Disclaimers. The usual. I make no money off of this and do not own these characters, much to my chagrin. They belong to Tolkien Enterprises and New Line Productions, and I only give them interesting---and usually unpleasant---ways to spend their time
Note: Part of an ongoing series of vignettes set in Minas Tirith post-quest.
****
The sweet sound of birdsong emanating from the trees of Ithilien, plus Sam's gentle snoring nearby, was suddenly interrupted by the rustling of leather and a rough-sounding, low voice at Frodo's pointed ear.
"Frodo, we must talk."
Comfortably ensconced in a comfortable bed within one of the largest tents, the hobbit gazed down at his hands, examining his grimy bitten nails---all nine of them---before directing his eyes toward the swollen contours of his midsection. Ah, yes, it was definitely noticeable, and Frodo supposed it was inevitable that this conversation must eventually come. Among other things, he thought wryly.
"Frodo," Aragorn repeated, his voice more gentle now as he settled next to Frodo on a low stool, "when we rescued you from Mt. Doom, we did not expect to find this." He reached out a hand to lightly rub Frodo's belly, and the hobbit had to fight to keep from squirming. Aragorn's touch might stir up strong feelings again . . . and some way or other, Frodo had to let him go. "There were certainly no indications of your condition when we parted at Amon Hen."
"You just didn't ever notice," Frodo said crossly, "because I wore my jacket all the time and suffered all my morning sickness in Rivendell while you were off with Elladan and Elrohir. And it just sort of . . . became noticeable the past month."
"I am sorry I was remiss in picking up on such things, but I had many responsibilities. And you . . . you should definitely not have undertaken the quest in such a state. I take it this happened in Rivendell . . . have you an idea of when the child is due?"
Frodo glared at him, unable to keep from feeling a little cranky and tired. "Don't ask me! The carrying time for hobbits apparently doesn't last the same amount of time as humans,' from what Lord Elrond told me. And since this child is a halfbreed . . . only the Valar know when it will come. As for the quest . . . well, I could hardly announce to all of Rivendell that I was with child, now, could I?"
"So, you did tell Elrond. You might have told me, at least. We could have made preparations . . ."
Folding his arms, Frodo leveled his best no-nonsense stare at the man. "Lord Elrond is too canny and figured it out on his own . . . but I didn't tell him who the baby's father was. And . . . you owe me nothing, you know . . . I plan on going back to the Shire when I'm well enough and having the baby there. I've still the house at Crickhollow and plenty of relatives who will be overjoyed at the prospect of a little one underfoot."
Aragorn's eyes turned dark with concern, and perhaps, a bit of anger. "You'll do no such thing, Frodo, not if I have any say. This child should never even have survived the quest . . . he or she is a blessing."
"I cannot interfere with your duties to your kingdom."
"My utmost duty has always been to protect you and that which you carry, whatever it be. You know that."
Unable to help himself, Frodo felt tears forming in his eyes at Aragorn's words and muttered an oath. How dare he feel so vulnerable and divided and scared . . . and he didn't know what to do about it.
Embarrassed, Frodo turned over onto his side and curled up, his back to Aragorn, and pulled the covers up to his chin to hide all evidence of the subject of their conversation. He felt far less vulnerable when he couldn't see his pregnant state, for some strange reason, though he felt the child's movements regularly.
"Please, Frodo, do not shut me out of this." A strong hand caressed his brow, and then Aragorn sighed. "But sleep now. You are exhausted, but we shall discuss this again when you are feeling better." He made it not a plea, but an unalterable statement of fact, and Frodo knew he wouldn't give up until he'd gotten what he wanted. Whatever, the hobbit reflected dully, that happened to be.
Through the sound of fading footsteps Frodo knew that Aragorn had left, and he closed his eyes tightly and let the tears flow.
****
.
Note: Part of an ongoing series of vignettes set in Minas Tirith post-quest.
****
The sweet sound of birdsong emanating from the trees of Ithilien, plus Sam's gentle snoring nearby, was suddenly interrupted by the rustling of leather and a rough-sounding, low voice at Frodo's pointed ear.
"Frodo, we must talk."
Comfortably ensconced in a comfortable bed within one of the largest tents, the hobbit gazed down at his hands, examining his grimy bitten nails---all nine of them---before directing his eyes toward the swollen contours of his midsection. Ah, yes, it was definitely noticeable, and Frodo supposed it was inevitable that this conversation must eventually come. Among other things, he thought wryly.
"Frodo," Aragorn repeated, his voice more gentle now as he settled next to Frodo on a low stool, "when we rescued you from Mt. Doom, we did not expect to find this." He reached out a hand to lightly rub Frodo's belly, and the hobbit had to fight to keep from squirming. Aragorn's touch might stir up strong feelings again . . . and some way or other, Frodo had to let him go. "There were certainly no indications of your condition when we parted at Amon Hen."
"You just didn't ever notice," Frodo said crossly, "because I wore my jacket all the time and suffered all my morning sickness in Rivendell while you were off with Elladan and Elrohir. And it just sort of . . . became noticeable the past month."
"I am sorry I was remiss in picking up on such things, but I had many responsibilities. And you . . . you should definitely not have undertaken the quest in such a state. I take it this happened in Rivendell . . . have you an idea of when the child is due?"
Frodo glared at him, unable to keep from feeling a little cranky and tired. "Don't ask me! The carrying time for hobbits apparently doesn't last the same amount of time as humans,' from what Lord Elrond told me. And since this child is a halfbreed . . . only the Valar know when it will come. As for the quest . . . well, I could hardly announce to all of Rivendell that I was with child, now, could I?"
"So, you did tell Elrond. You might have told me, at least. We could have made preparations . . ."
Folding his arms, Frodo leveled his best no-nonsense stare at the man. "Lord Elrond is too canny and figured it out on his own . . . but I didn't tell him who the baby's father was. And . . . you owe me nothing, you know . . . I plan on going back to the Shire when I'm well enough and having the baby there. I've still the house at Crickhollow and plenty of relatives who will be overjoyed at the prospect of a little one underfoot."
Aragorn's eyes turned dark with concern, and perhaps, a bit of anger. "You'll do no such thing, Frodo, not if I have any say. This child should never even have survived the quest . . . he or she is a blessing."
"I cannot interfere with your duties to your kingdom."
"My utmost duty has always been to protect you and that which you carry, whatever it be. You know that."
Unable to help himself, Frodo felt tears forming in his eyes at Aragorn's words and muttered an oath. How dare he feel so vulnerable and divided and scared . . . and he didn't know what to do about it.
Embarrassed, Frodo turned over onto his side and curled up, his back to Aragorn, and pulled the covers up to his chin to hide all evidence of the subject of their conversation. He felt far less vulnerable when he couldn't see his pregnant state, for some strange reason, though he felt the child's movements regularly.
"Please, Frodo, do not shut me out of this." A strong hand caressed his brow, and then Aragorn sighed. "But sleep now. You are exhausted, but we shall discuss this again when you are feeling better." He made it not a plea, but an unalterable statement of fact, and Frodo knew he wouldn't give up until he'd gotten what he wanted. Whatever, the hobbit reflected dully, that happened to be.
Through the sound of fading footsteps Frodo knew that Aragorn had left, and he closed his eyes tightly and let the tears flow.
****
.