Little One
Disclaimer: If I did own LOTR, chances are I wouldn't be writing fanfiction for it. So until order is restored to the universe and they realise that I am, in fact, the rightful owner, the characters, settings etc are not mine… nor am I making a profit out of this.
Chapter 3Drogo Baggins knew that his life had ended.
As Iris swept back through the door to return to her duty, Drogo's senses swept away with her. He did not know if he moved at all, or if he perhaps remained frozen. He could not see. He could not hear. He could not taste or smell or feel. He was an empty shell, already beginning to rot with fear and grief and unforgiving despair.
And then he blinked. That simple automatic contraction and relaxation of muscles achieved what he thought had been impossible. Somehow, he was pulled back into the world of the living. He could see again, though everything was shadowed in a dark and threatening mist. And he knew. This was what he had feared ever since the stillbirth, since he and Primula had been told that the chances of Primula ever giving birth to a healthy child were so very slim. He had feared recurrence. When she had told him that she was pregnant once more, over two years ago now, he had never felt more petrified. His fears had been proven when, barely a month later, Primula had fallen to the ground while they had been out in their garden, blood soaking her lavender skirts.
It had happened again. He had thought their luck had left them, along with their second child. It had been late March when Primula had come to him, telling him of her suspicions that she was once more with child. For some time he had lived in constant fear. Then the first trimester had passed, and they had been told that the baby seemed to be developing just fine. He had been jubilant. The thought that this time they might actually become parents…
And now here he was, in late September, noting dimly how time was bringing him ever closer to the moment when he would have to make the darkest decision…
An insignificant pocket of his mind spared the moment to wonder at how he had gone from standing in a corner to sitting in a chair. Another moment later, Drogo realised that he did not care in the least. He did not care if he stood or sat or was left dangling by his feet from the tallest tree in the Shire. In fact, he did not care about anything at all, save for the two souls that were struggling so desperately for survival beyond closed doors.
It was amazing how very suddenly everything fell into such sharp perspective. In that moment, he knew without a doubt that he loved his wife and unborn child more than he loved himself and everything else he had ever known. The thought that either one of them might not live to see the day through almost shattered his heart and sent him reeling to the ground with the vague hope that it might swallow him up, salvaging him from this place of despair.
And indeed it was despair. For he knew that this time, there was no other way out. It had come down to the cold hard facts of science – a realm where luck was non-existent, and fate was calculated. How he was ever going to make his choice, he knew not. Yet one had to be made, lest he lose everything.
"Drogo?"
Drogo's attention snapped fully back to reality. He blinked his eyes into focus and found that he was surrounded by a concerned ring of faces.
"Are you alright, Drogo?" said Rory carefully, a frown betraying his worry. "You look awfully pale."
"I'm fine," said Drogo, his voice hollow. He wasn't even able to convince himself. As if in response to the thought, beyond the immediate circle of faces, Bilbo snorted.
"If you are fine, then I am an Elf," he said, his face showing no lines of humour. Instead, his warm brown eyes were alight with his own concern. He sought only to understand, and to help however he could. "Come now, Drogo. Tell us what's on your mind. Judging by the look that's been plastered on your face for the last few minutes, I'm guessing that Mistress Clearwater did not bring good news. I would suggest you be out with it now before it eats at you any further."
Bilbo's voice was steady, almost encouraging. Drogo sighed, feeling a slight weight shift from his shoulders. It suddenly felt like a very good idea to confide in Bilbo Baggins. He rose to his feet, agitation apparent in his stiff movements. How could he tell them? How could all this have happened? With initial shock somehow beginning to wear off, he now felt as restless as a young tween. He broke through the ring and began to unconsciously pace again.
"Good news," he muttered darkly. "Good news. What I wouldn't give for a piece of good news to come from that room." His steps quickened and his brows quirked into a concentrated frown. "It wasn't good news at all," he said in a louder voice, addressing his fellow hobbits, though he could not bring himself to look at them directly. His footsteps became heavier and his tongue felt like a leaden weight in his mouth as he forced it to speak words that he so desperately loathed.
"Complications have arisen. Mistress Iris says that both Prim and the baby are having trouble coping." His voice hitched ever so slightly. He pushed himself to continue. "Prim… she's weakening. If in an hour's time not enough… progress has been made, Mistress Iris says they will have to force the baby out." At last, Drogo's voice cracked and he stopped speaking. He had never felt so alone and so painfully afraid. The silence that had suddenly befallen the room hung heavy for several moments. A palpable shock registered in every face and heart that remained in the parlour. For several heartbeats, no one could move.
"There's more, isn't there," said Dinodas Brandybuck slowly, always the perceptive one when it came to his siblings. His voice and words seemed foreign in that time, and uncomfortable glances were diverted to the ground.
"There is," sighed Drogo wearily, his head drooping even further. The next words he forced from his mouth tasted as bitter as blood to him. But he knew they had to be said. He could not deny them any longer. "If it comes to forcing the baby out, only one of them can be saved – either Primula or the baby."
It was as though winter had come early and the room had been frozen. Coldness born of deep fears crept upon the hearts of the gathered hobbits. The weight and tension in the air suddenly fused to become a heavy oppression. Drogo could almost feel that thunderstorm breaking. He could feel the weight of every eye about him rested on his form. He dared to look up. Every face wore an identical expression of shock mingled with denial and fear, and even anger.
"But…" sputtered Saradas, cracking the silence. "But… No! No! It's impossible! Prim was fine before! It… This can't be!"
"I wish you were right," said Drogo hoarsely, no longer even hearing his own voice.
"I am right!" said Saradas, his voice rising. He broke from the group and stepped towards Drogo, his movements almost threatening. "I must be! I know my sister and she wouldn't… She couldn't… I tell you it's impossible! She's too strong! She's been waiting too long for this baby to have everything go to shambles like this. I say you must be wrong. She's a healthy and strong woman. You're wrong!"
Drogo's brown gaze, usually so warm and lively, was now hard and cold. Out of all of Primula's siblings, he and Saradas had never quite seen eye-to-eye. Though they had long ago agreed to forget their differences for Primula's sake, Drogo could not stop the sudden flaring of anger that burst from within him now. "Tell that to the two children she and I have already lost," he forced. Now he was looking Saradas directly in the eye, and his voice was low and challenging. There was a long and awkward silence that lingered like a bad aftertaste in the air. Saradas suddenly did not look so menacing.
"The truth of the matter is," continued Drogo, his voice bitter, yet amazingly, controlled. "That we feared something like this would happen all along. You forget – we have suffered a miscarriage and a stillbirth already, Saradas. And now our third child is five weeks early. While you might be in denial, I can tell you right now that this is very real." His vision blurred as his eyes clouded with tears of a thousand emotions. But he would not let that stop him now. He continued speaking, every syllable weighted with feeling. "And if you really loved your sister, then you would give her the support she needs. She does not need her brother losing his head."
There was another pause as Drogo's eyes bored into Saradas. The hobbit stood still for a moment like a caught animal, before finally nodding slowly, his expression now one of shame. It was very rare that he backed down from an argument, but it was even more rare that Drogo would speak thus. "I'm sorry," he choked. "You are right."
"What happens now, Drogo?" asked Bilbo quietly, his gentle tone breaking the lingering tension in the room. His anger suddenly dispelled, Drogo sighed miserably as his mind was brought back to the choice that stood before him.
"I have to choose between them," he said despondently. "In an hour's time Mistress Iris will come back and I must tell her which life is to be saved."
"WHAT?"
Everyone turned to regard the future Master of Buckland in surprise. Saradoc Brandybuck rarely raised his voice in such open fury. "I'm sorry," he said in a hard voice, looking to Drogo. Though it was not towards his uncle that the tween's anger was directed. "But how could she possibly give you such a decision to make? No one should have to choose between wife and child, and especially not in a situation like this. Tell me, how she could possibly expect anyone to do it?"
"I don't know," said Drogo morosely. "But I must make a choice all the same. Such is the responsibility given to me."
"But still," said Paladin with a frown. "It is an impossibly difficult choice. How would any one of us choose in such a position?"
"I don't know," said Drogo, slumping into a nearby chair, suddenly weary beyond reckoning. "How do I choose?"
Iris sighed as she closed the bedroom door behind her. Thankfully there had not been many occasions throughout her career where she had been in such a situation as she was now. It almost broke her heart having to give such terrible news to a family when it was supposed to be a joyous occasion. But such were the obstacles of life. One never knew what fate would serve next. But all the same, she still hated placing such a heavy burden on the shoulders of the father. For a man to have to choose between his wife and child was an evil decision that should never have to be made. Iris almost wished she could make the decision for Mr Baggins instead. But her policies would not allow it. If ever it came to the crossroads, then the choice had to be made by the father. That was how it had been ever since she had become an independent midwife. She could not make an exception now.
Dutifully she conducted another quick examination of Primula. Nothing had changed. She sighed again, relieving Menegilda from her task. It was going to be a very long day.
The minutes had been ticking by, slowly but surely. The group of men that sat in the Master's quarters had all fallen quiet and contemplative. Almost three quarters of an hour had passed since Iris had delivered the news, and still Drogo was no nearer to making his decision.
"Surely you should choose the one most likely to live?" said Dodinas, who had no wife or children of his own. At the breach in quiet, the others looked up, startled by the sudden voice after all had been still for so long. "You know – support the strongest cause? If one of them is going to die anyway…" His voice trailed off, choking slightly. He had been looking forward as much as the next hobbit to greeting Primula's child. She had wanted a family of her own more than anything. The thought of his youngest sister having to live childless was one he did not dare entertain. But the thought of himself living without Prim…
"In that case," said Dinodas slowly, who had also remained a bachelor. "You should choose the weaker one. Maybe the stronger one will still be able to pull through on their own anyway?" His voice carried little conviction, and his shoulders sagged slightly.
"I don't know," said Drogo hesitantly. "I got the impression that one of them would…" The words suddenly caught in his throat. He forced the wave of nausea and emotion that swelled up inside of him back down to the deepest pit of his stomach. He forced himself to speak again, though his voice was barely more than a whisper. "That one of them would definitely die."
There was another uncomfortable pause. Saradoc squirmed restlessly in his chair. He knew that he was not yet of age, and that he had not quite the knowledge and experience of the older men about him. Quite frankly he hoped that he never had to go through what Drogo Baggins was going through now.
His thoughts drifted to Esmeralda. He might not have as much life experiences, but he did know what it was to be in love. And he cared very much for Drogo and Primula. His father's youngest sister was probably his favourite aunt out of the numerous ones he had on both his father's and mother's sides of the family. Amaranth and Asphodel were strict and rather formidable – uncannily similar to his own mother at times. But Primula had always been a gentle spirit, quick to help others, and quick to smile and laugh. Saradoc had been looking forward to meeting her new baby just as much as everyone else. He felt nothing but the utmost sympathy for the couple at finding themselves in such a plight. He looked over to Drogo, seeing that the older hobbit looked to be on the very verge of a breakdown. Saradoc didn't think it would be much different if it was himself.
The thought gave him pause. What if it was himself and his Essie? He could not even begin to imagine. Would he be able to choose between his child and Esmeralda? The very thought seemed impossible to comprehend. He loved Esmeralda more than anyone and anything else, and had always pictured spending the rest of his life with her. They had been courting for a while now, and both knew that once they were of age, they would be marrying. But even now Saradoc knew that he would not be able to live without her. If she were to die, it would break him beyond repair…
But what of the baby? He knew he would not be able to condemn his child to death, especially when it had not yet even met the world. He would never be able to forgive himself, not to mention how his Essie would feel…
But then another thought struck Saradoc. Ever the rational and logical mind, he wondered further about the baby. Just how long would a premature baby survive without its mother? Not too long, he imagined. Especially if it was already finding it difficult to cope when it had not even been born yet.
Saradoc shivered at the thought, looking across to his uncle. He was still pacing, his expression intensely concentrated. Shadows haunted his eyes and his skin was pale. He looked scared. Saradoc didn't blame him in the least. He would be terrified if he was Drogo. He probably wouldn't even be able to stand, let alone think straight…
"Drogo?"
The older hobbit looked up, startled from his dark trance. He looked over at Saradoc. The tween was looking uncomfortable, though there was a definite glint of self-assurance. Drogo had seen this look before. Saradoc was a hobbit mature beyond his years. Rorimac had pushed him hard and taught him well to prepare him for his future position as Master of Buckland and Brandy Hall. But he had not yet grown truly comfortable or confident with speaking his mind – especially when his thoughts were about a matter that concerned his elders. Nevertheless, Drogo had learned to respect the younger hobbit's opinions. But this time, judging by the look on Saradoc's face, Drogo wasn't sure if he would like what was about to be said.
"What is it, lad?" he asked wearily.
"I know it's not exactly my place to say," began the future Master carefully. His voice was low, as though he felt guilty for his thoughts. Yet his eyes looked into his cousin's, his gaze never faltering. "But… I think you should choose to save Aunt Prim."
For a long moment Drogo held Saradoc's gaze. The tween felt himself flushing as he sensed the other men looking at him too.
"I don't think she would survive for much longer, knowing that we have lost another child." Drogo's voice was hollowed once more, his gaze becoming heavy with sorrow.
"You might be right," agreed Saradoc. "But… I think she would live longer than your baby would. I mean-" he hurried on, sensing an interruption of some sort. "How long could a premature babe last without its mother? I don't know much about this sort of thing, but I've heard that those who are born too early have to stay with their mothers all the time until they're stronger. And if your little one doesn't have Aunt Primmie around…"
Saradoc's voice trailed off and he looked down at his hands. He had said too much. He knew it. Drogo continued to stare at him, a frown blossoming on his features. It was hard to say whether it originated from deep thought, disapproval or something else. But at last he sighed, and sank into a nearby chair.
"I can understand your point, Saradoc," he said, his voice edging on tightness. "But I'm not sure that I can so quickly condemn my own son or daughter. After all… Prim would want me to choose our babe, I'm sure of it."
Saradoc opened his mouth, looking to protest. But his father cut him short. "That's enough, Saradoc," Rory said sharply. "You've said your part." Looking to his father, Saradoc did not doubt that his was a frown of disapproval.
"He does have a point, though, Rory," said Bilbo quietly, looking thoughtful. "And Drogo… though I can understand you wanting to think of your wife's wishes, I don't doubt that nearly any woman would choose her child's life over her own."
"You are probably right," said Drogo, a hint of impatience edging into his tone. "But-"
Again, any protests were cut short, though this time by the sound of an opening door. Every face snapped around to see Esmeralda standing in the doorway to the study. Her face was pale and her green eyes were dull with exhaustion, but wide with fear. Her hands and arms, which were dripping with water, trembled slightly as nimble fingers worried frenetically at her skirts.
"Drogo!" she said breathlessly. "You must come at once! Mistress Iris says that the hour's up and you have to come now. Primula's been calling for you. She-"
Esmeralda got no further before Drogo was pushing past her and making his way to his wife. She watched him as he opened the bedroom door behind him. For a brief moment, a strangled yell of agony tore through the air like a whip.
Then all within the room was still. A sharp snap announced the bedroom door closing once more. Silence reigned in the parlour.
Drogo had taken all of one step into a place of chaos. He had been in this room many times before, but now, it was unrecognisable. His mind could not register what he was seeing. His senses reeled. The only thing he could comprehend was the sight directly before him. Primula lay on her old bed, white as death and drenched in sweat. Her fair face was contorted in pain. Drogo yearned to go to her, to pick up her white hand and hold it in his own. He wanted nothing more than to sit by her and brush the sweat-drenched curls from her face. But something had rendered him immobile. He was stone. He could no longer feel or hear or taste or smell or think. He could only see his wife.
And then he saw Iris Clearwater. She stepped in front of his line of vision, her mouth moving though Drogo could discern no words. She frowned at him, then turned her attention around to Primula for a moment, bringing his wife back into his line of sight. Drogo felt a slight pang of fleeting relief. He never wanted to have his wife taken from his sight again. Ever.
He continued to stare at her. Her lips moved. She had called his name. Pushing past Iris, Drogo at last moved to the bedside, sitting in a chair that had been hastily vacated by Asphodel. He found Primula's hand, and clasped it gently in both of his own. Her face turned to him, and a weak smile floated on her wan lips. She squeezed his hand, the simple movement conveying to him all that he needed to know. She was exhausted, and she was terrified. But she was thankful beyond words that he was now with her.
Drogo sensed Iris's presence beside him again. She was kneeling by his chair, and looking intently into his face. As Primula's eyes clenched shut again with another explosion of pain that ripped through her body, Drogo tore one eye from her, keeping her still within his peripheral vision. Looking into Iris's face, he wished he had not moved. Her expression was grim and her lips pursed tight.
Drogo Baggins knew that his life had ended.
A/N: goodness gracious could this possibly be an update? lol. i have to begin by saying how terribly sorry i am for taking so long to update. i'm afraid it's the same excuse though - school has been hell. exams are coming up and study leave is beginning soon, so the pressure's really on. but i hope you all enjoy this chapter, and hope it's not too... i dunno. but i can understand if anyone thinks it sounds too controversial or unrealistic or insensitive. i myself am only 16 and don't know what it's like to be in a situation like this, so i'm only writing from my imagination. but again, i am deeply sorry if this does offend anyone.
Baggins'babe: it's my worst nightmare too. i kinda feel bad just writing it... but i hope you still enjoy the writing! lol.
Breon Briarwood: and things keep seeming to get worse. i feel so bad for what i put all these characters through! i hope you could wait long enough for this. i was glad to hear, btw, that your fingers have all grown back. just don't go chewing them all off again. no need to get into nasty habbits. ;-)
Iorhael: the fact that we know how it'll turn out is kind of a relief, in my opinion. ;-) i'm glad to see you're still interested though:D i'm just as interested as you to know how this is going to end... well... i'm sure you know what i mean. ;-)
Kaewi: i think the edge off the cliffhanger is a bit of a relief to me too. and thank you very much for the lovely compliment about the writing. you're making me blush! )
lovethosehobbits: my goodness! THIRTY-SIX HOURS? i give you a standing ovation! you must be a superwoman! i seriously do feel in awe of mothers. happy mother's day, btw, for sunday. D i hope you were spoiled rotten! you deserve it! 36 hours... ;-) (hope you continue to enjoy this fic, btw)
Nimrodel of Meneltarma: thank you for your support. i have to tell you, it really has been torture abandoning my fics like i have. but at least i've been able to send this chapter through. ) and don't worry about the spelling mistakes! i'm actually about to take my french oral exam on wednesday. got any tips? lol. ;-) hope you enjoy this chapter though...
Tulip Proudfoot: i think my jaw's dropping a bit too. i think there must be something wrong with my head, the things i think up. lol. i hope this fic still continues to hold your interest though. )
willofthering: your update is served! lol. hope you still enjoy it. and sorry again for taking so long to update!