Lotr fan annonymous – Thankyou for your comments on this story. To be honest, I have no objections to slash, as long as it is still an exploration of the characters and not just an excuse for pornography. But I have to qualify that by saying that I have no urge to write slash.

As for Saruman seeing Frodo's condition . . . I must say that I had considered following that road but decided that I needed an angsty stabbing instead because I felt that the story was losing some of its momentum. To have expanded the scene to include and exchange on those lines would have slowed things again. It would be a fun idea to explore as a ficlet one day, though.

Breech Calimore? My goodness . . . and I thought I was the queen of angst! Again, I considered it but decided that at this point I had enough angst in these chapters. I've never written a birthing scene before and was a bit nervous of people's reactions. More technical problems, with a breech birth, was a bit more than I felt I could handle. That's "author speak" for . . . "I chickened out on that one." J

Chapter 24

Frodo whimpered as someone made him sit up while hands peeled his sodden nightshirt off him. He was suddenly chilled and trembling and warm and gentle arms enfolded him in a soft blanket and then cradled him.

All his joints had been unhinged and his insides felt as though they had been scoured with a laundry brush. A headache twinged mercilessly from the back of his neck, up into his scalp and there was a deep soreness in his lower regions. His teeth chattered with cold and when Frodo felt himself lifted into someone's arms and carried he tried to snuggle closer to the warmth of the chest he rested against.

Water . . . warm and fragrant water . . . almost up to his shoulders. Finally daring to open his eyes, Frodo sighed, inhaling the soothing aroma of rosemary. His eyelids were too heavy to open fully but he was content, for the moment, with the blurry and firelit figures that worked almost silently around him.

He trusted implicitly the competent hands that guided him back to rest upon a pad behind his shoulders . . . the murmured instruction to relax.

After a few moments Frodo found the strength to open his eyes further and recognised Elrond as the one now soaping his left arm and hand. He glanced down, expecting to find clear steaming water and for a moment he was perplexed to find it tinted faintly pink. It took him a moment longer to realise what had probably caused this coloration and he tried to tell his carers. His throat was sore and dry, however and he found no sound would issue from his cracked lips so he tried to move, however feebly, to gain Elrond's attention.

His attempts succeeded and the elf stopped his work and looked closely at his charge's face. Bilbo handed him a cup and the healer touched it to Frodo's lips, trickling a little peppermint tea into his parched mouth. Frodo swallowed gratefully and managed to produce a croak.

"Blood."

Elrond gave him another sip of tea. "Do not worry yourself, Frodo. The worst is over and most of what you see is what has soaked off your skin. The blood flow now is minimal."

Frowning, the hobbit tried to process this information in his sluggish mind, only distantly aware that Bilbo had taken over the task of soaping and cleansing him, while Elrond supported and kept trickling tiny amounts of tea into Frodo's mouth.

"Calimore?"

Elrond's voice was as calm as ever and Frodo found himself relaxing once more as warmth, tea, the rosemary in the water easing his aches, and his uncle's familiar touch all worked together on his exhausted mind and body.

"Calimore is clean and well and sleeping. As you will be soon."

Frodo swallowed another sip of the honeyed tea. "What . . . what happened?"

"It would seem that your body has decided that it no longer needs those female portions of your anatomy that have succoured your babe these past months. Once you are clean and settled in your bed I shall use a couple of sutures to close the passage and it should heal fully within a few weeks."

Having increasing difficulty understanding the import of the elf's words, Frodo closed his eyes once more, willing to leave such weighty matters until later.

The sticky perspiration that had coated his body floated away . . . his aches floated away . . . sound and light and consciousness all floated away.

00000

There was a yielding support under his aching back and comfortable softness beneath his head. Frodo lay still, frightened that any movement would bring a return of pain, and luxuriating instead in the feel of clean soft linen and light warm blankets draped about him. Swallowing in a dry and swollen throat, he blinked open heavy eyelids, focussing at last upon a flat ceiling with dark, richly carved beams. Rivendell. The river . . . he had fallen in the river . . . when it rose up against the black riders.

He brought up his right hand . . . scrabbling to find it. They had hung it on a chain about his neck. He was sure they had. Fingertips encountered a chain, followed it down . . . but there was no Ring . . . only a facetted jewel. It had been stolen from him. Frodo's heart began to pound and he started when a log in the grate spat and shifted, pulling his eyes to the hearth.

The fire flickered warmly behind an intricate mesh grill and to one side sat a blue canopied cradle. Frodo's heart slowed. The riders were no more. The One Ring had been destroyed . . . and he had Calimore.

Sensing movement, Frodo turned his head to find Elrond filling a cup. The elf smiled down at him, serene and collected as he had looked through most of the birthing . . . except when Frodo's waters had broken. The hobbit took a small but perverse delight in the memory of Elrond with very wet leggings.

"Welcome back, Frodo. Would you like something to drink? You must be thirsty."

"Please." Frodo's voice was only a hoarse whisper and the liquid, when it arrived, was balm to his throat. He swallowed all the gently warmed ginger tea gratefully, pausing only long enough to breathe, "Calimore?"

"He is still sleeping."

Once the cup was emptied, Elrond lowered his head back into the soft pillows and moved towards the hearth. Frodo noticed that the elf had taken some time while Frodo slept to change his own clothing. The hobbit supposed that it did not look well for the Lord of Imladris to be wondering about looking as though he had been taken short.

"Can I hold him?" asked Frodo as he saw the elf bend over the tiny cradle and fold back the covers. Elrond rose with a bundle of soft white shawl in the crook of one arm, and he was smiling when he returned to the bed.

"I was anticipating that request." Elrond laid the parcel at Frodo's side and the hobbit let go the jewel he had been clutching so tightly to lift a corner of the delicate lace edged covering. Elrond helped him shift onto his side so that he could take a better look at this miracle.

Like his parent, Calimore had been bathed and dressed in a clean nightshirt. Tiny forget-me-nots danced around the neck of the garment and Frodo knew that if those eyes, with their fringes of dark lashes, were to open they would be exactly the same shade of brilliant blue as the flowers.

A fine network of pale blue veins was just visible beneath the pale pink, almost transparent skin of Calimore's slightly swollen face . . . a flush of deeper pink brushed each cheek . . . his lips the shape and colour of a fresh wild rosebud. Hair that Frodo had last seen in damp ringlets now lay in a glossy fluff of burnt chestnut curls, fine enough to show the still slightly misshapen skull and tips of his clearly hobbit ears.

Frodo opened the soft shawl further and encountered two delicate hands. He slipped one of the fingers of his right hand into Calimore's palm and the miniature fingers wrapped around it tightly . . . candlelight reflecting off the flat surfaces of five tiny nailbeds, each perfect half-moon at their base showing pearl against the pink. The babe shifted slightly, the rosebud opening wide in a yawn to expose soft pink gums and a petal of a tongue. Frodo's eyes moved further down the body to find two sturdy feet, their dark downy hair a contrast to the rose tinted skin.

This miraculous and beautiful creature had been nestled within him all these months, had shared his blood, his air . . . his dreams. No . . . Calimore . . . was . . . his dream. He was Frodo's dream of family, made flesh. A tear sparkled in a myriad rainbows as it splashed upon Calimore's fingers and Frodo realised that it had fallen from his own eye. He smiled as he brushed it away with his thumb, hearing his Uncle Saradoc's deep voice chiding him with a barely disguised hint of amusement.

"Frodo Baggins . . . you big ninny! Your soft nature will get you into all sorts of bother one day."

Another memory Frodo had long considered lost to him. Talking of memory . . .

"Elrond . . . did I faint? I don't remember much after Calimore's birth."

Settling in a chair at the bedside, Elrond tucked the shawl back around the sleeping babe, his own face soft with memory, although even the twins had never been as tiny as this perfect little doll.

"Do you remember once asking me whether the organs that you grew to support Calimore would remain after the birth?"

Frodo nodded, becoming aware of a small wad of fabric between his thighs. The elven healer continued, pouring another cup of tea as he spoke lightly.

"After Calimore's birth your body . . . expelled the internal organs it had grown. It was quite painful and you were already weak. There was a considerable loss of blood but it has been stemmed. You will need a great deal of rest." He supported Frodo again as he held the cup for him to sip.

Frodo glanced up in alarm. "Could I have died?"

He was not surprised when Elrond considered a moment before replying. It was something Frodo had seen him do often when he was trying to couch unpleasant information in soothing terms.

"There was some danger for a while. Your body has been through much hardship in the past year but I believe you will recover well enough."

Frodo digested this news, knowing that there was a wealth of information buried in those few short statements. He had been close to death then? The injuries acquired during the Quest had still not healed and this would be an added strain to his failing constitution. Although he could expect some improvement in his health from his present condition . . . he would never be fully as healthy as he once was. And . . . recover well enough for what?

"Elrond . . . will I live long enough to see him grow up?" Frodo studied the elf's face intently . . . knowing only too well how closely the elven lord guarded his expression. He was surprised, therefore, when he caught a flicker of deep sadness in those ageless features.

"I do not know. On that day of the Council I saw some destiny . . . but . . . your future has always been . . . hidden from me."

Feeling the fingers about his tighten, Frodo looked down to see Calimore yawn and stir, dark eyelashes fluttering. He waited a moment but the babe seemed to settle once more. Perhaps he was dreaming. Frodo wondered what his son's dreams were about. At least they would not be as dark as his parent's.

Calimore would have a good life; one filled with peace, happiness and love for as long as Frodo could give it. But how long could Frodo provide for him? He had nearly died on the first anniversary of his wounding and now he had only survived again because of Elrond's intervention. When he looked up again he found Elrond, too, was watching Calimore, a soft smile on his lips.

"Elrond. You . . . have done so much for me already that . . . and . . . I am almost afraid to ask . . . to ask . . . another favour of you."

Those ancient silver-grey eyes fell upon him. "You may ask any favour of me that you wish, Frodo and if it is within my power to grant it I will do so."

"You fostered Aragorn when his father died, and he grew to be a great and wise man. If I . . . if . . . if I die, will you foster Calimore?"

Elrond gave no word of protest to the suggestion that Frodo may not live to see his son grow to adulthood, and that in itself told him more than he really wanted to know.

"Would you not rather he was raised in the Shire? I am sure one of your friends or family would be most willing to take him in as their own."

Frodo shook his head. "I have already considered that. Family is very important to a hobbit." He smiled a little ruefully at his child. "In case you hadn't noticed. And Calimore's lineage would be a matter of close scrutiny. It is the main reason I decided not to return to the Shire after his birth. I know, first hand, how much gossip can hurt a child and I would rather he grew up in a place where he is accepted and loved for who he is, rather than for what family he comes from." Frodo glanced up at the elf and smiled. "And I do think he would be well loved."

"If it is your wish, I would be honoured to care for him, in the event of him losing you."

"Thank you."

Calimore stirred once more and Frodo smiled down into bright blue eyes that were trying intently to focus upon his. "Hello lad. Your family is growing already. It seems you now have an honorary uncle. And he's an elven lord, no less." Calimore yawned widely and both hobbit and elf chuckled.

"I can see that he is most impressed," Elrond noted in a wry tone.

The babe continued to demonstrate his awe by waving his arms about in an uncoordinated fashion, eventually managing to stick the fingers of his left hand in his mouth. Frodo looked up, noticing for the first time that, although the room was dark and candles lit, a sliver of pale light showed beneath the hems of the curtains.

"What time is it? How long have I slept?"

"It is four o'clock in the afternoon and you have slept since dawn."

Frodo disentangled his finger from his son's hand and began to fumble at the buttons of his nightshirt. "He will be hungry."

"Do not fret, Frodo. He was given some honeyed water whilst you slept."

The elf glanced down, studying the babe. He had to confess that Calimore was becoming fretful. The babe's fingers left his mouth and the tiny bottom lip quivered for a second before the whole face seemed to crumple and his mouth opened to issue a small bleat of protest. Elrond laid him closer to Frodo's chest and the rosebud mouth began to root at once, finally finding the nipple his parent hastily offered and latching on firmly.

Not taking his eyes from his son's, now contented, face for one moment, Frodo smiled. "Well, Calimore, if there were ever any doubt about whether you were all hobbit, I think you just declared your heritage loudly."

TBC