Chapter 21

"Come along, Frodo. Put that book down and have your tea. I don't even think you're actually reading it, are you?"

Frodo glowered at his uncle and continued to slow breathe through the cramping. Was it his imagination or was it getting stronger and more frequent? "I'm trying to read it, but I keep getting interrupted. Anyway, Elrond said I should do things to distract myself," he retorted.

If Bilbo noted the waspish tone he gave no indication. "He did indeed, lad. But you've been reading for most of the day and you need to eat. When things start moving along a bit you won't feel like eating, so you should have something light now."

Frodo slammed the book shut and hoisted himself out of the rocking chair, making for the privy. He was glad that Elrond had the foresight to provide him with a room that had it's own privy, although with the number of times he was having to use it today he would not have refused a chamber pot. It seemed to him that his body was trying to expel everything . . . but . . . the baby.

By the time he returned, only a few minutes later, he was breathing through another cramp, this one more painful still. Bilbo waited it out and then led his nephew to the table, where a light meal had been set. Frodo helped himself to some broth and a piece of soft bread and for several minutes the two hobbits ate in uncomfortable silence. Outside, the breeze changed direction, blowing a smattering of rain against the windows and Frodo sighed. He had hoped to go for a walk after tea but it appeared it was not to be. If the weather had been dry he was sure Elrond would have allowed it, as long as Elrohir accompanied him.

Feeling another pain building, Frodo set down his spoon and decided that it was not his imagination . . . they had definitely been growing progressively stronger and closer together. This one was different, however, building slowly and definitely more intense. He gripped the edge of the table, putting a little more effort into the slow rhythm of his breathing. This was no longer just uncomfortable. This one hurt . . . a fact that apparently did not go unnoticed by his uncle for by the time it had passed he was at Frodo's side.

"That was a little uncomfortable, wasn't it?"

"Yes, quite," Frodo replied . . . a little in awe. It hurt . . . and he had suddenly lost all interest in the contents of the table.

His uncle held him in place, when he would have risen from the chair. "Not now, lad. Remember what Elrond taught you. Listen to your body and relax any bits that are tense."

Frodo closed his eyes as Bilbo rubbed soothing circles on his stomach. He could do this . . . just relax. Inhale gently and let all the tension leave with the outward breath. Discovering that theory was not quite the same as reality, it took several breaths to calm his body. Yet Frodo felt quite a sense of achievement when he succeeded. He had survived Mordor. He could survive this . . . couldn't he? Something at the back of his mind laughed nervously but he tried to make his voice sound calm.

"Thank you, Bilbo. I'm very glad you're here."

Before turning for the door, Bilbo patted him gently on the shoulder. "And I'm going to go on being here until I see that little lad in your arms." He took in Frodo's slightly wan smile and added, hurriedly, "Just as soon as I fetch Elrond and Elrohir." With those words he closed the door, leaving Frodo to stare out at the rain. Even if it had been dry outside it was unlikely he would get his walk now.

Bilbo was right, of course. He had not been reading the book, and not because of the pain . . . although that had become an increasing factor.

When he first discovered his situation it had not seemed real and he had gone almost whole days without considering it too closely. Then he had felt the babe move and the shadowy dream had suddenly taken on form. That had been a difficult confrontation but one to which he had gradually adjusted. The babe was a part of him and all Frodo had to do was carry it.

Of course, that had not been as simple as he had imagined it would be. All the strange adjustments that his body made were difficult enough. But his emotions had swung from wild elation to deepest depression, with every shade in between and little warning. That was something for which he had not been prepared, but they had triggered the return of his memory and for that Frodo was deeply grateful. Would his memories remain after Calimore was born?

Until now he had only his imagination to show him the child for which he would be responsible. Now they were going to meet . . . face to face. All the elves seemed to think this was a perfectly normal hobbit babe, but elves were not infallible. Was he birthing some monster, spawned by the Ring to punish him? He had pushed such worries to the back of his mind for months but now he would see the child. There would be no room for denial. Most prospective parents had such worries he knew, but his were magnified.

And then there was his health. He had been helped through this term by experienced healers and would be helped through the birthing too. But his body had been poisoned by Morgul blade, spider bite and long trial, before he even conceived. He knew, from childhood days in Brandy Hall, that some perfectly healthy ladies did not survive the trauma. There were vague memories of a distant aunt dying in childbirth . . . something about a haemorrhage. Frodo was not even female. Would his poisoned and now strange hybrid body survive the stress?

By the time Bilbo returned, with the two elves, Frodo was in the throes of another contraction . . . a little stronger than the last. This one was not "quite" painful . . . it was "very" painful and fear was making it difficult for Frodo to give breathing his full attention. As it always did, however, Elrond's touch brought with it calm. And as soon as the pain faded, Frodo was carried to the bed. The gravid hobbit sighed in relief as Elrohir arranged pillows behind his shoulders. His helpers had arrived and he trusted them to see him through this . . . if anyone could. His relief was short lived however.

"I am sorry, Frodo. I know how much you dislike these examinations, but I must check how far your body has opened." Elrond pushed Frodo's legs slightly apart and slipped a finger into the newly developed opening in his lower regions. Frodo only took his eyes from the far wall when Elrond removed his finger.

"You are doing very well Frodo. The opening is almost half the size I expect you will need to deliver the babe."

Frodo astonishment was very evident. "Only less than half?"

"Your delivery is progressing relatively quickly but will take, I estimate, several more hours. On the other hand . . . you have carried this child for many months. What are a few hours more?"

That was all very fine for Elrond to say, Frodo muttered inwardly. Elrond was not the one who was having his teeth extracted via his backside. He was still trying to think of a cutting retort when the next contraction started to build and he drew up his legs and pushed himself upright, rocking on his tailbones in an attempt to over-ride the now frightening pain.

He did not want to breathe, he just wanted to cry. It dawned on Frodo that he was not in control of this process . . . that he never had been . . . that his body was doing this all on its own and there was no way that he could halt it. The pain was going to get worse and there was no escape from it. He could not endure this . . . had endured so much already. This was too much to ask of him. It occurred to him that maybe this was what the Ring had intended all along and his punishment was to die in this process, knowing that the Ring had won.

Gradually, the wave receded and he became aware of Bilbo's lavender and books smell and warm arms hugging him. He opened his eyes to find his chin resting on Bilbo's shoulder, his perspiration darkening the fine green silk of his uncle's waistcoat.

"I can't do this, Bilbo. It's killing me. Just as it planned. I was never intended to have this happiness," he whimpered, huddled in Bilbo's arms.

His uncle's voice was soft and brought back memories of childhood days, when the gentle hobbit had sat up through the night to comfort a fevered tweenager. "There, there, Frodo lad. This pain will pass and you'll think it all worth the while when little Calimore is in your arms."

Elrond watched as Bilbo rocked his nephew gently back and forth, and Frodo gradually relaxed, growing limp in his comforting embrace. The older hobbit's voice went on, weaving peace into his nephew's soul.

"I can remember Pris saying that your Mama cried just like this when she was having you . . . was convinced she was going to die. But you arrived and as soon as she looked into those big blue eyes, your Aunt Prisca said that all the pain and tears faded away.

Your little Calimore is looking for your help to bring him into the world because he can't do it on his own. And you deserve the happiness of seeing that face you've only dreamed of."

"But . . . the Ring, Bilbo?"

"I can't say that the Ring didn't start this, lad, but the Ring's gone. And all that was built with it is destroyed. But your babe lives on and so did you. I don't believe that's any doing of that accursed piece of metal. This is your reward and your healing . . . a wonderful gift. Take it in both hands. You're stronger than you think and we're all here to help you."

Frodo let his cheek nestle more securely on his uncle's shoulder. "I'm not as strong as I was. Am I strong enough to come through this?"

"You're a Baggins. And we Baggins' are made of sterner stuff than most. The two of us will work together through this and see that wee lad of yours come into this world."

A low moan rolled from Frodo's throat as he felt his stomach tightening again and Bilbo pushed him gently away, grasping Frodo's upper arms and holding his nephew's eyes with his own.

"Come on now, Frodo. Breathe with me. In slowly through your nose and out through your mouth. That's it . . . in . . ."

Frodo breathed in, his eyes intent on his uncle's face and his own breathing . . . his body mirroring Bilbo's long in-drawn and softly expelled breath. Somewhere he was aware of Elrohir's hand circling on his back and he tried to ride the pain this time, instead of fighting it. This would help him bring Calimore into the world. This pain had a purpose and promised a sweet reward. There was no way to avoid it so he must endure it, if for no other reason than to give Calimore life. The babe had given him so much already.

TBC