In teh Midst of Death 13
In the Midst of Death part 13/?- much Aragorn comfort in this one.
Warning: M’Preg, affronts to canon, AU, h/c. Yes, I am playing appalling games with time lines, journey routes and possibilities and causing every other sort of affront - Lily made me do it!
Summary: The Ring has been destroyed and the wounded are being taken back to Gondor. On the way a pregnant Frodo is reunited with the father of his unborn child, Eomer of Rohan.
Beta by Lily.
By mid-afternoon Frodo felt rather tired and hot. He loved the boat and the easy conversation of his dear friends but he also missed having some time to himself. He waved back the others, who would have followed him, and made his way cautiously to the prow of the boat. The deck was smooth and the wood warm beneath his feet and he had no fear of stones. He still walked rather stiffly, his feet sore and his muscles getting used to moving again.
He found himself a little niche and leant against the railing, watching the other boats that moved around them. The wind pulled at his hair and billowed his shirt about him. It was a relief, as the sun had turned hot and was making him feel uncomfortable. He watched the land passing swiftly away to either side and listened to the sounds of the boats, which seemed at the same time close and far away. When the wind blew in one direction it carried the voices of men and horses to him, and when it turned all was peaceful . If he closed his eyes he could imagine himself alone skimming along the water.
Closing his eyes was not good idea, however, and he quickly opened them again and hung on to a rope that was looped over the side of the craft.
He took in a deep breath, hoping it would quell the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. The last thing he wanted was to be sick again, but he felt agitated and restless and sweat prickled on the back of his neck and his forehead. It was a feeling he knew only too well. He swallowed several times and tried to steady his breathing. It was just too dratted hot! He should have gone back to his cabin. He needed a drink of water.
He turned his head round to see if anyone was nearby. On one hand he would have liked to have called for someone to fetch him a drink or help him back to his cabin, but he also rather hoped no one was looking, as he was sure he was about to be sick again. The head movement was his undoing and he turned swiftly back, clasped the rope even tighter and wondered if he could get high enough to throw up over the side of the ship instead of on the deck. With a whimper of mortification he clutched his stomach and leant forward and was sick onto the wooden deck of the ship. He retched a couple of times before a strong arm was supporting him from behind and holding him steady.
“I have you.” Of course it was Aragorn’s soft voice soothing in his ear. Frodo sagged in relief as the nausea left him. At least actually being sick was something of a relief. A damp cloth was offered and he wiped his face and then accepted the flask of blissful cool, clean water to drink.
“I made a mess,” he said sorrowfully.
“You are not the first of us to do so,” Aragorn said. “Fear not, it will be cleaned up. And you, my friend, also need cleaning up. But you look a bit unsteady. Will you allow me to carry you?”
Frodo felt too grateful to be churlish and refuse. He rested his head on the man’s shoulder and hid his face as he was picked up and carried gently back to the cool shade of the cabin. Aragorn sat him on one of the chairs. He felt as limp as a dishrag and did not even protest as Aragorn removed his upper clothing and gently ran a towel over Frodo’s torso to clean away the sweat.
He was already feeling a lot better and reached around for his nightshirt and pulled it over his head. He fumbled with the buttons of his breeches, which were becoming quite tight, and kicked them off before pulling the nightshirt further down. It caught a little on his belly and he had to tug it into place, wriggling a little to get it over the mound.
What was that? Frodo looked up and frowned. Aragorn was grinning broadly as he looked pointedly at the swell of Frodo’s belly, which the nightshirt was rather straining to cover. The man had just dared to chuckle!
“They did not make the shirt big enough,” Frodo protested defensively.
“We will have to find you a man’s shirt to wear,” Aragorn responded. “You have some way to go yet, my friend, and that nightshirt has served its purpose.”
“How much larger can I get?” Frodo smoothed the material over his belly.
“Probably at least twice the size you are now,” Aragorn replied. He joined his hand to Frodo’s over the swell. “Remember that you are carrying a child with a horselord for a father.”
Frodo felt himself going pale at the thought.
“Fear not,” said Aragorn as he lifted Frodo into bed. “You will be safe in my city by then, with the finest medical care in Middle-earth. We will feed you up, and care for you, and make you many new nightshirts.”
Frodo laughed at that.
“Let me take care of you now. Try to sleep and I will fetch something to soothe you.” Aragorn pushed Frodo gently back until the hobbit was resting against his pillows, and then he pulled a light covering over Frodo and tucked it around the small form. As an afterthought he bent and bestowed a kiss to Frodo’s forehead as he smiled down at his dear friend. Frodo smiled back.
***
Frodo lay listening to the sounds of the boat around him: the movement of men and horses, the creek of wood and cloth, the slap of water. He felt comfortable and secure in his little cot. His back had begun to ache and it was nice to lie down. He liked the little cabin too, as it was the nearest thing to hobbit-like comfort they had come to so far. He also liked the wooden beams surrounding him and the patterns of light that the window directed onto them. It made him think of the stories Merry and Pippin had been relating about the Ents. How much he would have liked to have seen one of the tree people!
To distract himself from the ache in his back he was picking out faces in the patterns of the wood’s grain and knots when a light tap on the door sounded and Aragorn’s face reappeared.
Frodo smiled in welcome.
“I was hoping you would be asleep,” the man said, coming over to the cot.
“I’m not really tired,” Frodo replied, pushing himself up a little. “But it is nice to lie in the cool for a while.”
“I brought you some of the honey cordial you like.” Aragorn offered up a flask. “I know eating is still something of a trial for you. Have you been feeling sick again?”
“No.” Frodo allowed Aragorn to settle the pillows so he was sitting up and then took the flask to sip from. The liquid was sweet and thick as it ran down his throat. “This is lovely.”
“Here is some ginger for you to suck after,” Aragorn said as he pulled up a chair and sat by the cot. He sighed and stretched out his booted legs.
“You can smoke if you like,” Frodo said hopefully, but he rather thought he knew what the answer would be.
Aragorn chuckled. “Try not your wiles on me, hobbit. I know what you really mean is that you want to smoke.”
Knowing he had been caught out, Frodo chuckled. “It was worth a try. I do so miss a smoke.”
“And that is just what your lungs and your baby need,” Aragorn scolded. “After your baby is born, and not a moment before.”
“Then make sure you have a pipe ready for me in the birthing chamber,” Frodo warned.
“Talking of which…” Aragorn said. “When we are settled in the city I shall want you to start having regular examinations. We will be better equipped there to monitor your progress and I want to have all ready to ensure a healthy birth.”
“I know,” replied Frodo. “It is just that those exams are so… undignified.” He waved his hand.
“It will be better in the Houses of Healing,” Aragorn promised. “They have special benches and devices designed especially for those who are with child.”
Frodo did not like the sound of that but Aragorn seemed not to notice his discomfort.
“We may have to modify some items because of your size but it will be much more comfortable for you.”
Frodo doubted that, but really, Aragorn was only doing his best and Frodo was trying to be patient, though sometimes Aragorn did test his resolve. He was not used to being coddled but he had to admit that sometimes it was a relief. His body was still suffering from the Quest---joints ached, muscles were weak and he had so many aches and pains. He wanted to be well again instead of being the creaky old gaffer he so often felt like. This morning he had walked the full length of the deck and it had left him winded and dizzy. His back, especially, hurt dreadfully and now he shifted a little uncomfortably on the bunk. He realized his mistake when Aragorn’s ranger eyes settled on his ankles, which had started rather noticeably to swell. At once Aragorn had his healer’s face on and Frodo groaned.
“Am I really such a tyrant?” Aragorn looked up and Frodo felt sorry.
“No, not at all,” he protested. “It is I who am an ungrateful hobbit. I know all you do is for my health and the health of my child.”
Frodo let himself be laid back down again and the pillows rearranged. Aragorn took one pillow and lifted Frodo’s legs to lay it behind the hobbit’s knees and Frodo felt a little sorry he had put on his nightshirt to lie down. Aragorn turned away to fetch his ever-present healer’s pouch and took from it a small amber bottle.
Frodo lay back, resigning himself to his fate. But instead of being dosed up with whatever was in the bottle he felt hands come to rest on his feet and then sweep gently but firmly upward over his shins. Surprised for a moment he relaxed as Aragorn began to massage his ankles. It felt wonderful. The large hands made rhythmic patterns that were soothing and relaxing. Frodo stretched his toes and wriggled them in time, closing his eyes to fully appreciate the treatment. O, but that felt nice!
A little involuntary whimper of protest escaped his lips when Aragorn finally released his feet and he heard the man chuckle. Then the hands were back, moving Frodo onto his side and shifting pillows about to form a cushion for his belly. For a moment he felt a draft on his bottom as the nightshirt was lifted out of the way, but a blanket covered him before he could protest, leaving him lying on his side with his back exposed.
“How did you know?” Frodo asked.
“That your back was hurting? I am a healer, my friend. And I have attended to pregnancies before.”
The hands were back, slick with oil, and Frodo wanted to know if elvish mind reading had been part of Aragorn’s training as fingers fell straight on the point of his back that hurt the most and began to carefully massage the area. He could not help it; Frodo groaned out loud.
“Am I hurting you?”
“Na…no…o… carry on!” Frodo demanded. It felt like bliss. Aragorn’s hands were warm and large and seemed to know exactly where Frodo most needed them. Frodo clasped the pillow in front of him and gave himself over to sensation. He knew he was making some very undignified noises but he simply could not hold them back as Aragorn worked what could only be described as magic on his aching back, soothing and calming it.
The hands were gentle at times, sweeping up and around, then kneading more deeply in certain spots. After a while he heard Aragorn singing so softly it was barely audible. Frodo was unable to distinguish words but the song seemed to be flowing through the man’s fingers and into Frodo’s body in healing waves. He let them carry him away.
He could not pinpoint the exact moment when he fell asleep but his dreams were pleasant and filled with light.
Warning: M’Preg, affronts to canon, AU, h/c. Yes, I am playing appalling games with time lines, journey routes and possibilities and causing every other sort of affront - Lily made me do it!
Summary: The Ring has been destroyed and the wounded are being taken back to Gondor. On the way a pregnant Frodo is reunited with the father of his unborn child, Eomer of Rohan.
Beta by Lily.
By mid-afternoon Frodo felt rather tired and hot. He loved the boat and the easy conversation of his dear friends but he also missed having some time to himself. He waved back the others, who would have followed him, and made his way cautiously to the prow of the boat. The deck was smooth and the wood warm beneath his feet and he had no fear of stones. He still walked rather stiffly, his feet sore and his muscles getting used to moving again.
He found himself a little niche and leant against the railing, watching the other boats that moved around them. The wind pulled at his hair and billowed his shirt about him. It was a relief, as the sun had turned hot and was making him feel uncomfortable. He watched the land passing swiftly away to either side and listened to the sounds of the boats, which seemed at the same time close and far away. When the wind blew in one direction it carried the voices of men and horses to him, and when it turned all was peaceful . If he closed his eyes he could imagine himself alone skimming along the water.
Closing his eyes was not good idea, however, and he quickly opened them again and hung on to a rope that was looped over the side of the craft.
He took in a deep breath, hoping it would quell the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. The last thing he wanted was to be sick again, but he felt agitated and restless and sweat prickled on the back of his neck and his forehead. It was a feeling he knew only too well. He swallowed several times and tried to steady his breathing. It was just too dratted hot! He should have gone back to his cabin. He needed a drink of water.
He turned his head round to see if anyone was nearby. On one hand he would have liked to have called for someone to fetch him a drink or help him back to his cabin, but he also rather hoped no one was looking, as he was sure he was about to be sick again. The head movement was his undoing and he turned swiftly back, clasped the rope even tighter and wondered if he could get high enough to throw up over the side of the ship instead of on the deck. With a whimper of mortification he clutched his stomach and leant forward and was sick onto the wooden deck of the ship. He retched a couple of times before a strong arm was supporting him from behind and holding him steady.
“I have you.” Of course it was Aragorn’s soft voice soothing in his ear. Frodo sagged in relief as the nausea left him. At least actually being sick was something of a relief. A damp cloth was offered and he wiped his face and then accepted the flask of blissful cool, clean water to drink.
“I made a mess,” he said sorrowfully.
“You are not the first of us to do so,” Aragorn said. “Fear not, it will be cleaned up. And you, my friend, also need cleaning up. But you look a bit unsteady. Will you allow me to carry you?”
Frodo felt too grateful to be churlish and refuse. He rested his head on the man’s shoulder and hid his face as he was picked up and carried gently back to the cool shade of the cabin. Aragorn sat him on one of the chairs. He felt as limp as a dishrag and did not even protest as Aragorn removed his upper clothing and gently ran a towel over Frodo’s torso to clean away the sweat.
He was already feeling a lot better and reached around for his nightshirt and pulled it over his head. He fumbled with the buttons of his breeches, which were becoming quite tight, and kicked them off before pulling the nightshirt further down. It caught a little on his belly and he had to tug it into place, wriggling a little to get it over the mound.
What was that? Frodo looked up and frowned. Aragorn was grinning broadly as he looked pointedly at the swell of Frodo’s belly, which the nightshirt was rather straining to cover. The man had just dared to chuckle!
“They did not make the shirt big enough,” Frodo protested defensively.
“We will have to find you a man’s shirt to wear,” Aragorn responded. “You have some way to go yet, my friend, and that nightshirt has served its purpose.”
“How much larger can I get?” Frodo smoothed the material over his belly.
“Probably at least twice the size you are now,” Aragorn replied. He joined his hand to Frodo’s over the swell. “Remember that you are carrying a child with a horselord for a father.”
Frodo felt himself going pale at the thought.
“Fear not,” said Aragorn as he lifted Frodo into bed. “You will be safe in my city by then, with the finest medical care in Middle-earth. We will feed you up, and care for you, and make you many new nightshirts.”
Frodo laughed at that.
“Let me take care of you now. Try to sleep and I will fetch something to soothe you.” Aragorn pushed Frodo gently back until the hobbit was resting against his pillows, and then he pulled a light covering over Frodo and tucked it around the small form. As an afterthought he bent and bestowed a kiss to Frodo’s forehead as he smiled down at his dear friend. Frodo smiled back.
***
Frodo lay listening to the sounds of the boat around him: the movement of men and horses, the creek of wood and cloth, the slap of water. He felt comfortable and secure in his little cot. His back had begun to ache and it was nice to lie down. He liked the little cabin too, as it was the nearest thing to hobbit-like comfort they had come to so far. He also liked the wooden beams surrounding him and the patterns of light that the window directed onto them. It made him think of the stories Merry and Pippin had been relating about the Ents. How much he would have liked to have seen one of the tree people!
To distract himself from the ache in his back he was picking out faces in the patterns of the wood’s grain and knots when a light tap on the door sounded and Aragorn’s face reappeared.
Frodo smiled in welcome.
“I was hoping you would be asleep,” the man said, coming over to the cot.
“I’m not really tired,” Frodo replied, pushing himself up a little. “But it is nice to lie in the cool for a while.”
“I brought you some of the honey cordial you like.” Aragorn offered up a flask. “I know eating is still something of a trial for you. Have you been feeling sick again?”
“No.” Frodo allowed Aragorn to settle the pillows so he was sitting up and then took the flask to sip from. The liquid was sweet and thick as it ran down his throat. “This is lovely.”
“Here is some ginger for you to suck after,” Aragorn said as he pulled up a chair and sat by the cot. He sighed and stretched out his booted legs.
“You can smoke if you like,” Frodo said hopefully, but he rather thought he knew what the answer would be.
Aragorn chuckled. “Try not your wiles on me, hobbit. I know what you really mean is that you want to smoke.”
Knowing he had been caught out, Frodo chuckled. “It was worth a try. I do so miss a smoke.”
“And that is just what your lungs and your baby need,” Aragorn scolded. “After your baby is born, and not a moment before.”
“Then make sure you have a pipe ready for me in the birthing chamber,” Frodo warned.
“Talking of which…” Aragorn said. “When we are settled in the city I shall want you to start having regular examinations. We will be better equipped there to monitor your progress and I want to have all ready to ensure a healthy birth.”
“I know,” replied Frodo. “It is just that those exams are so… undignified.” He waved his hand.
“It will be better in the Houses of Healing,” Aragorn promised. “They have special benches and devices designed especially for those who are with child.”
Frodo did not like the sound of that but Aragorn seemed not to notice his discomfort.
“We may have to modify some items because of your size but it will be much more comfortable for you.”
Frodo doubted that, but really, Aragorn was only doing his best and Frodo was trying to be patient, though sometimes Aragorn did test his resolve. He was not used to being coddled but he had to admit that sometimes it was a relief. His body was still suffering from the Quest---joints ached, muscles were weak and he had so many aches and pains. He wanted to be well again instead of being the creaky old gaffer he so often felt like. This morning he had walked the full length of the deck and it had left him winded and dizzy. His back, especially, hurt dreadfully and now he shifted a little uncomfortably on the bunk. He realized his mistake when Aragorn’s ranger eyes settled on his ankles, which had started rather noticeably to swell. At once Aragorn had his healer’s face on and Frodo groaned.
“Am I really such a tyrant?” Aragorn looked up and Frodo felt sorry.
“No, not at all,” he protested. “It is I who am an ungrateful hobbit. I know all you do is for my health and the health of my child.”
Frodo let himself be laid back down again and the pillows rearranged. Aragorn took one pillow and lifted Frodo’s legs to lay it behind the hobbit’s knees and Frodo felt a little sorry he had put on his nightshirt to lie down. Aragorn turned away to fetch his ever-present healer’s pouch and took from it a small amber bottle.
Frodo lay back, resigning himself to his fate. But instead of being dosed up with whatever was in the bottle he felt hands come to rest on his feet and then sweep gently but firmly upward over his shins. Surprised for a moment he relaxed as Aragorn began to massage his ankles. It felt wonderful. The large hands made rhythmic patterns that were soothing and relaxing. Frodo stretched his toes and wriggled them in time, closing his eyes to fully appreciate the treatment. O, but that felt nice!
A little involuntary whimper of protest escaped his lips when Aragorn finally released his feet and he heard the man chuckle. Then the hands were back, moving Frodo onto his side and shifting pillows about to form a cushion for his belly. For a moment he felt a draft on his bottom as the nightshirt was lifted out of the way, but a blanket covered him before he could protest, leaving him lying on his side with his back exposed.
“How did you know?” Frodo asked.
“That your back was hurting? I am a healer, my friend. And I have attended to pregnancies before.”
The hands were back, slick with oil, and Frodo wanted to know if elvish mind reading had been part of Aragorn’s training as fingers fell straight on the point of his back that hurt the most and began to carefully massage the area. He could not help it; Frodo groaned out loud.
“Am I hurting you?”
“Na…no…o… carry on!” Frodo demanded. It felt like bliss. Aragorn’s hands were warm and large and seemed to know exactly where Frodo most needed them. Frodo clasped the pillow in front of him and gave himself over to sensation. He knew he was making some very undignified noises but he simply could not hold them back as Aragorn worked what could only be described as magic on his aching back, soothing and calming it.
The hands were gentle at times, sweeping up and around, then kneading more deeply in certain spots. After a while he heard Aragorn singing so softly it was barely audible. Frodo was unable to distinguish words but the song seemed to be flowing through the man’s fingers and into Frodo’s body in healing waves. He let them carry him away.
He could not pinpoint the exact moment when he fell asleep but his dreams were pleasant and filled with light.