Frodo sighed audibly, releasing some of the tension that had risen inside him. Lowering his eyes, from where they'd held Sam's soft, brown, tear- stained gaze, his gaze fell to where his hand now rested upon his lovers belly. I'm going to be a father he thought to himself as a slow smile began to grow upon his lips. He had always felt badly for what Sam had given up for their love. Frodo had always known that Sam had been meant to have children, and now, here under his very hand grew their future. A child of perfect love.

When his eyes finally met Sam's gaze once more, he found that he, too, had begun to cry, though not tears of fear, but those of joy! Taking Sam's face in both his hands, he kissed the warm brow. "I know you're not one to joke about something like this, dear heart, and I cannot put into words the joy that I feel for this news!"

Smiling, he crawled onto the bed beside Sam. "Tell me, please, when did this happen?" Frodo held Sam's hand tightly between his own, as if to give his lover a sense of the excitement that was now growing inside him.

"About seven weeks ago, give or take." Sam sighed, relieved that Frodo had not run halfway to Bree with fear. Maybe everything would turn out all right after all, he thought to himself. Feeling very tired, Sam lay back in Frodo's arms, and fell into a peaceful sleep.

Later that night, Frodo found he couldn't sleep. There were too many thoughts running through his head. Though he knew that Sam was meant to be a parent someday, was he? Closing his eyes, Frodo tried to clear his head, though when that didn't help, he knew there would be no sleep for him.

How were they to explain this to others? The Healer had looked pale, and sick himself as he'd left. It had seemed that he could not leave quick enough. As if Sam's ailment had been some sort of contagious virus. Would everyone come to think of his dearest Sam as a freak? Unnatural? Frodo knew that's what Sam's condition was, unnatural, but somehow, some way, it was truth.

Frodo lay back against the pillows and stared at the ceiling. Listening to Sam's peaceful breathing in sleep, he let his mind wander. Images of his own childhood flashed before his mind's eye. Orphaned. Shunned. Ignored. He vowed never to let that happen to his child. After all, he wasn't going anywhere and neither was Sam. Sam.

A dreadful thought came to him, and he found himself whispering as he looked at the sleeping form in the bed next to him.

"How in Middle Earth shall he birth this child?" he asked the quiet darkness of their bedroom. How, indeed. Females were the ones to bring children into the world. How then had his gentle Samwise come to be with child?

Frodo imagined a small hobbit child. Slight of frame, like himself. With Sam's golden curls and warm smile. He imagined the child running through the rooms of Bag End, searching for the parent he or she had never met.

Feeling tears springing to his eyes, Frodo refused to think more on the subject. It was a silly though. Sam was healthy, and he was strong. There was no reason why his condition might threaten his life. Right? Even the birth would go smoothly, Frodo tried to reassure himself.

Suddenly feeling the need to be close to Sam, he crawled across the bed, and laying his head against Sam's chest, he listened to the heartbeat there. So strong. He wouldn't allow himself to think of that rhythm ever fading to a halt.

"Well, little one," he whispered. Speaking to Sam's flat stomach. "I wonder if you can hear me?" With a little laugh, he added, "I find myself wonder many things at the moment, actually." He slid his hand over Sam's belly, trying to imagine what it would feel like in a few months time.

Frodo closed his eyes and tried to imagine what his beloved might look like heavy with child. He wondered what it would feel like to feel their child moving beneath Sam's skin. With a small smile on his face, Frodo finally fell asleep, his head on Sam's chest, and his hand protectively over their unborn child.

"Breathe, Sam! Just breathe." Frodo pleaded, watching the green flush run over Sam's face.

"Breathe, he says! And after springing something like this on me!" Sam spoke with his back to Frodo before leaning over the chamber pot and heaving up everything contained in his stomach.

"I did not mean to upset you, dear heart. I only think your Gaffer has a right to know. We will have to tell him eventually. He is not as simple as people give him credit for." Frodo reasoned, trying to calm Sam by rubbing his back softly.

"Frodo, you could have at least given me some time to accept this meself! I've no idea what to tell my Gaffer! How do I explain to him how this could happen?" Sam was so upset he could feel his body tensing once more, threatening to vomit again.

"It's only dinner, Sam, dearest. I suppose we could wait to tell him for a few more weeks, if that would make you feel better."

"A few weeks wont make no difference, love." Sam sighed, leaning back into Frodo's embrace. "He'll still be dreadfully mad. What's he to think of his youngest son trying to explain to him that he's with child?"

Sam could just see the look upon his fathers face, and knew the words that would come from his mouth. He could just hear his Gaffer exclaiming that this condition was due punishment for his running off with Frodo on some blasted adventure. Sam had learned months ago, that his Gaffer would just never be able to grasp the things that Frodo and he had gone through on their quest. He wished his mother were still alive. She, at least, would've understood his need to follow his then master.

He tried to stand up. Pacing always made him feel better when he had to think of something serious. The room spun and he felt lightheaded and was forced to sit down on the bed once more.

Sam tried to accept the inevitable. His Gaffer was coming for dinner that night, and he would have to tell him everything.