Little One

Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own LOTR. All the characters, places etc belong to people who are not me… Don't look at me like that!… What do you mean, I'm kidnapping them!

Chapter 4

It was as though a spell had been cast. For several long moments that seemed to have frozen with the clocks, Bilbo Baggins rather hoped that Gandalf could turn people into stone, and was playing a somewhat ill favoured joke. After all, the wizard did like to make an entrance, from time to time. Bilbo glanced over to the nearest window, almost going so far as wishing to see his old friend's familiar face. But instead, all he saw was silver hills flecked with green, and a pale yellow horizon. The Sun was beginning her great ascent into the skies. A new day had come at last.

Bilbo sighed heavily, falling back into his seat as slow realisation crawled into his weary mind. He was seventy-eight years old today.

Of course, he had brought birthday presents with him to distribute among his friends and relatives, and a few more just in case. Before he had left Hobbiton for Brandy Hall, he had given presents to those he knew he would not see until he returned home. However, the majority of gifts he was to give this year had been for hobbits he knew would be in Buckland. But now, with the Hall filled with such anxiety, tension and even despair, it felt so terribly cruel that today should ever have been a day for celebrating someone's birth.

Shifting his gaze from the slowly lightening landscape to the hobbits sitting and standing about him, he knew now that there was only one gift he wanted them to receive on this day. Taking in their sombre expressions, fused with various degrees of denial, Bilbo sighed again. None of this was right. Today, they should have been celebrating two birthdays. Drogo and Primula deserved that much.

Almost restlessly, he continued to look around him. Esmeralda still stood in the doorway to the study, her usually sunny face looking awkward and fretful. Saradoc was only halfheartedly trying to lead her to his vacated seat. "Have a seat, Essie," he begged. "You look like you could fall asleep on the spot. You need to look after yourself, you know."

"Look after myself?" choked Esmeralda, her voice trembling and high. "How can I possibly think of myself when Prim is so close to having the baby? I really should be in there helping! Saradoc let me go back to her!"

Saradoc gave a frustrated sigh and tried again to coax her into having a rest, completely ignoring her pleas. She looked to be half in shock, the flaring of the argumentative side of her Took heritage being a clear indicator that she was coming to the end of her rope. But whatever argument he himself put up, his words completely washed over Bilbo. The old hobbit was staring hard at Esmeralda, a frown belittling his face. He rose once more to his feet, his shoulders tensed. One hand crept into a pocket in his waistcoat and began fiddling with the trinket within distractedly.

"What did you just say, Essie?" he said, his voice low.

"I said that I'm fine," said Esmeralda, her tone more biting. "I don't need to take a rest."

"No – before that."

"How can I possibly think of myself when Prim is so close to having the baby?"

"Yes," said Bilbo. "That. Do you mean to say that the baby is almost born?"

"Yes," said Esmeralda, looking slightly surprised. "We've finally had some progress. Mistress Iris doesn't think it should take too much longer now before the baby's born. But she's still very worried, of course. Prim's fighting like anything, though she still isn't looking too good. I think it's the baby they're more worried about now."

"You mean they both might make it alive?" exclaimed Saradas, jumping to his feet. The mood of the room shifted. The tension mounted, though now it was one swelling with hope.

"Well…" said Esmeralda carefully. "Both Prim and the baby still have quite a way to go yet before they're out of the woods, so to speak. And like I said, Mistress Iris is still worried. But since things have progressed to the next stage, I'd say the chances of both surviving have probably increased."

The sudden blast of sound that exploded within the parlour was enough to send two young maids, who had been outside sweeping the hall, scuttling.

For a small pocket of moments, Iris felt more concerned for the wellbeing of the father than she did for the mother and child. Drogo's complete lack of response – although not entirely surprising – was beginning to worry her. When he finally looked her straight in the eye, she saw fully how hollowed and haunted his gaze was. He was in shock.

"Mr Baggins?" she said sharply. Drogo blinked a few times before his eyes slowly came into focus. He did not speak. "Mr Baggins, are you feeling quite alright?"

Iris could almost see the wheels slowly turning in Drogo's mind. "Eglantine," she said impatiently. "Get Mr Baggins some water, please. She glanced up only to assure herself that Eglantine had heard, before redirecting her gaze back to the hobbit before her.

"Mr Baggins," she tried again. "I need you to listen to me very carefully. I will not lie to you. I would much prefer it if you were back outside with the other men where you belong. I think you would only get in the way here. But your wife has been begging for you to be by her side. Right now, the need to keep her as calm as possible overrules tradition. But if you are not feeling well, and if you are not going to do as I say, then I'm afraid you will have to leave. We can not afford any mistakes right now. Do you understand?"

She looked deeply into Drogo's eyes. They really were a lovely shade of brown; as solid as the earth itself, she almost fancied. The midwife had no doubt that when he was in higher spirits, or even just his usual self, that Drogo's eyes would have the most cheering spring sparkle. But now…

She felt as though she were falling through his gaze, tumbling out of control through that void of confusion and chaos that would only ever be seen in a child's eyes. Children were so blissfully ignorant to the cold realities that often came with adulthood. Such an expression of utter bewilderment only could come to one lost in a world of swarming adults. Iris privately mourned that look which she saw in Drogo Baggins' eyes. It felt like a splinter to her heart to think that he had no understanding of what was happening around him. Poor fool. It was not really an adult's place to feel thus, though she knew the man could not help it. Her misgivings for his presence in the bedroom increased. This was not going to work.

But then, as she pulled herself out of her brief reverie, she realised that things had changed. That look in Drogo's eyes was melting away. Grim determination thinned his stubborn mouth into a fine line. He gave a jerk of his head. He understood. She nodded her head in response.

"Good," she said, brisk manner returning as she looked back to Primula. "I will be straight with you, Mr Baggins. Your wife's situation has improved a little. She is about to enter the second stage of the birth."

"She's improved?" exclaimed Drogo brightly. For the first time since entering the room, he gave Iris his full attention for but a moment as he awarded her a sunny smile. The world suddenly seemed a much better place for him having heard those words. Seeing her audience's attention so fully concentrated on her, Iris quickly opened her mouth to continue, only to find that she was too late. With a patience-seeking glance to the ceiling above, she pasted her most severe frown on her face and planted her hands firmly on her hips.

"Mr Baggins!"

She used her sharpest tone and succeeded in making the other women about her jump. Drogo, on the other hand, was utterly lost to her attempts as he told his wife lovingly how proud he was of her to have found such strength to continue on how she could. "In a moment, Mistress Clearwater," he said vaguely in response to the midwife.

"Mr Baggins do you wish to remain in this room or shall I ask Amaranth to take you out?"

That did it. Iris had been a friend of the Master's family for many years, and she always gave an ear to what gossip they shared with her. She had heard all about Drogo's fear of Amaranth Brandybuck and her legendary moods. All the better for her that Amaranth appeared to be in one of those moods now. With a consternated frown, Drogo looked back up to Iris. "What is it?" he asked shortly.

"As I was saying," continued the midwife, emphasising each word to ensure her audience's engagement held. "Your wife is about to enter the second stage of her labour."

For a moment there was an odd pause. Drogo's frown morphed to one of confusion as he peered up at her, apparently completely lost on what he had just heard.

"It comes in stages?"

Men. Purely exasperating creatures.

"Yes. And Primula is about to start the next one. The pushing one."

"Oh."

Apparently she had found a language she could work with. "Yes. Unfortunately, it means that there is still the large possibility that something could go wrong. Now, I would like you to take a good look at where you are currently positioned in this room."

Drogo's face dissolved into downright bewilderment. This was why men were not allowed in the birthing room. Iris suppressed another roll of the eyes and waited as patiently as she could while Drogo's eyes darted about the room, taking in his surroundings.

"As you may have noted," said Iris. "You are currently seated in a chair next to the bed. From now on until I say otherwise, you are to stay in that chair. Under no circumstances whatsoever are you to leave it – no matter what happens – unless I specifically say to you to move elsewhere. Do you understand me?"

"Yes…"

"Good. From your position in your chair, you are allowed to comfort your wife. You may hold her hand and touch her face and talk to her, but unless she or I say otherwise, you may not come into physical contact with her in any other way. Do you understand?"

"Yes…"

"Excellent. Now understand this – in a few moments, I will be asking your wife to push. When this happens, I will be needing to focus all of my attention on her and the baby. That means that you must not interrupt myself or anyone else unless it is a real emergency. Do you understand?"

Drogo opened his mouth, about to respond, when Menegilda cut him off. "Iris, she's ready."

The midwife looked from Primula to Menegilda, then to the other women in the room. They were all looking to her now, waiting for her command. She knew what she had to do.

"Eglantine, Amaranth," she said. "I don't know what's become of her, but if you would join Esmeralda outside this room, please."

"Excuse me?"

Unsurprisingly, it was Amaranth who looked to be preparing for battle. That woman had more fire than a forgery, sometimes, and Iris mentally cursed its outbreak now. "You heard me," she said, her voice even.

"I'm not going anywhere."

Iris turned then, facing Amaranth Brandybuck. Her patience was surely about to snap at any moment. "Mistress Brandybuck," she said. "Your sister is about to give birth to her first child. I'll remind you that this has already proven to be a complicated labour. I know you are Primula's sister, and I know you want to be here for her right now. However, you are not going to help by staying in this room. It is already overcrowded in here and I need as much room to work as I can get. You are not as experienced in childbirth as Menegilda, Asphodel and myself. Your absence, and the absences of Eglantine and Esmeralda, can be afforded. Do not argue with me on this. Your sister and her child cannot afford the time."

It took only one more look to Primula for Amaranth to consent. With a quick bow of her head, and a swish of her skirts, she left the room without a word. She did not trust herself to speak. Eglantine followed her closely, worrying at her skirts all the while. Iris expelled a sigh of relief as the door closed, and turned back to Drogo. "Do you understand all that I have said to you?"

"Yes."

"Do you have any questions?"

His previous feelings of delight now all but evaporated, Drogo returned his gaze to his wife, and mutely shook his head. Prim's face was contorted in a silent agony as he assumed another contraction ripped through her body. He could not remember another time when he had felt more pity – or more admiration – for the strength of women. Without being fully conscious of it, he brought Primula's hand – still wrapped within his own – to his lips and kissed it. She opened her eyes then, and looked up at him. He thought he tried to conjure an encouraging smile to his face. He never knew if he succeeded.

"Primula?"

It was time. The youngest of the Master's siblings looked up at the midwife. "When the next contraction comes, I'm going to need you to push as hard as you can, alright?"

Primula nodded. Biting furiously on her bottom lip, she squeezed her husband's hand, and held out her other. In a heartbeat, it was captured by Asphodel's. "This is it, Primmie," said her sister softly. "Soon you're going to be a mama."

"We'll finally have our own child," added Drogo.

"Drogo… Delly…" Primula's cracked whisper was cut off by her own cry as the familiar pain shocked through her. On instinct, she clutched Drogo and Asphodel's hands harder, desperately, wanting it all to go away. She was so tired… weak and shaky… It was like she had a bad bout of flu – but worse… foreign… From a great distance, she thought she heard voices calling to her, telling her things she probably should have been listening to. Such was truly beyond her in this moment. No clear thoughts could penetrate her fevered mind as she faced the onslaught of agony.

But then suddenly, she felt her body sag. The pain receded a little. The realisation came that she had recovered the ability to open her eyes. The contraction had passed. Her ears unblocked. "Good, Primula," Iris was saying. "You're doing well. Keep it up-"

Primula had barely processed the words before she felt another wave of pain crash within and around her. A scream ripped through the close air of the room, flying out like a plague around the Master's Quarters. A bead of sweat dribbled down her face. Once more, her ears felt an impression of voices about her. Again, she could not comprehend what sounds they formed. Truly, she did not care. Every nerve within her was focused on nature's gift of instinct to an impending mother. She was able to recognise a flutter of relief as she realised her body seemed to mostly know what to do. She did not have to think.

But hardly had the relief within her become known when another sensation gripped her. Panic. The pain was not stopping. She thought it should have dimmed again, by now. It had not. Instead, it seemed only to continue swelling. Her entire abdomen felt to be on the very brink of exploding. Suddenly, she couldn't breathe. Instinct kicked in. Something was wrong.

"My baby…"

Drogo and Asphodel felt the change before Primula's gasp fell to their ears. They looked across at each other, a flaring of fear dancing across their features. As one they looked back down at their Prim. Tears were coursing down her cheeks. Her breath choked out. Her jaw was locked in a silent scream – her expression of agony paralysed. The pain was becoming too much.

"Iris…" Asphodel's shaky inquiry brought Iris's gaze up from her position. She saw Primula, and cursed under her breath.

"Breathe, Primula!" she said loudly. "Stay with us! You're getting there. Keep breathing!"

"Hurts…" Primula's sob was feeble, childlike. Drogo felt his heart cracking to hear it. Tears slid silently down Asphodel's face.

"Come, love," said Drogo softly in his wife's ear. "Not much longer to go now. Just think of what it will feel like to hold your very own babe."

Primula retched out a sob. Drogo's words rang in her ears, fusing with the sound of her own scream as she felt the pain intensifying yet again, and she knew she had to push. His words tugged on the edges of her mind, and she relived the explicit bliss that had surged through her when she had realised that she was pregnant again. She saw in her mind Drogo's jubilant face when she had told him the news. The past months replayed in her memory as she watched her belly gradually swelling with the life that developed within. All throughout, she had been so sure that this time would see her with her own living child – at long last. Such knowledge came from the same unnamed source that told her that this time would also be her last chance to have a family of her own.

Resolve hardened within her. She wanted this baby too much to let anything happen to it now. White hot lights like fireworks crackled behind her clenched eyelids as she summoned the very last drops of energy left to her. Menegilda's voice suddenly filtered through her ears.

"I can see the head!"

Drogo and Asphodel remained tense and still, their breath hitching in their throats. They didn't realise when their hands lost all feeling as Primula squeezed them with a renewed fire. Her scream pierced the room, making the very air tremble.

"Push, Primula! Push!"

No one knew if she heard. Beyond the walls, in the Master's sitting room, every hobbit gathered was on their feet, every pair of eyes staring intently through the open door into the study, and further ahead to the closed door from which the cries spilled forth. Only Bilbo was aware when a new warmth gently grazed his cheek. He looked around for a source, only to be dazzled by an explosion of colour and light. Dawn had come.

Behind closed doors, as the Sun's glory filtered through the lone round window, a second cry filled the bedroom.

The sound was small and broken. Iris knew she would have to work quickly. On the bed before her, Primula's body slumped. Her face was shining with a sheen of sweat and tears, her cheeks flushed with high roses of colour. She could not move. She could not remember ever feeling so exhausted, weak and shaky. Her grip on her husband and sister's hands loosened. It took some moments before it registered that they did not loosen their grip in return. She lifted her eyes, looking up into Drogo's face. He did not look back down at her. His gaze was concentrated on the end of the bed, his intense expression frozen. Primula followed his eyes and felt all the breath left in her expel in a shuddering sob.

She could not see her baby, but she could see what Iris Clearwater did to it. Fresh tears streamed down her face as she watched the midwife unwrap the umbilical cord from around her baby's neck. Three times. Suddenly she knew; her baby could not breathe properly.

Carefully and with a measured practice, Iris cleared the tiny airways. The small face was blue, the body's movements becoming weaker. The chest convulsed, but no sound came out. Silence flooded the room. Nobody seemed to breathe.

Iris was the only one that moved as she continued her work. She unblocked the tiny nostrils, then the small mouth. Airways cleared, she wrapped the teeny body in a towel to wipe it clean from its gruelling journey. She could only pray that the movements of her ministrations would be enough to partly shock the little one into breathing properly on its own.

Nine painstaking heartbeats passed before the silence of the room was shattered by a fragile cough, followed immediately by the sound that Drogo and Primula had longed to hear for many years. Their tiny little baby began crying again, the sound no longer choked, but simply alerting the world to its current displeasure. Gently, and with a bright smile that completely transformed her traditionally stern features, Iris transferred the newborn to a wrapping of the softest of blankets, and moved to the bedside, cradling her dear cargo carefully.

"Primula," she said softly. "Drogo, I'd like you to meet your son."

Now pale, and worn far beyond what words could describe, Primula gave a strangled sob of joy as Iris placed into her arms her own little lad.

He was exceptionally small. One wiry arm struggled out of the swaddling and began waving about, not entirely sure what to make of all this new space. Savouring the moment for all eternity, Primula brought her baby closer to her, feeling with a deep reverence its body heat, and each movement it made. Softly, she kissed his head, already dusted with a few wisps of dark curls. Her eyes shuttered closed as her other senses marked this experience to treasure for always.

"It's alright," she murmured. "You're safe now, my little one. You're safe."

"Little one?" said Menegilda quietly. She had moved to Asphodel's side, and looked upon the scene with a smile. "That's hardly a fit name for such a fine lad."

"What are you going to name him?" asked Asphodel. Primula opened her eyes, looking to her husband. He sat on the edge of the bed, one arm draped around her shoulders. His eyes were wide, his gaze fixed on their son. Never before had he seen such a precious miracle – such a tiny being. And his wife – his own dear Prim – she had brought him their little miracle. Their son.

He had not thought it possible to love anything more than he loved his wife. Primula had been his world for some years already. But in those cherished moments, as dawn's glory illuminated the room and the baby's cries died down to soft gurgles, Drogo fell in love all over again, both with his wife, and his son. "He does need a name, doesn't he?" he said at last, not taking his eyes from the bundle. "What did we say again, Prim? Primrose if it was a lass…"

"We never decided on a name for a lad," said Primula quietly.

"You had better hurry up and choose one then," Menegilda teased gently. "We can't present a nameless babe to the family."

"Well," said Drogo. "He is a Baggins, so his name must end in 'o'."

"All your siblings' names start with 'd'," said Primula. "Dudo carried that on with Daisy. Shall we do the same?" Looking up at her husband, she noted the change in his expression. His countenance became suddenly thoughtful. Looking down at his son, he shook his head slowly.

"I don't think his name should start with 'd'," he said quietly. "Like you said, Dudo already carried on that tradition with Daisy. If… if it's alright with you, my love… I'd like it if his name started with 'f'."

"For Fosco," said Primula softly. Drogo nodded. It had been some years since Drogo's father had passed on, and he had grieved long for his loss. He had loved his father dearly. Primula had quickly grown to appreciate similar affections herself for the kind old hobbit. She knew how much it would mean to Drogo to see his father's memory honoured.

"Of course his name can begin with 'f'," she said. "I still think there should be a 'd' in there somewhere, though."

"Fdo Baggins, now, is it?" commented Asphodel lightly. She lost her internal battle and grinned down at her sister who promptly scowled back up at her. "Please tell me there's more yet to come."

"Be quiet, Delly," said Primula. "This is no laughing matter."

"I'm not the one who is making it such," replied Asphodel, though very, very quietly.

"How about you honour the father of the babe more?" suggested Iris gently.

"What do you mean?" asked Drogo, looking startled.

"By having your son's name have similar sounds to your own," explained Iris. "It is a common device used when naming lads. It tells everyone who the proud father is, at least. And the mother, when it comes to it."

There was a quiet pause as everyone considered this. Primula gazed back down at her little lad, now peacefully asleep in her arms. Her lips tugged up into a smile of complete adoration. When she had pictured what her child would look like, she had always imagined the Baggins features to be dominant. But now, as she looked on at the common baby features that would later mature and develop, she thought she caught a hint of a more delicate face. A refined nose, a defined jaw, wide eyes. Brandybuck features. Her smile widened. Combine that with Baggins features, and her little lad was going to be chasing away the lasses – that she was certain of. He would surely need a good name to suit him. Something dignified sounding, befitting for one that came from two such prominent families. She considered Iris's words.

Drogo…

The beloved name whispered to her, and immediately, almost inexplicably, another followed it.

Frodo…

Like a content sigh on the wind, it danced about in her ears, playful and bright, with a soft eloquence – soothing and strong all at once. She loved it already. She wanted to say it over and over. It rolled around in her mind, and as it did, she fancied she spied distant visions. She could not make them out, but echo back to her they did, hinting at grand things. Was her lad going to become Mayor, perhaps? Or would he become the best there was in a skill of sorts? She could not quite tell, but all the same, she knew without doubt that her son was going to grow up to do great things. Best he have a strong name – befitting of what future deeds he would do.

"Frodo," she said aloud. About her, the others stirred. As one, each face turned to gaze upon the sleeping babe.

"Frodo…" murmured Drogo thoughtfully. He smiled brightly, kissing his wife's forehead. "I love it."

"Frodo Baggins…" tried Menegilda. She too smiled. In Primula's arms, the tiny babe stirred. "It seems he likes it too."

"Certainly a lot better than Fdo," said Asphodel, her eyes glistening with a teasing sparkle. Primula chuckled softly, not having the energy to reprimand her sister.

"So be it," said Iris. "Welcome to the world, Frodo son of Drogo, born at dawn on the 22nd of September."

"Is that really the date?" said Drogo in surprise. "Our little lad shares the same birthday as Bilbo."

"I think he would like that," mumbled Primula with a tired smile. She felt herself sinking deeper into the bed as the last of her energy left her. Sleep beckoned.

"Frodo Baggins," said Drogo. He paused, gazing at his son with the loving, proud smile that only a father knows. Seeing his wife beginning to drift off at last, he carefully took the babe from her arms, holding him in his own for the first time. As emotions swirled within him, his smile suddenly split into a grin. He looked up at the other women in the room. "Please let me be the one to tell Amaranth."

Quiet laughter filled the room. Drogo sat back down in his seat with his precious charge while Menegilda and Asphodel left to make the announcement and send for Amaranth. Iris lingered, performing sweeping checks over Primula and Frodo to ensure that all was well. Then she too departed to see to a cradle being brought to the room.

As Primula gave in fully to the lulling song of sleep at last, she found that she still smiled. She never thought she would be so blessed. She had her own family at last. But even as the thought surfaced, even as she passed into the realm of slumber, she could have sworn that she smelt a hint of the Sea.

TBC

A/N: Before anything else, I just want to say that I am not a mother, doctor, obstetrician, midwife etc.I don't know if I've been medically correct in any descriptions, so please forgive me for any mistakes. There's either going to be one more chapter before the epilogue, or just the epilogue to come - I haven't decided yet. But either way, the end is in sight, lol. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. )

Baggins'babe - Thank you for the well wishing! D As it turns out, I got an A overall in my French exams, and didn't do too badly in everything else, so I'm tres happy about that, lol. But I hope this chapter continues to live up to the hype - you and the other reviewers have been giving me such lovely compliments. ) Hope you enjoy.

Breon Briarwood - I apologise for any hurt caused, but things are getting better now, so hopefully that makes up a bit for it )

JennMel - Presenting the next chapter ;-) Sorry about the delay in updating, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. And thank you very much for the lovely compliment! D Hopefully the next chapter will come along soon.

Kaewi - Phew! I'm glad. Thanks for the reassurance! ) Sorry about the delay in updating, btw. I really am terrible at that, aren't I, lol. I offer this chapter now as a peace offering... Don't ask how that works... --'

Larner - I'm so sorry to hear of your loss. I can't imagine how hard it must be for you. But thank you for the lovely encouragement. It's always great to get compliments from other authors. )

lexi - LOL! Glad to hear I'm not in danger of having you as a stalker, then. hehehehe. And thank you for the thought. ;-)

lovethosehobbits - you're making me bluch! I mean blush! blushes even more lol. This story has been a challenge to write, as I've never been in such a situation, so it's encouraging to hear that I've not been doing abysmally. D But at least Drogo's feeling MUCH happier now.