FIC: Laid Bare (Aragorn/Frodo PG-13) 2750 words for lilybaggins:
Lily requested a fic using some of the following items...
lilybaggins: Aragorn examining Frodo's body part of your choice *in a medical capacity*
ana_stasia: Check.
lilybaggins: with at least ONE of the following (though two or three are mighty welcome)...
- embarrassed or uncomfortable Frodo
ana_stasia: Check.
- stern or no-nonsense Aragorn
ana_stasia: Check.
- MPREG
ana_stasia: Check.
lilybaggins: Aragorn examines any part of Frodo that cannot be exposed in public
ana_stasia: Check.
lilybaggins: Frodo is asked to spread his legs
ana_stasia: Check.
lilybaggins: Post-quest in Minas Tirith
ana_stasia: Check.
Title: Laid Bare
Pairing: A/F
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: MPREG, mild medical exam details, slashy overtones
Summary: Frodo fears he is not long for this world...
“Frodo…” Aragorn entered their rooms to find the Hobbit just exactly as Pippin had described him; curled into Aragorn’s tall, over-sized armchair, Frodo hunched beneath a thick blanket shuddering intermittently.
The Hobbit had loved the chair from the beginning, delighting in the soft feel of the fabric and the inviting, rounded contours. It made the perfect space for the two of them to cuddle together, either side by side or with Frodo in Aragorn’s lap, and the lovers had spent many days and nights doing just that. It was also where, in his deepest, saddest, most pain-filled moments, Frodo fled, the thing he clung to nearly as desperately as he clung to Aragorn himself.
Slowly, Aragorn approached the chair, shaking his head in both wonder and disbelief. A month away from giving birth to their first child, Frodo was extraordinarily large. Getting in and out of the huge chair had never been an easy feat for him, but now… Aragorn didn’t know if he should be amused or upset to find Frodo there. Watching Frodo climb the three-step stool and throw himself into one of the chair’s far corners had often made Aragorn chuckle; knowing Frodo had done so in his current condition, with what precarious balance he still maintained, gave Aragorn no cause for laughter.
“Frodo…love…” Aragorn sat on the edge of the dark blue chair and place a hand on Frodo’s blanket-covered back. Frodo started and moaned at the touch. “Frodo, will you not tell me what is wrong? Pippin was beside himself with worry when he came to me earlier.” Another moan was his only answer, and Aragorn carefully considered his options. If he were stern with Frodo, he knew he would have an upset *and* stubborn Hobbit to deal with. Then again, if he gave in to Frodo, as he had done all too frequently of late, he would never get to the bottom of whatever this latest trouble was.
With a sigh, Aragorn decided to begin with the giving in and to work his way ‘round to stern if it because necessary. Gently, he moved back in the chair. Scooping Frodo up, rounded belly and all, he placed him on his lap. The Hobbit continued to shake in his arms, and Aragorn now knew the reason. Frodo was sobbing.
“I do understand that these melancholy moods have been seizing you more and more often,” Aragorn said as he rocked Frodo from side to side. “Part of it is your continued recovery from the Quest, and part is due to the strain your body is under carrying our child.” He longed to run his fingers through Frodo’s dark curls but, like the Hobbit himself, they were stubbornly hidden beneath the covering. “You know by now that I am here for you, no matter the cause of your upset…” Aragorn continued, “but you must also know that I must be told if this new bout of sadness has something to do with our child or pain you may be having because of that.”
“I… am… unnatural…” The words were rough, as if Frodo had to fight to get them out. “I am…” he gasped and choked out, “…an abomination.”
Aragorn bit his lip to stifle a curse. Some of the Men of Gondor had whispered those words when it became apparent that Frodo was with child. They had whispered amongst one another in the streets and inns, but Frodo was not deaf and their hateful remarks had hurt him. With a few well-chosen looks and words, Aragorn had put an end to the Men’s loose tongues but now, months later, their cutting remarks apparently still had the ability to wound.
“The Ring…you…me...” Each muffled word fell from Frodo’s lips like the heaviest of stones. “…our child…”
“No.” Aragorn refused to let the notions take hold of Frodo again. With determination, he grasped the corner of the blanket and pulled it away, exposing Frodo’s tear-stained face. Love lighting his eyes, he placed warm lips against Frodo’s cool ones and kissed him softly. “You are mine as I am yours,” he said. “And we have agreed that we need answer to no one but each other. Isn’t that so?”
Frodo wrapped his arms around the mound of his belly and sniffled. “It is not only that,” he said as he buried his face miserably in Aragorn’s robes.
“What, then?” Aragorn asked, uncertain as to the direction of the conversation.
Frodo’s sobs began anew. “I *am* an abomination!” he cried. “You simply do not know it yet.”
Fear stole the breath from Aragorn’s lungs. “Do not know what?” he questioned, fighting to hold his growing panic at bay. “If there is something amiss, Frodo, you must tell me.” He searched the watery blue eyes for answers. “Are you bleeding? Do you have pain in your belly? Your back?” He stopped. He had seen Frodo’s eyes darken after the first question. Bleeding? Oh, by the Valar…
Before Frodo could respond, or could find a way to avoid answering, Aragorn was out of the chair and heading for the bed, Frodo in his arms. Placing him atop the quilt, Aragorn stripped him first of the blanket and then of his sleep shirt. For a moment Aragorn sat, looking upon the large, stretched mound that housed their child in quiet amazement.
Naked and chilled and very angry, Frodo thrashed on the bed, his face the color of ripe apples. “Aragorn! How *dare* you!” Small hands tore at the bedding in an attempt to find something to cover himself with.
Aragorn blinked and met Frodo’s blazing gaze. “Frodo, you have given me no choice. I know these last months have been hard and sometimes confusing, but I cannot allow you to keep secrets which may endanger your life or the life of our child.”
As he spoke, Aragorn grasped Frodo’s ankles, encouraging him to bend his knees to allow an examination. Immediately, Frodo locked his knees, refusing to comply. “Frodo…” The name was a low growl in Aragorn’s throat. “Please. Cooperate.” As he watched, the Hobbit set his jaw in a firm line that said that before the ordeal was over there would be fireworks in their bedroom more spectacular that any Gandalf had ever created.
“Not tonight, love,” Frodo said saucily, placing his hands as near to his groin as he was able. “I’m feeling a bit under the weather.”
Frodo’s reply caught Aragorn off his guard. Mouth open, eyes wide, he stared at the Hobbit. They sometimes did engage in mild bed games, which Frodo had fondly named ‘The Hobbit and the Ranger’, where Aragorn allowed himself to be somewhat rougher with Frodo than usual, much to Frodo’s delight. But to hear Frodo’s cheeky response to Aragorn’s handling of him now shocked him beyond belief. Had he really been that forceful with Frodo? Feeling his cheeks grow warm, Aragorn had to admit that he had.
Aragorn’s hands dropped away from Frodo’s feet. “Oh, love…I’m sorry.” Looking into Frodo’s eyes, he saw the fear that lay behind the irate facade. Gently, he began to massage Frodo’s feet and ankles, moving up to the tensed calves, his eyes on Frodo all the time. “Forgive me,” he said humbly. “I do not know what came over me. No…” He squeezed one of Frodo’s knees. “I do know. It was fear.”
Aragorn bent to place a soft trail of kisses along Frodo’s distended belly, feeling Frodo shiver in response. “When Pippin came running to me earlier, saying you were in our rooms and would not speak to him, fear descended upon me. We have come so far…*you* have come so far…that I could not bear it if something happened to you which I have the power to prevent.” He continued the kisses until he had moved on the bed and was at Frodo’s neck and face, making certain that his lips touched every inch of bare skin.
Laying beside the now-pliable Hobbit, Aragorn placed a final kiss at the tip of one pointed ear. “I know this is difficult for you,” he whispered into the delicate shell. “But will you allow me to examine you?”
The love-struck look in Frodo’s eyes clouded with humiliation once again, but Frodo relaxed his legs and slowly spread them apart.
Heaving a sigh of relief, Aragorn moved to the end of the bed and knelt, his fingers softly stroking the curly hair on the tops of Frodo’s feet. “I’m afraid you will need to spread them wider apart than that,” Aragorn said apologetically. “It will be easier for you if you bend your knees and draw them up toward you.”
Frodo grunted as he hooked his hands behind his knees and exposed himself even further to Aragorn. His lover examined him at least once a week in such a way. And while Frodo was never fond of the position, he was now terrified, knowing what Aragorn would find during this exam.
Reaching for the oil he had taken from the side of the bed, Aragorn coated his fingers and probed back between Frodo’s cheeks to examine the hole from which they believed their child would be born. He felt nothing unusual and no widening or any sort of change, much to his dismay. Removing his fingers, he found them clean, with no blood as he had feared.
He looked up to reassure Frodo, who had gone eerily still, and saw something just behind the downy sacks that held the Hobbit’s seed. It was a slit. Heart pounding, color draining from his face, Aragorn slid the tip of one finger inside the slit as carefully as he was able. When Frodo hissed and bucked his hips, Aragorn slipped the finger out.
“Is this what you were referring to, Frodo?” Aragorn asked him, still unable to tear his gaze away from the new mark to Frodo’s nether regions.
Tears began to trickle from the corners of Frodo’s eyes. Silently, they slid past his temples toward his ears. “What…is it…?” He spoke the words as if hearing the answer would be to hear his own death sentence.
Pouring more of the oil over the slit, Aragorn slowly slid a finger inside the opening again. He placed one hand on Frodo’s belly and probed more deeply into the Hobbit with the finger of his other hand. “Oh, Frodo…”
The look of wonder on Aragorn’s face was nearly enough to make Frodo believe that his lover’s diagnosis would not mean the end of his life. “Aragorn? Please, I have to know. How long…?” Frodo shuddered and panted lightly as his growing panic seemed to steal his breath.
Finger still inside Frodo, Aragorn looked at him over the mound of his belly. “How long…?” he repeated back in confusion.
Frodo gave a small nod. He felt cold and was beginning to get dizzy. “Yes, I must know…how long do I have…?”
“Not as long as we first thought,” Aragorn said, still in somewhat of a daze. He completely missed the look of utter horror that crossed Frodo’s flushed face at his answer. He removed his finger and continued to probe the area around it with fascination.
“Not…?” Frodo couldn’t catch his breath. He gasped and flailed on the bed, arms and legs thrashing uncontrollably.
Aragorn yelped as a large, furred foot jerked up and caught him in the ribs. As he knelt up, rubbing his side with a frown, Aragorn saw the terror in Frodo’s eyes, heard the rasping of the shallow breaths as they rattled his chest. “Frodo!”
“Will the babe…live?” Frodo’s face had gone from flushed to white.
“What do you… Oh, no, no, no…” Suddenly Aragorn understood Frodo’s fear. In an instant, he had Frodo in his arms, the Hobbit’s head against his chest. “No no no no no no,” he repeated over and over as he stroked the bare back and sweat-dampened hair. “Frodo, no, you have misunderstood.”
When Frodo had quieted somewhat, Aragorn turned him so that he could look down into the wide, frightened eyes. “Frodo, something wondrous has happened. The opening you no doubt found is not a malformation. It is going to be the birthway for our son or daughter.”
Frodo struggled to understand what Aragorn was saying. The opening did not mean he was to die, then?
“We believed the only exit for our child was,” he watched Frodo cringe at just the mention of it and refrained from saying more. “Yes, well…” he cleared his throat. “And we both knew that if the hole did not open wide enough I would need to extract the babe by cutting into your belly.” He watched as Frodo’s face went green. “But none of that will be necessary now, my love. Because an opening is forming that I believe will lengthen and widen in the coming days until it is large enough for our child to be born.”
Frodo continued to look as though he would be sick, but for the first time there was hope in his eyes. “I will have our child as a lass would?” he asked in disbelief.
Aragorn laughed softly. “Not exactly in that way, but the comparison is close, I think. Have you been feeling any cramping, especially low in your belly?” he asked.
Frodo hesitated and then nodded.
“I believe your body is changing to allow our child safe passage out,” Aragorn said. There may be more pain before your laboring begins, but in the end I think it will be worth everything you’ve gone through.” He held Frodo more tightly in his arms. “The anus is surrounded by delicate tissue and there is always a danger of heavy bleeding. Cutting into your belly would have solved that problem, but the risk of infection from the opening and stitching is high.
“This new development poses none of those problems. As it is opening itself, it may very well seal itself when our child has been born, and if it is similar to a lass’s birth opening, there will be some blood with the birth but none of the trauma we have been expecting.”
Frodo let out a shaky breath, still not daring to hope. “Then why…why did you say the end was coming sooner than we were expecting?”
Aragorn smiled. “Because through the new opening I can feel the babe.” Frodo’s eyes grew even larger. “The day of the birth draws near.”
When Frodo began to cry again, the tears were born of joy. There was some fear in them as well, but he knew that with Aragorn by his side he had very little to be afraid of. “I was so worried, Aragorn,” he admitted. “But now…did you say days?” Aragorn’s prediction of the slit’s opening rang loudly in his ears. “It was supposed to be…we were supposed to have…you said the birth wouldn’t be until next month…” Frodo stuttered.
“It appears that our child is not going to wait that long,” Aragorn said. “By my estimation, we may have only days…or perhaps only one day…before we are a family of three.”
Frodo finally allowed himself a small smile. “A family,” he said. “I like the sound of that.” He rubbed his belly, feeling the babe shifting and turning beneath his palm. “Perhaps we should go and inform the others of this latest development,” he said. “So that they may be here to welcome the newest member of our family.”
Aragorn gently placed Frodo on the bed, slipping his sleep shirt over his head and arranging the covers on top of him. “I will go and inform our friends,” he said, holding Frodo’s shoulders gently to the mattress. He placed a kiss on Frodo’s forehead and another on his belly. “You will remain in bed, resting. When our child decides to make its entrance, you will be glad of any extra ounce of strength you have managed to save up.”
Frodo gave him a playful look. “Is that a command from Aragorn the King?” he asked with an innocent air. “Or Aragorn the Ranger…?”
Aragorn blushed at the insinuation. “It is a *request* from Aragorn the husband and Aragorn the father.” He said the last word softly, as if felt foreign on his tongue.
Frodo’s eyes lit up. “I think I like the sound of that, too,” he said as he snuggled in between the silky sheets and downy quilt.
“As do I,” Aragorn whispered tenderly as he slipped out the door to spread the good news.
~ el fin ~
lilybaggins: Aragorn examining Frodo's body part of your choice *in a medical capacity*
ana_stasia: Check.
lilybaggins: with at least ONE of the following (though two or three are mighty welcome)...
- embarrassed or uncomfortable Frodo
ana_stasia: Check.
- stern or no-nonsense Aragorn
ana_stasia: Check.
- MPREG
ana_stasia: Check.
lilybaggins: Aragorn examines any part of Frodo that cannot be exposed in public
ana_stasia: Check.
lilybaggins: Frodo is asked to spread his legs
ana_stasia: Check.
lilybaggins: Post-quest in Minas Tirith
ana_stasia: Check.
Title: Laid Bare
Pairing: A/F
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: MPREG, mild medical exam details, slashy overtones
Summary: Frodo fears he is not long for this world...
“Frodo…” Aragorn entered their rooms to find the Hobbit just exactly as Pippin had described him; curled into Aragorn’s tall, over-sized armchair, Frodo hunched beneath a thick blanket shuddering intermittently.
The Hobbit had loved the chair from the beginning, delighting in the soft feel of the fabric and the inviting, rounded contours. It made the perfect space for the two of them to cuddle together, either side by side or with Frodo in Aragorn’s lap, and the lovers had spent many days and nights doing just that. It was also where, in his deepest, saddest, most pain-filled moments, Frodo fled, the thing he clung to nearly as desperately as he clung to Aragorn himself.
Slowly, Aragorn approached the chair, shaking his head in both wonder and disbelief. A month away from giving birth to their first child, Frodo was extraordinarily large. Getting in and out of the huge chair had never been an easy feat for him, but now… Aragorn didn’t know if he should be amused or upset to find Frodo there. Watching Frodo climb the three-step stool and throw himself into one of the chair’s far corners had often made Aragorn chuckle; knowing Frodo had done so in his current condition, with what precarious balance he still maintained, gave Aragorn no cause for laughter.
“Frodo…love…” Aragorn sat on the edge of the dark blue chair and place a hand on Frodo’s blanket-covered back. Frodo started and moaned at the touch. “Frodo, will you not tell me what is wrong? Pippin was beside himself with worry when he came to me earlier.” Another moan was his only answer, and Aragorn carefully considered his options. If he were stern with Frodo, he knew he would have an upset *and* stubborn Hobbit to deal with. Then again, if he gave in to Frodo, as he had done all too frequently of late, he would never get to the bottom of whatever this latest trouble was.
With a sigh, Aragorn decided to begin with the giving in and to work his way ‘round to stern if it because necessary. Gently, he moved back in the chair. Scooping Frodo up, rounded belly and all, he placed him on his lap. The Hobbit continued to shake in his arms, and Aragorn now knew the reason. Frodo was sobbing.
“I do understand that these melancholy moods have been seizing you more and more often,” Aragorn said as he rocked Frodo from side to side. “Part of it is your continued recovery from the Quest, and part is due to the strain your body is under carrying our child.” He longed to run his fingers through Frodo’s dark curls but, like the Hobbit himself, they were stubbornly hidden beneath the covering. “You know by now that I am here for you, no matter the cause of your upset…” Aragorn continued, “but you must also know that I must be told if this new bout of sadness has something to do with our child or pain you may be having because of that.”
“I… am… unnatural…” The words were rough, as if Frodo had to fight to get them out. “I am…” he gasped and choked out, “…an abomination.”
Aragorn bit his lip to stifle a curse. Some of the Men of Gondor had whispered those words when it became apparent that Frodo was with child. They had whispered amongst one another in the streets and inns, but Frodo was not deaf and their hateful remarks had hurt him. With a few well-chosen looks and words, Aragorn had put an end to the Men’s loose tongues but now, months later, their cutting remarks apparently still had the ability to wound.
“The Ring…you…me...” Each muffled word fell from Frodo’s lips like the heaviest of stones. “…our child…”
“No.” Aragorn refused to let the notions take hold of Frodo again. With determination, he grasped the corner of the blanket and pulled it away, exposing Frodo’s tear-stained face. Love lighting his eyes, he placed warm lips against Frodo’s cool ones and kissed him softly. “You are mine as I am yours,” he said. “And we have agreed that we need answer to no one but each other. Isn’t that so?”
Frodo wrapped his arms around the mound of his belly and sniffled. “It is not only that,” he said as he buried his face miserably in Aragorn’s robes.
“What, then?” Aragorn asked, uncertain as to the direction of the conversation.
Frodo’s sobs began anew. “I *am* an abomination!” he cried. “You simply do not know it yet.”
Fear stole the breath from Aragorn’s lungs. “Do not know what?” he questioned, fighting to hold his growing panic at bay. “If there is something amiss, Frodo, you must tell me.” He searched the watery blue eyes for answers. “Are you bleeding? Do you have pain in your belly? Your back?” He stopped. He had seen Frodo’s eyes darken after the first question. Bleeding? Oh, by the Valar…
Before Frodo could respond, or could find a way to avoid answering, Aragorn was out of the chair and heading for the bed, Frodo in his arms. Placing him atop the quilt, Aragorn stripped him first of the blanket and then of his sleep shirt. For a moment Aragorn sat, looking upon the large, stretched mound that housed their child in quiet amazement.
Naked and chilled and very angry, Frodo thrashed on the bed, his face the color of ripe apples. “Aragorn! How *dare* you!” Small hands tore at the bedding in an attempt to find something to cover himself with.
Aragorn blinked and met Frodo’s blazing gaze. “Frodo, you have given me no choice. I know these last months have been hard and sometimes confusing, but I cannot allow you to keep secrets which may endanger your life or the life of our child.”
As he spoke, Aragorn grasped Frodo’s ankles, encouraging him to bend his knees to allow an examination. Immediately, Frodo locked his knees, refusing to comply. “Frodo…” The name was a low growl in Aragorn’s throat. “Please. Cooperate.” As he watched, the Hobbit set his jaw in a firm line that said that before the ordeal was over there would be fireworks in their bedroom more spectacular that any Gandalf had ever created.
“Not tonight, love,” Frodo said saucily, placing his hands as near to his groin as he was able. “I’m feeling a bit under the weather.”
Frodo’s reply caught Aragorn off his guard. Mouth open, eyes wide, he stared at the Hobbit. They sometimes did engage in mild bed games, which Frodo had fondly named ‘The Hobbit and the Ranger’, where Aragorn allowed himself to be somewhat rougher with Frodo than usual, much to Frodo’s delight. But to hear Frodo’s cheeky response to Aragorn’s handling of him now shocked him beyond belief. Had he really been that forceful with Frodo? Feeling his cheeks grow warm, Aragorn had to admit that he had.
Aragorn’s hands dropped away from Frodo’s feet. “Oh, love…I’m sorry.” Looking into Frodo’s eyes, he saw the fear that lay behind the irate facade. Gently, he began to massage Frodo’s feet and ankles, moving up to the tensed calves, his eyes on Frodo all the time. “Forgive me,” he said humbly. “I do not know what came over me. No…” He squeezed one of Frodo’s knees. “I do know. It was fear.”
Aragorn bent to place a soft trail of kisses along Frodo’s distended belly, feeling Frodo shiver in response. “When Pippin came running to me earlier, saying you were in our rooms and would not speak to him, fear descended upon me. We have come so far…*you* have come so far…that I could not bear it if something happened to you which I have the power to prevent.” He continued the kisses until he had moved on the bed and was at Frodo’s neck and face, making certain that his lips touched every inch of bare skin.
Laying beside the now-pliable Hobbit, Aragorn placed a final kiss at the tip of one pointed ear. “I know this is difficult for you,” he whispered into the delicate shell. “But will you allow me to examine you?”
The love-struck look in Frodo’s eyes clouded with humiliation once again, but Frodo relaxed his legs and slowly spread them apart.
Heaving a sigh of relief, Aragorn moved to the end of the bed and knelt, his fingers softly stroking the curly hair on the tops of Frodo’s feet. “I’m afraid you will need to spread them wider apart than that,” Aragorn said apologetically. “It will be easier for you if you bend your knees and draw them up toward you.”
Frodo grunted as he hooked his hands behind his knees and exposed himself even further to Aragorn. His lover examined him at least once a week in such a way. And while Frodo was never fond of the position, he was now terrified, knowing what Aragorn would find during this exam.
Reaching for the oil he had taken from the side of the bed, Aragorn coated his fingers and probed back between Frodo’s cheeks to examine the hole from which they believed their child would be born. He felt nothing unusual and no widening or any sort of change, much to his dismay. Removing his fingers, he found them clean, with no blood as he had feared.
He looked up to reassure Frodo, who had gone eerily still, and saw something just behind the downy sacks that held the Hobbit’s seed. It was a slit. Heart pounding, color draining from his face, Aragorn slid the tip of one finger inside the slit as carefully as he was able. When Frodo hissed and bucked his hips, Aragorn slipped the finger out.
“Is this what you were referring to, Frodo?” Aragorn asked him, still unable to tear his gaze away from the new mark to Frodo’s nether regions.
Tears began to trickle from the corners of Frodo’s eyes. Silently, they slid past his temples toward his ears. “What…is it…?” He spoke the words as if hearing the answer would be to hear his own death sentence.
Pouring more of the oil over the slit, Aragorn slowly slid a finger inside the opening again. He placed one hand on Frodo’s belly and probed more deeply into the Hobbit with the finger of his other hand. “Oh, Frodo…”
The look of wonder on Aragorn’s face was nearly enough to make Frodo believe that his lover’s diagnosis would not mean the end of his life. “Aragorn? Please, I have to know. How long…?” Frodo shuddered and panted lightly as his growing panic seemed to steal his breath.
Finger still inside Frodo, Aragorn looked at him over the mound of his belly. “How long…?” he repeated back in confusion.
Frodo gave a small nod. He felt cold and was beginning to get dizzy. “Yes, I must know…how long do I have…?”
“Not as long as we first thought,” Aragorn said, still in somewhat of a daze. He completely missed the look of utter horror that crossed Frodo’s flushed face at his answer. He removed his finger and continued to probe the area around it with fascination.
“Not…?” Frodo couldn’t catch his breath. He gasped and flailed on the bed, arms and legs thrashing uncontrollably.
Aragorn yelped as a large, furred foot jerked up and caught him in the ribs. As he knelt up, rubbing his side with a frown, Aragorn saw the terror in Frodo’s eyes, heard the rasping of the shallow breaths as they rattled his chest. “Frodo!”
“Will the babe…live?” Frodo’s face had gone from flushed to white.
“What do you… Oh, no, no, no…” Suddenly Aragorn understood Frodo’s fear. In an instant, he had Frodo in his arms, the Hobbit’s head against his chest. “No no no no no no,” he repeated over and over as he stroked the bare back and sweat-dampened hair. “Frodo, no, you have misunderstood.”
When Frodo had quieted somewhat, Aragorn turned him so that he could look down into the wide, frightened eyes. “Frodo, something wondrous has happened. The opening you no doubt found is not a malformation. It is going to be the birthway for our son or daughter.”
Frodo struggled to understand what Aragorn was saying. The opening did not mean he was to die, then?
“We believed the only exit for our child was,” he watched Frodo cringe at just the mention of it and refrained from saying more. “Yes, well…” he cleared his throat. “And we both knew that if the hole did not open wide enough I would need to extract the babe by cutting into your belly.” He watched as Frodo’s face went green. “But none of that will be necessary now, my love. Because an opening is forming that I believe will lengthen and widen in the coming days until it is large enough for our child to be born.”
Frodo continued to look as though he would be sick, but for the first time there was hope in his eyes. “I will have our child as a lass would?” he asked in disbelief.
Aragorn laughed softly. “Not exactly in that way, but the comparison is close, I think. Have you been feeling any cramping, especially low in your belly?” he asked.
Frodo hesitated and then nodded.
“I believe your body is changing to allow our child safe passage out,” Aragorn said. There may be more pain before your laboring begins, but in the end I think it will be worth everything you’ve gone through.” He held Frodo more tightly in his arms. “The anus is surrounded by delicate tissue and there is always a danger of heavy bleeding. Cutting into your belly would have solved that problem, but the risk of infection from the opening and stitching is high.
“This new development poses none of those problems. As it is opening itself, it may very well seal itself when our child has been born, and if it is similar to a lass’s birth opening, there will be some blood with the birth but none of the trauma we have been expecting.”
Frodo let out a shaky breath, still not daring to hope. “Then why…why did you say the end was coming sooner than we were expecting?”
Aragorn smiled. “Because through the new opening I can feel the babe.” Frodo’s eyes grew even larger. “The day of the birth draws near.”
When Frodo began to cry again, the tears were born of joy. There was some fear in them as well, but he knew that with Aragorn by his side he had very little to be afraid of. “I was so worried, Aragorn,” he admitted. “But now…did you say days?” Aragorn’s prediction of the slit’s opening rang loudly in his ears. “It was supposed to be…we were supposed to have…you said the birth wouldn’t be until next month…” Frodo stuttered.
“It appears that our child is not going to wait that long,” Aragorn said. “By my estimation, we may have only days…or perhaps only one day…before we are a family of three.”
Frodo finally allowed himself a small smile. “A family,” he said. “I like the sound of that.” He rubbed his belly, feeling the babe shifting and turning beneath his palm. “Perhaps we should go and inform the others of this latest development,” he said. “So that they may be here to welcome the newest member of our family.”
Aragorn gently placed Frodo on the bed, slipping his sleep shirt over his head and arranging the covers on top of him. “I will go and inform our friends,” he said, holding Frodo’s shoulders gently to the mattress. He placed a kiss on Frodo’s forehead and another on his belly. “You will remain in bed, resting. When our child decides to make its entrance, you will be glad of any extra ounce of strength you have managed to save up.”
Frodo gave him a playful look. “Is that a command from Aragorn the King?” he asked with an innocent air. “Or Aragorn the Ranger…?”
Aragorn blushed at the insinuation. “It is a *request* from Aragorn the husband and Aragorn the father.” He said the last word softly, as if felt foreign on his tongue.
Frodo’s eyes lit up. “I think I like the sound of that, too,” he said as he snuggled in between the silky sheets and downy quilt.
“As do I,” Aragorn whispered tenderly as he slipped out the door to spread the good news.
~ el fin ~