bilbo persisted . . . laying a hand on his nephew's shoulder. "Frodo? Breakfast?"

Too much. It was too much. Frodo shrugged off the hand and stomped . . . or at least tried to . . . back to the centre of the large room.

"For goodness sake, Bilbo. Will you please stop pestering. I am simply not hungry. And I am not a tweenager to be pushed and prodded into compliance. I would have thought that this . . ." He waved at his ever-ripening stomach. "Was evidence enough of that! Oh blast!"

Frodo started his breathing again as another slight cramp took him, postponing the rest of his tirade until it passed. To his surprise, Bilbo did not shout back. Instead a gentle hand came to rest in the small of Frodo's back, rubbing in gentle circles.

"You are quite right. Why don't I walk you back to your room and you can sit down for a little while? I'll find Elrond and tell him you're feeling a little out of sorts today."

Even though he could feel a slight edge of tension in Bilbo's voice, Frodo sagged against him a little in relief as he was turned back towards the hallway.

"I'm sorry, Bilbo. I didn't mean to shout. I don't know what's the matter with me this morning. I was looking for Elrond because my back aches and I forgot about breakfast. Is it very late?"

"No lad. I'll get you some broth . . . something nice and light . . . and we'll call this, mid-breakfast," Bilbo soothed as he led his nephew back to the warm and comfortable bedroom.

Once there, he propped Frodo up in his bed with a glass of milk and tucked a woollen rug about his legs.

"There, now. That's better, isn't it?"

The younger hobbit nodded and tried a half-hearted smile. It wasn't really, but it was comforting being fussed over.

"You just stay there and I'll go and fetch Elrond for you. He'll be in his study at this time of day."

Frodo sighed. Of course Elrond would be in his study. He went to his study every morning to take care of any business. Why had Frodo not remembered that? He leaned back against the pillows and squirmed . . . trying to move away from his aches . . . but they only moved with him.

It was only minutes later that Elrond drifted quietly into the room, bringing with him an aura of calm and tranquillity. Bilbo followed in his wake and settled himself on a chair near the bedside, making it quite clear that he was not leaving until something had been sorted out.

Elrond relieved Frodo of his empty milk glass. "Bilbo tells me that you are feeling a little uncomfortable and restless today."

Frodo nodded miserably. "The cramps are a little more frequent than they have been and my back aches. It's not that burning, cramping pain that I'm used to. This is different, somehow. It just aches and aches." He was surprised to find himself nearly in tears.

One of the elf's cool hands came to rest on Frodo's brow and calm seemed to flow through him from the simple touch. As he removed some of the pillows so that his charge was a little more prone, Elrond's soothing voice wrapped around Frodo.

"Let me make an examination to see if I can establish what is happening." With that, he eased up Frodo's shirt and lowered the breeches and began to feel around his stomach. Frodo relaxed at last . . . trusting Elrond to supply some sort of easement. After a few moments the elf brought his hands to rest over the centre of Frodo's stomach and smiled down at him.

"The babe's head has engaged. Congratulations, Frodo. You are about to become a parent."

Frodo's eyes flew wide and Bilbo gasped in his chair across the bed. Elrond's smile widened as he re-arranged Frodo's clothing.

"But . . . but . . . I thought . . . I mean . . . you said that . . . that it would be . . . very painful," stammered Frodo.

Elrond's smile grew rueful. "When I said that you were about to be a parent, I am afraid that I did not mean that it would happen within the next few minutes. You are still very much in the preliminary stages and, with a first child in particular, this could go on for a couple of days."

Bilbo's quiet voice broke in. "But you told us the baby is not due for another two weeks," he accused mildly.

He was answered with a slight admonitory lift of the elf's eyebrows. "You should have lived long enough by now, Bilbo, to know that nature does not always keep track of time as carefully as we. Calimore has decided that this is the right time and I do not intend to stand in his way, as I can see a healthy and fully developed babe, ready to greet the world."

Frodo took in little of this, his focus now totally upon the tightly stretched flesh beneath his shirt. It was time. Soon he would really see this child that had been a part of him for so many months. He wanted to touch those tiny fingers and stroke the dark curls . . . and yet another part of him did not want to feel the empty place within him that would be the inevitable result.

Calimore was bound up in Frodo's soul in a way they would never be again. They shared the same air, the same blood. There was no barrier of space between them and they knew each other's moods, felt each other's heartbeat. Carrying this child made him feel whole and Frodo was not sure that he would feel the same when the soul that had shared and renewed his was separated and ready to take its own road . . .

". . . down from the door where it began."

The words of Bilbo's old walking song floated in his head. They had started out together from the same door, and Calimore had allowed his parent to carry him along Frodo's path until today. Now Calimore would take the first steps on the road of his own life. Where would that road lead him? Wherever that road led, Frodo would make sure that his child was shown a gentler route than he had trod, and he hoped that at least they would be able to hold hands for some years yet to come.

TBC