Chapter 22

"You can lean on me, Frodo. I won't break. Put your arms around my neck and we'll just rock gently through the next one. Imagine you're dancing with a pretty lass in the moonlight."

Frodo allowed himself a small smile and followed his uncle's instructions, knowing that Elrohir knelt ready at their side if either faltered.

"It's as well I have a good imagination, Bilbo. You make a very ugly lass."

Bilbo's chuckled. "Yes, well . . . perhaps we have that the wrong way round, anyway."

Frodo started to laugh with him and then took a deep breath instead . . . announcing the onset of the next contraction . . . and the small team went back to work.

Bilbo supported his nephew and Frodo concentrated on breathing, letting his uncle move him as the two rocked from foot to foot in response to some unheard music. Elrohir dabbed at Frodo's face with a cool cloth and Elrond lightly massaged his lower back. The room was quiet apart from Frodo's breathing and the crackle of the fire in the grate.

Night had fallen hours ago and their efforts were dimly lit by only a few candles and firelight. Ever since his journey Frodo had felt uncomfortable in the dark, but there was a welcome comfort in this room tonight and it seemed that the whole valley breathed softly, wrapping him around in a warm blanket of love.

Elrond's words were hardly more than a whisper, and yet he gave voice to his valley. "Relax . . . you are coping well, Frodo. Allow you body do what is needful. Relax around it." The elf's rich tones seemed to slip beneath his pain, soothing and calming him, even as the hands gently eased his back. This was a long contraction and as the pain died away, Frodo sighed and tried to follow Elrond's instruction. It was near impossible by now but he tried anyway.

They had used all sorts of positions to help him cope with the discomfort. The rocking chair had been his refuge for a few hours but then he had felt a need to move and Bilbo and Elrohir had helped him walk about the room. When Frodo grew fretful, Elrond always seemed to know another position for him to try, and that would satisfy him for a while, until the restlessness of the pain made him want to change again.

"I think I'd like to sit down for a few minutes, please?"

Taking Frodo's weight from Bilbo, Elrond lowered the weary parent-to-be onto the floor between his outspread legs, leaning him back to rest against the elf's chest. No sooner had he settled gratefully, than another wave of pain assaulted him, and Frodo finally gave in to the urge to vocalise it . . . letting out a long low moan that made the hairs on the back of Bilbo's neck rise. Elrond wrapped strong arms about him and rocked gently from side to side until the sound faded and the bundle in his arms began to relax again.

There was a small popping and Frodo glanced down in alarm as a puddle of fluid collected on the floor around them. He was so hot that his nightshirt was stuck to him but he felt himself grow even hotter now as he blushed. Surely he had not? No he could not have. It did not come from the usual place. Bilbo looked equally alarmed but Elrohir wordlessly reached for towels to dry off Frodo, Elrond and then the floor. Both hobbits glanced at Elrond for explanation and the elven healer obliged with a slight smile.

"That should make things move along a little more swiftly. Your waters just broke. Do you not remember me mentioning that the baby floated in a little sac of fluid and that this must rupture before the birth? It is another sign that things are progressing well." The elf rose and carried Frodo to the bed. "I shall need to perform another examination to check how much further your opening has dilated."

Frodo did not care anymore and lay unresisting while Elrond washed his hands and Elrohir moved Frodo's limbs into the required position. There was little of his dignity left by now. The examination was brief and gentle and Frodo tried to concentrate on something else . . . his eyes unfortunately drawn to the large, water filled basin on the bedside table . . . in which several curiously shaped metal instruments gleamed tauntingly.

"Frodo?"

Tearing his eyes away, Frodo took refuge in Elrond's face and was surprised to find a smile.

"You are nearly there, Frodo. Just a little wider and your babe can slip through the opening and into the birth canal."

Frodo would have smiled in return, but he was assailed with a deep and agonising pain that tore a scream from him. The brief respite of the past few minutes had lulled him and he was unprepared for such a sudden depth of pain. Someone had filled his belly with rocks. They were trying to fall through the small hole between his thighs but two fine strings around his body tied them to his back. And they were pulling, relentlessly. Bilbo clambered onto the bed at once to hold his nephew and looked up at Elrond in horror.

"What is it . . . what's wrong?"

Elrond merely shook his head. "Nothing is wrong. His pains are . . . quite intense . . . and will be so for some time now. They will be longer in duration and more frequent. It is usual for this stage of the birthing . . . but you must help him regain control of his breathing."

Frodo struggled in his uncle's arms, trying desperately to back away from the tight cramping, dragging pain in his belly. This was beyond him. He was definitely going to die.

From some great distance he was aware of Bilbo's familiar voice and Frodo tried to focus on it through the agony that went on and on and on. He was being told to stop screaming. What did Bilbo know about it? Bilbo was not the one experiencing this agony.

Screaming was all he could do now. His body was one huge scream. How much breath did his lungs hold? Would there be enough to hold the scream until the pain left? Was the pain ever going to leave?

"Breathe in, Frodo. Come on lad…breathe in with me. Stop screaming and breathe!" The final sentence was called in a tone well remembered by Frodo from his headstrong tweenage years.

He finally ran out of breath but the pain went on. Frodo had to inhale and he followed Bilbo . . . breathing in. Elrond's voice slid quietly into his mind again. "Do not scream, Frodo. Moan . . . moan low and long." It was a strange instruction, but Frodo followed it. Slowly . . . slowly . . . the pain subsided . . . leaving him gasping like a trout tossed onto the dry grass riverbank.

Elrond and Elrohir settled him back into his pillows and Bilbo offered a sip of honeyed water as Elrond rubbed Frodo's aching belly. His calm voice continued.

"This is the most painful part, Frodo. Your body's opening is widening that last little bit to allow the babe's head to slip into the birth canal. The pains will be longer, and closer together. Do not try to push the baby, for the time is not yet right. Your body is working as it should and you will feel when the time is ripe. And there is no shame in calling out your pain. Many women find that it helps them to do so. But do not scream . . . that uses the muscles that should be pushing your baby and will slow the process down."

His last words were almost lost as Frodo felt the pressure build again and he sought desperately for Bilbo's face and hands, his uncle knowing at once what he needed . . .

"Slow, deep breaths, Frodo. Breathe in and out with me. In . . ."

Frodo's world became centred upon pain and on breathing for long enough to get through it. He did not want to die but he was not sure that he could live through this. All coherent thought was driven from his mind as he gripped Bilbo's fingers.

There was no Frodo Baggins.

He was only pain and air.

00000

Someone held a bowl beneath his chin and he brought back what little was still in his stomach.

Frodo was on his hands and knees on the bed, Elrohir was supporting him with an arm beneath his chest, his other hand resting on Frodo's aching back. The bowl disappeared and Bilbo bathed his face with a cool cloth as Elrohir guided his charge to sink forward, head cradled in his arms and his bottom in the air. Frodo was trembling, as though he had been running for miles. Something trickled down his thighs and he raised himself on unsteady arms and glanced back in time to see Elrond wiping blood from his legs. Noting Frodo watching Elrond smiled.

"Some bleeding is not unusual. It is nothing to worry about."

Frodo was too weak and weary to worry and only closed his eyes, lowering his chest back into the soft support of the bed. The respite did not last, however and he levered himself back up on his hands as the next wave rolled through him. Bilbo was there, talking, stroking, and breathing.

00000

Elrond's finger was prying once more but Frodo no longer cared. The last contraction had been the worst yet and Bilbo was gently wiping tears from his nephew's face. Frodo had been placed on his side on the huge bed, his body propped by pillows in various places and he tried to bring his breathing back under control now that the agony had subsided sufficiently.

"I can touch your babe's head, Frodo. When the contraction's start again you will probably feel the urge to push."

Frodo allowed himself a small laugh, the sound little more than a cracked wheeze in his sore throat. At last he was being allowed to do something other than endure. Elrohir slipped a little chip of ice between his lips and Frodo accepted it gratefully, trying to marshal what strength he had left.

All time for reverie had passed. He had no energy for thought or hope or memory. He was living only in this moment. Frodo concentrated on getting through this particular pain, focussing upon just this one breath.

TBC