Birthday Mathom FIC!
OMG. I can't believe I'm posting this. EVERY single year, I tell myself I'm going to write a fic and post it on my birthday. A new fic...and fic no one's read even a part of...something brand new to everyone. And every year my grand plans fall through. But this year I DID IT!!!
I've literally been up for the last 24 hours straight. I woke up at 10am on Fri. morning and it's now 10am Sat. morning. I started adding to this fic late last night, around 10pm. And I worked on it until 4am...when I had to get up, shower, dress, and go meet some people for a 5am breakfast-to celebrate someone *else's* birthday. There's a long backstory to it all, but it was some friends that my dad used to meet, 7 days a week, at 4:30 every morning, for breakfast and chit-chat. So today my Mom and I went and had breakfast with them, to celebrate one of the guy's turning 85. Wow!
I got back home here about 7am and started writing again. I finished the story at 9, proofed it, and HERE IT IS!! Fair warning: the fic hasn't been betaed, so any errors are my own. If you see something that needs adjusting, you can leave a note in my LJ. I checked really carefully, but I'm afraid that the name 'Aragorn' has still ended up here somewhere. This is a 'Strider' fic, but I kept slipping into typing 'Aragorn'. AUGH.
And Amy and Janet, if you find something, you can leave a note or email me with corrections/changes, since this will be coming your way for editing. :) I'm just going about it a bit backwards this time, to make the fic a gift for everyone first.
This story was started after lilybaggins made a request for 'fic with a very pregnant Frodo, found somewhere in the wilds by Aragorn, and cuddled, and cared for in a 'friendship' sort of way.' I don't know if I hit everything, but I think I've got most of it. I figured since I had about 700 words of this already, I'd go ahead and finish it for today. I am, after all, all about MPREG, so it seemed appropriate to write an MPREG fic as my bday mathom. It's come out to 6500 words, which means I added nearly 6000 words in the last 12 hours. For me, who sometimes spends two hours writing a paragraph, that's really saying something.
And if a mathom is something old-most of the my fics are old, since I start them and then they sit around forever until I get around to finishing them :)-that is given away to someone else, then I think this qualifies. My one fear-besides having not caught all the typos-is that a lot of the MPREG readers who used to check over here for fic have given up and gone away...since I'm so awful about writing/posting these days. So if you know someone who likes MPREG and you know they won't see it here, maybe you can point them in this direction...
Happy day!
ETA: Fic has now been 'edited' to add title and summary. :)
Title: Delivered from the Forest
Rating: PG for some medical-ish stuff (no slash)
Characters: Strider, Frodo
Summary: At eight months gone, Frodo runs into trouble in the Forest.
Delivered from the Forest
by Anastasia
Frodo ran blindly through the Old Forest…if what he was doing could be considered running. In all honestly, he felt like a lumbering oliphaunt. It seemed as though he’d been in the Forest for days and days-and it was quite possible that he had. When he’d left the safety of the Shire, he’d known he was taking a chance by entering the Forest but, considering his situation, he’d felt his choices rather limited. Now, considering the situation, he dearly wished he’d made another choice.
Lost in thoughts of the past, Frodo stumbled as he caught his foot on yet another gnarled tree root. A cry escaped his throat, and he clutched at his belly to protect it as he fell. Time seemed to slow as he felt his ankle twist and give way beneath him, sending him sprawling. Elbows and knees scraped the ground painfully, the only thing left to break his fall, and Frodo’s breath rushed from his chest as the earth came up to meet him.
When he was sure he could fall no further, Frodo took a shaky breath, trying to calm his racing heart. The side of his face felt as if it had been scraped raw, and there was a pounding at his temple that spoke of a bruise, but otherwise he seemed relatively unharmed. Instinctively, his hands caressed his belly, pressing here and there gently, feeling every inch of it. The babe within shifted at the touch and Frodo nearly wept with relief.
For several long minutes, he made no attempt to get up but lay still, instead, listening to the Forest. It seemed relatively quiet, but Frodo could feel an undercurrent of…something. He knew the trees and paths were said to be enchanted, alive; indeed he had had the impression of being watched since he’d entered. He had also noticed that while some trees seemed to shift and sway as he passed, others seemed to purposely halt their movements upon his approach. It was an odd feeling, almost as if they could sense him and knew that he meant them no harm. He had certainly never heard *that* detail among the stories told at Buckland.
Having caught his breath, Frodo pushed himself awkwardly up from the ground. Getting to his knees was hard enough, at eight months gone, and he found himself breathing heavily again from the effort. Gaining his feet was almost impossible, with nothing to hold onto or brace himself against, but he finally managed to stand…only to fall to the hard forest floor again when dizziness swamped him and his injured ankle refused to hold his weight.
Feeling foolish at his weakness and ashamed of his condition, Frodo crumpled into a ball and made no attempt to rise again. His ankle was throbbing and tears burned against the backs of his closed eyelids. When the babe gave a hard kick just below his ribs, he gasped. As the babe gave a second and then a third kick, both harder than the first, Frodo cried out in surprise and pain.
“Please, little one,” he said softly as he moved his hand in circles around the front and sides of his stomach. “Please be patient. I know you’ve had a bit of a rough ride today, but I promise I’ll get us both out of here soon. And when you arrive, we shall live somewhere warm and quiet, where no one will call either one of us an abomination again.”
The babe seemed to settle with the quiet talk, but his promises only reinforced to Frodo the hopelessness of his situation. He had no idea where he was. His ankle was badly twisted, if not broken. A sob bubbled up in the back of his throat, and he swallowed hard. The logical thing would be to turn and go back to Buckland, but he knew if he couldn’t face the others before, he certainly couldn’t do it now. The shame, the taunting, the ridicule-he wouldn’t make his child suffer that with him. He wouldn’t! Shivering with the memories and the chill of the damp night air, Frodo clutched his cloak more tightly about his large frame and sobbed.
~*~
Frodo was dreaming. He was dreaming of red, ripe tomatoes as big as his fist, fat, juicy blackberries, and potato soup simmered to such perfection that the potatoes melted in his mouth before he could chew them. He was dreaming of wide, green fields that went on as far as the eye could see, endless blue skies, and the sun beaming down on him with such warmth it reached the very tips of his toes. He dreamt of a soft bed, gentle, soothing hands, and a night filled with loving and being loved.
Then Frodo’s dream changed. He’d been so happy that night with the other lads, but as the months passed and Frodo realized what had happened, everything had gone downhill. He’d tried to leave Buckland before anyone found out, but one of the cousins had unknowingly walked in on him in the bath and the news of Frodo’s ‘disgrace’ has spread like wildfire. He’d never even had the chance to talk to the lad he’d been with that fateful night, but he knew his condition would never be accepted. The Shire was a lovely, friendly place for those who lived quiet, traditional lives, but Hobbits didn’t take kindly to those who chose to live in ways that were out of the ordinary.
On the cold, bare earth of the Forest floor, Frodo moved restlessly in his sleep. He had not meant to fall asleep at all, but he was physically and emotionally exhausted and what little energy he ever had, was drained from him by the babe. As his dreams shifted again, growing darker still, he moaned in anguish; it seemed he was destined to relive what he only wished to forget. The pained noises became a series of whimpers, which soon had Frodo tossing from side to side in the dirt and dead leaves.
When a large hand settled on his shoulder and another covered his mouth, Frodo came awake with a scream that would have shaken the Forest trees to their roots, had he been able to make a sound.
“Peace, my friend, peace,” a quiet voice said from above him. “Please, I mean you no harm; I only wish to help.”
Despite the calm tones, Frodo struggled against the hands that held him. Feeling as though he were suffocating, he arched his back and kicked out with his feet in an attempt to free himself. The exertion soon left him light-headed and panting.
“My apologies, master Hobbit. My intention was not to frighten you.” The stranger’s voice came through the darkness, soft as velvet. “But as you seem to have spent some time here, you will understand my concern at drawing any more attention to ourselves than is necessary.”
Frodo felt the hand over his mouth lift slowly, and he drew a long, shaky breath. The hand quickly dropped to his chest, where he knew the stranger would be able to feel his heart pounding frantically. “Who are you?” he whispered. His teeth chattered as he spoke, and though his fingers were stiff from the cold night air, he attempted to pull his cloak closer to his body.
“I am called Strider,” the Man said. “Now, I’m afraid I must insist we take our leave of this place immediately. I have a small camp set up just outside the Forest, and I promise that once we’re there I will answer any questions you wish to ask.”
Frodo stared into the inky blackness, wishing he were able to see more than a dark silhouette before him. “Are we…are we close to the edge of the Forest now?”
The Man nodded as he got to his feet. “Perhaps 200 paces.”
Frodo groaned. He had been very nearly free of the Forest and he hadn’t even known it.
“Master Hobbit, are you well?” The Man bent down again, looking into Frodo’s eyes with concern.
“I’m all right,” Frodo mumbled, more to himself than to the Man. “Merely suffering from an acute attack of embarrassment. And please, call me Frodo.”
Strider reached down to give Frodo a hand up, but grew concerned at the pained gasp that accompanied the Hobbit’s attempt to stand. He knelt beside Frodo. “You’re injured.” It was not a question.
Frodo hung his head. “It’s my own fault, I’m afraid. I wasn’t watching the path and I tripped on one of the tree roots. I felt my ankle twist and when I tried to stand up, I was unable to.” Tears flooded his eyes again as the feeling of trapped helplessness returned.
“Will you allow me to carry you, then?” Strider asked. “I can tend to your ankle and any other injuries you may have when we are safely away from here.”
Too tired to argue, Frodo nodded. Strong arms lifted him and he was carried without much jostling, despite the uneven ground. When his cloak fell open, exposing the loose-fitting shirt he wore and his over-large belly, Frodo was too close to sleep to see the curious look that passed over his rescuer’s face.
~*~
Frodo woke with a start as he was placed on the ground atop something soft. He blinked and looked around, relieved to see that they were in a small clearing and no longer surrounded by the giant trees of the Forest.
“I regret that I have nothing more than a bedroll to make you comfortable with,” Strider said. But perhaps for tonight it will be enough.”
Frodo’s earlier melancholy returned as he wondered about that. Was the Man planning to depart in the morning then, and leave him on his own? He had saved Frodo from the Forest, and for that he knew he should be grateful. It had just been such a comfort, feeling as if he weren’t all alone, even in the short time they’d been together.
With careful movements, Strider raised Frodo’s leg and slipped his rucksack beneath his foot. In the light of a small lantern, he examined the Hobbit’s swollen ankle with long-practiced fingers. He stopped each time Frodo gave a hiss of discomfort, but continued to press and probe the injury until he was satisfied with his findings.
“I don’t believe you’ve broken any bones, Frodo, but the muscles around your ankle have been severely strained. I’m afraid walking on it is going to be impossible for a while.” Reaching into his cloak, he removed a length of cloth and deftly began wrapping it about Frodo’s ankle and foot.
Frodo attempted to see what Strider was doing, but it was difficult to see anything over his distended belly. Thinking about that suddenly made Frodo suspicious. Strider hadn’t mentioned his condition even once, though it was impossible that he wouldn’t have noticed by now. With an odd turning in his stomach that had nothing to do with the babe, Frodo wondered if the Man was waiting for him to explain it in his own time, or if he simply had no desire to deal with anyone foolish enough to find themselves in Frodo’s situation.
Feeling Frodo’s eyes upon him, Strider looked up. “I am wrapping your ankle as tightly as I can, without cutting off the blood flow to your toes. It may hurt a bit now, but it will help to keep you from constantly moving it and will allow the injury to begin to mend.”
Although he was getting drowsy again and his ankle was throbbing, Frodo’s curiosity won out. “How do you know so much about things like strained muscles and broken bones?”
Strider tucked the end of the cloth beneath the rest of the wrappings and smiled. “I am trained in many areas, my friend.”
“Such as how to find a Hobbit in the middle of the night in a Forest full of trees?” Frodo asked.
The Man chuckled. “Among other things. I am a Ranger.” He paused as Frodo’s eyes widened. “Ah, I see you are familiar with what we are.”
Frodo nodded. His cousin Bilbo had told him of such Men.
Strider went on. “As I was setting up camp, I heard something in the Forest. The footsteps were uneven and halting, and I thought perhaps an animal had been injured. I went in to investigate.”
“And there I was,” Frodo concluded. Thinking back on it brought all of his fears to the forefront again and Frodo began to shiver. Not wanting to seem any weaker than he already appeared, he hunched down into his cloak and tried to stop shaking.
“Frodo?” Strider asked with concern.
“I’m f…fine,” Frodo managed between shudders. “J…just t…tired, I think.”
“You are most likely suffering from shock,” Strider said. “You’re exhausted. You have had a fall and a scare tonight, and it is all catching up to you now.” He sighed. “I wish I had more to offer you than a bedroll and the hard ground, but you need to stay warm and get some rest.”
As he spoke, he leaned over and fully opened the bedroll, on which Frodo was already reclining. “If I may?” he asked. He gently shifted the Hobbit from atop the bedroll to between its thick layers.
Frodo lay perfectly still, as he was all but tucked into bed. The babe was beginning to stir in its crowded confines, and he held his breath, hoping it wouldn’t kick or otherwise draw the attention of the Ranger. He wondered how the Man happened to have a second bedroll along with him; he knew Rangers were prepared to live their lives in the wild, but he also knew that necessity would demand they pack light. His question was answered moments later, when Strider settled on the bare ground beside him, with only his cloak about him for warmth. He didn’t even have a place to rest his head, as Frodo’s foot was currently propped up on his travel sack.
When he chanced a look, he could see Strider resting on his back, eyes closed. It was possible he was even asleep. He *had* been busy looking after Frodo tonight and was probably tired. Frodo, on the other hand, found himself awake and still shivering, despite his downy blanket. He was also beginning to feel slightly nauseous, which was strange considering he hadn’t had much to eat all day. Half an hour later, he was no closer to sleep and feeling more ill than ever.
“Frodo?” Strider rolled up onto one elbow so that he could have a better look at the Hobbit. “Are you still cold?”
Frodo found that he couldn’t answer; the chills had become so severe that he knew his voice would give him away. He had no wish to be a further burden to the Man who had been so kind to him already. No, he would not appear ungrateful for the bedroll. Strider was sacrificing his own warmth for Frodo’s, and Frodo would not let him feel guilt simply because his body could not seem to soak up enough warmth.
“Frodo?” Strider was on his knees, leaning over Frodo now, a worried look on his face.
Frodo turned his head so that he would not have to meet the Ranger’s eyes. “’m ‘ll right,” he managed to force out between shuddering breaths. He closed his eyes and hoped Strider would think he had fallen asleep.
A gentle hand settled on Frodo’s shoulder. “I think you are very far from all right, my friend,” Strider said quietly. “For now, my assessment remains. Do you have any reason to believe it is something other than shock?” He reached out and tipped Frodo’s face back toward him, to be sure he received an answer.
Frodo shook his head, eyes still squeezed shut. “N…no.”
“Very well. Then I can think of only one other thing that may help.” Strider stood and gestured to the bedroll. “You need to be kept warm, and I cannot risk making a fire here. If we share the bedroll, my body will help provide you with some much-needed heat.”
Frodo’s eyes popped open and he stared at Strider. The Man wanted them to share a bedroll? He felt his face growing flushed, though the rest of him felt no warmer, and his heart began to pound.
His body was huge and misshapen. He moved awkwardly and slept poorly even on his good days. How could Strider make such an offer? It had been more than half a year since Frodo had slept near anyone, and the thought of what he had inside him made *him* uneasy at times. What would the Man feel, being in such close proximity to Frodo?
Misinterpreting Frodo’s discomfort, the Ranger sat down next to him. “I didn’t wish to make you uncomfortable, my friend, or to make you think I was hinting at anything except sleep. My apologies if my offer seemed to infer otherwise.”
Strider did not wish to make *him* uncomfortable? Frodo’s face reddened further at the inference Strider had thought he’d made. “N…not at all,” he said.
Taking that as acquiescence, Strider deftly slipped inside the bedroll, spooning up behind Frodo. When Frodo stiffened, he moved away a bit, but could not go very far. “I regret that this makes you uneasy,” he said. “But I know of no other way to ensure that you remain warm.”
The babe chose that moment to turn what must have been a summersault. Frodo’s nausea increased ten-fold and he tried to stifle a gasp, wishing to be anywhere other than a mere hand’s breadth from the Ranger. Breathing slowly in and out, he willed his last meal to stay down and the babe to go to sleep.
As Frodo squirmed and twisted in front of him, Strider’s concern grew. He had his suspicions about what was bothering the Hobbit, but he wasn’t sure if his questions would be welcomed. However, when Frodo’s hands flew to his belly and he groaned as if he were in pain, Strider could be silent no longer.
“Frodo, please…”
Frodo’s head was swimming. His back felt as though it had seized up, and his belly felt tight and stiff.
Worried, Strider sat up. He found himself looking down into a face that was a study in agony. Frodo’s blue eyes, so expressive and bright before, were glazed over and glassy. His breathing was too fast and his jaw was clenched so hard that Strider could hear his teeth grinding against one another.
“Please, may I?” Strider’s hands hovered over Frodo’s belly, asking permission before touching. His only answer was a soft cry, and Strider could take no more. Carefully, he pushed Frodo’s cloak and shirt aside, moving Frodo’s hands away and placing his own atop the Hobbit’s midsection. Closing his eyes, he slowly moved his fingertips over the rounded surface, seeming to sense what was outside as well as what was inside.
Though Frodo didn’t understand it, the pain seemed to lessen somewhat when Strider touched him. He found himself breathing easier and able to relax slightly. The discomfort was still there, but at least it was bearable for the moment. He didn’t know what was happening. The babe often had its active periods, but even the kicks to his ribs had never hurt so badly or lasted so long.
“How are you feeling now, Frodo?” Strider asked, his hands still in place over Frodo’s belly.
“I…” Frodo felt a bit calmer, now that some of the pain had gone away, but he still had a fuzzy, disconnected feeling. “It’s…usually not like this.”
“In what way?”
“The b…b…babe…” Frodo found that he could barely get the word out. He’d not talked about the babe with anyone, and had kept it to himself for so long that it seemed wrong to be talking aloud about it now. “When the babe is…awake and moving around, it can be uncomfortable, but…”
Suddenly, the burning, pulling pain was back, and the breath was driven from Frodo’s lungs.
Sensing the tension in Frodo’s body and feeling the muscles in the large belly tighten, Strider glanced up quickly. “Breathe, Frodo,” he prompted. “Holding your breath is only going to make you light-headed and the pain harder to bear.” Slowly, he began to move his hands in circles, feeling for the babe’s position, whispering words of tranquility and peace.
With a gasp, Frodo let out the breath he’d been holding in. “Is that Elvish?” he asked, startled to hear the language he only heard spoken by Bilbo.
It was Strider’s turn to be startled. “You recognize it?”
Frodo nodded. “I’ve been taught some of it by my cousin, and I’ve read it in a book.”
Strider smiled. “You are full of surprises, Frodo.”
The pain was starting to fade again, and Frodo attributed it to Strider’s gentle massage of his belly and the distraction of their conversation. “Do you…do you think there is something wrong with…” He couldn’t finish the thought.
The Ranger straightened Frodo’s shirt and pulled his cloak back into place. Carefully, he slipped back into the bedroll behind the Hobbit once again. This time, instead of keeping his distance, he moved one hand to the back of Frodo’s head and the other to Frodo’s belly. The touches seemed to give the Hobbit ease and Strider felt no guilt about invading the other’s space.
“I can sense nothing wrong,” he assured Frodo. “However… Tell me, how long have you been experiencing this tightening of the muscles in your belly, the pains in your back?”
Frodo blinked in shock. How could the Ranger know he had been feeling such things before now? “There are always times when…when the babe is active. It has been like that for months now,” he said, side-stepping the question.
“Frodo… I will not lie to you. I believe the tightness in your belly to be a precursor to the babe’s birth.”
Frodo blanched. No…it was too soon. It could not be.
“There are often pains such as these that come upon a…bearer…who is some weeks away from giving birth. These pains are a sort of ‘practice’ for the actual birth. But the intensity of your pains and their closeness of one upon the other lead me to believe that they will continue to build until the babe is born.”
“But…” Frodo felt as though his world were slowly collapsing. According to all his calculations, it was to be at least another month before the babe arrived. If the pains were to be upon him all that time, he feared he would be out of his mind by the time of the birth. “The babe is not due for weeks.” His voice was barely a whisper. “I don’t think I can bear to feel like this until…”
Strider bit back a smile at the Hobbit’s misunderstanding. “I believe I’ve misled you, Frodo. When I said that the pains will continue until the babe is born, I meant that they will continue for the next hour or two.”
Frodo felt the pain building again, but he had to know. “So they *will* let up soon and things will return to normal?”
“They will let up after an hour or two…when I expect the babe to be born.”
His heart dropped to somewhere near his feet, but Frodo was too overcome with the burning, twisting pain to notice it for long. “But…you…” He panted for breath, unable to concentrate on the feelings in his belly and their conversation at the same time. “You…”
Strider rubbed the back of Frodo’s neck, hoping to relax him. “Shhh…” he soothed. “Just remain quiet for now. Let yourself feel the pain, but dismiss it. Let it flow through you and away from you.”
“It…hurts…” Frodo managed to say between gasps.
“I know,” Strider said with sympathy. “It will continue to hurt, and you will soon need to prepare yourself to birth the babe, but for now, try to rest. Lie here during the pains and between them and allow me to give you ease.”
“But why…how…” Frodo stopped, panting in relief as the pain ebbed away to a dull ache. “How can the babe be coming now, when it’s not yet time?”
Strider massaged Frodo’s back and belly. “Near the last weeks of pregnancy, there is no sure time for the babe to arrive. Some are early, some late. Your babe has dropped down low in your belly. And once a babe is in that position…”
Despite the pain, Frodo laughed. “There’s nowhere to go but out, is that what you’re saying?”
A low, melodic laugh joined Frodo’s higher one. “Something like that, yes. When a babe drops low in the belly, it usually means the birth is drawing near. When a child is as low as yours is and the pains begin and remain steady, the foregone conclusion is that the birth will follow.”
“Do babes always come this quickly? I don’t suppose it’s the same thing, exactly, but I had an aunt who had pains for more than a day before my cousin was finally born. How is it possible that I could give birth in a matter of hours?”
“I asked before how long you’d been feeling these pains, but you avoided answering me,” Strider told Frodo gently.
A blush crept up Frodo’s neck. “While I was still in the Forest, maybe around mid-day, I began to have short spans of my back seizing up and my belly feeling overly tight. But they didn’t last long and they weren’t anywhere near as painful as they’ve gotten now. I thought it was just from the stress of walking all that way.” He stopped talking as he sensed another pain coming.
“If you have been feeling this way for more than half the day, then I suspect your body has been preparing itself for hours. And sometimes the birthing process is initiated by stress, so that may very well be how this all began. But before you ask, the babe seems to be of a large size. Quite large enough to survive on its own outside the womb. So being born now will not harm it.”
Frodo panted as his belly heaved again with the pain. His back seemed to ache clear through to his chest, and every breath burned.
“Does this help or does it make it worse?” Strider asked, as he rubbed Frodo’s belly more firmly.
“H…” Frodo shuddered as a particularly hard cramp grabbed hold of his insides, seemingly intent on pulling him apart. “Helps…” he murmured breathlessly. “Please…”
They rode out the pain together, and when it subsided Frodo asked, “Have you done this before? Helped to birth a babe?”
Strider nodded, his hands still moving on Frodo’s belly. “I learned healing, under my…father. As part of my training, I accompanied him through many births.”
“And were all of these births to…females?” Frodo asked with hesitation.
“Yes,” Strider nodded. “But they were not all beings such as we. There were several times when it was necessary for my father to assist in the birth of a foal or a kitten, when nature did not take its course.”
Frodo smiled in amazement. “That’s wonderful. Your father must have been very proud, to have you following in his footsteps.”
Strider’s eyes lost their focus for a moment. “He always told me that he was, but it was more my honor to be able to follow him.”
They lay in silence for a time, until Frodo began to gasp and then to cry out. “Strider! Oh…it’s…it’s…ohhhhhhhhhhhh…” Back arching, Frodo moaned and writhed, unprepared for the sudden speed and sharpness of the pain. “Please…it hurts…”
In an instant, Strider was out of the bedroll and lifting Frodo’s clothing away from his legs and midsection. “I must move your feet, so that I can check the babe’s progress,” he warned. “This may hurt your ankle, but I will be as gentle as I can in moving it.”
Head swimming with the pain in his belly, Frodo took no notice of the repositioning of his legs and knees. He imagined he could feel the babe moving even lower than it had been, and wondered if it really was just his imagination.
“Breathe slowly, Frodo,” Strider coached. “As slowly as you’re able. It may help to use short pants of breath, but do so in measured strides. In and out…in and out… Think about counting to three or four as you breathe out and then again as you breathe in. Evening out your breathing will allow you better control of your pain and will clear your head.”
Frodo attempted to do as Strider asked, but lost count as he felt a stinging pain where he had rarely felt anything before. He flinched violently, his hips rising against Strider’s hands.
“My apologies,” Strider said, not looking up from what he was doing. “I had to place my fingers inside your opening, to gauge the babe’s readiness.”
“In…inside…?” Frodo felt as though he might be sick. “With your fingers?”
“There is no other way. I should have warned you, and for that I am sorry. I only wished to feel inside as your pains were upon you, as that is often the time when the babe is moving lower.”
Frodo swallowed and hoped he didn’t look as green as he felt. “And what did you discover?” he asked as soon as he was sure he could speak steadily.
Strider looked at Frodo then, not even trying to hide his wonder. “I felt the babe’s head.”
“What?” Frodo was awe-struck. “You could…you…” He could barely fathom such a thing, let alone imagine being able to do it. “You felt…inside…but how…?”
“The pains are your muscles contracting, working to push the babe toward the opening. Your babe is so low that when your last pains were upon you, they pushed the babe close enough for my fingers to touch it while I had them inside.”
“You *felt* the babe.” Frodo could think of nothing else to say.
There was another soft laugh. “Yes. Although I would not be able to do so right now, because your muscles aren’t as active and the babe has slipped further inside again.”
It was amazing, Frodo thought. Miraculous. He had lived with the babe growing and moving inside him for so long, but to think that Strider had actually touched it…and would soon see it emerging from his body… The thought nearly rendered him senseless.
Strider was quiet for a time, as he studied the rippling of Frodo’s belly and the expression on his face. “I think that you’re nearing the time to push,” he said finally. “The pains were bad this last time, and they should continue to build.”
He bent his head and peered between Frodo’s open legs. “Your body is fairly open now, and it will stretch a bit to accommodate the babe’s exit, in any case. Tell me when you feel the pains beginning again, and we will try some gentle pushes to see if the time is yet right.”
Frodo looked startled. “Push? Push what?”
The Ranger’s head snapped up and he stared at Frodo, as if trying to decide whether he was teasing or not. The wide, frightened eyes that stared back at him said that he was not. “You will need to help the babe out of your body by pushing with your lower muscles,” Strider said slowly. Frodo had seemed to take the pregnancy in stride, acting as if it were the most natural thing in the world to him; that he had been told nothing of the birthing process or procedures gave Strider pause and made him wonder what else he had been left to figure out on his own. The thought made Strider’s heart ache.
“When the time comes, you will bear down as if trying to expel the child from your body. You will do it when the pains are at their worst, so that you are working with the contracting muscles. Together, your pushing and the movement of the muscles will help the babe out of your body.”
He watched as Frodo’s already pale face went three shades whiter at the thought. Strider’s heart crumbled completely. Frodo looked lost, and so very scared. “I will try to explain everything as we go along, so you will know what is happening. It is all right if you feel confused; it is a lot to take in. If you have any questions, please ask them of me at any time.”
Frodo shuddered. “Will it be…very painful? To push that hard and to have the child coming out of such a small opening?” he asked in a small voice.
Strider moved to his travel sack and reached into a pocket at its front. He returned to Frodo with a small, green leaf. “This will be bitter, but if you chew it all and swallow it, it will help with some of the pain. I cannot risk giving you more, for if you are too relaxed or too numb, your muscles around your birth opening not respond correctly and it could hinder the progress of the birth.”
Gagging as he chewed the last of the leaf, Frodo forced himself to swallow it down. “Thank y…” He gasped as the pains returned, fast and hard, coming one upon the next. Frodo was panic-stricken as he tried to hold on through the haze of pain and remember everything Strider had said. “C…can you f…f…feel the babe again?” he asked shakily.
From his place between Frodo’s legs, Strider looked up. “I am going to use my fingers again, to probe inside your opening. If the leaf has done its job, you should feel nothing more than a fullness, or a stretching, if you feel anything at all.”
Panting, Frodo nodded and waited for further instructions. The pain was coming in great waves, and he felt as though it would wash him away in its strength.
“I can feel the head once again,” Strider said. “Is the pain still strong?” He saw Frodo nod again. “Good. Let it build up until it gets to be too much, then plant your heels against the ground and bear down with your inner muscles.”
Frodo waited until he was literally screaming with the pain, then pushed with all his might as Strider had told him to. It didn’t feel as though anything were happening. Soon the pain had receded again and Frodo lay gasping for breath, puzzled. “How is this helping?” he asked.
“Every time you bear down, you’re pushing the babe further toward your opening. Eventually it *will* be born.”
Frodo’s eyes filled with tears of frustration. “If it goes this slowly, I can’t see how I’ll have any strength left to push *with*.”
Strider put one hand on Frodo’s knee and gave it a squeeze. “You will. And if you don’t, I shall help you. Together we’ll see to it. Now, I can tell that the pains are beginning again. When you feel you cannot hold back any longer, push hard and do not stop until I tell you.”
Over the next hour, Frodo felt as though his insides were being rearranged and put back in the wrong order. He pushed when Strider told him to push, and he stopped when Strider told him to stop. He panted and counted and braced his feet against the ground until he felt sure he was digging great trenches into it.
“Much of the babe is visible now, Frodo,” Strider said with excitement. “When you bear down again, do so with the intent of pushing the babe into my waiting hands.” When there was no response, he quickly glanced up. Frodo’s eyes had dark circles beneath them, and tears tracked in wet lines down his cheeks. “Oh, Frodo…”
The pains were nearly constant now, so Strider couldn’t move to comfort the Hobbit. He did, however, place a hand over Frodo’s bulging midsection and press down gently, experimentally. Frodo’s eyes widened, either from surprise or pain-or both.
“If you can find it in you to give one more hard push, Frodo, I will try to help from above. When you push down, I’ll press against your belly, and perhaps that will encourage your child to make its way out.”
Almost immediately, Frodo gave a shout. He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and used all the strength he had left to do as Strider asked. At the same time, he felt a steady pressure on his belly and movement between his legs. He had felt the babe moving lower and lower, but this was different. It was like water building up behind a dam, demanding release.
“Yes, Frodo! That’s it! Give me your hand.”
Confused, Frodo moved his hand in Strider’s direction. The Ranger took it and placed it near his entrance, where he felt something warm and wet against his fingers. “That’s your babe, Frodo! The head is out and its shoulders are on their way.”
At that moment, Frodo knew that whatever pain he had suffered, whatever fear he had encountered, it had all been worth it. When he felt all of the built-up pressure flood out of him and felt the sticky waters and fluids of the birth flow over his hand, the tears came in full force and Frodo couldn’t make them stop. The babe was fully out.
“Oh, Frodo.” Strider lifted the babe, birthing cord still attached, and placed it atop Frodo’s chest. He draped a blanket over them both. “She’s beautiful.”
Frodo looked down, his vision somewhat watery and blurred, to see a head full of reddish ringlets. “She? It’s a lass?”
“Yes, Frodo,” Strider smiled broadly at the pride in the Hobbit’s voice. “It’s a lass. A beautiful, perfect, pink-skinned Hobbit lass.”
“You are lovely,” Frodo said to his daughter in wonderment, twirling one small curl around his finger. “Thank you Strider. For everything. I don’t know what I would have done if you had not found me tonight.”
“It is better to think about the present, rather than dwelling on the past,” Strider told him, though the very same chilling thought had crossed his mind at least a dozen times over the last few hours. “Have you chosen a name for her?”
Frodo blinked, as though he had forgotten that he would need to give his child a name. He looked at the babe again, contemplating his choices. “I believe so. I have had several in mind, but I wanted to have one name that would fit both a lad and a lass. In Elvish, there is a word that means ‘hope’. I think I shall give that name to my child, so that no matter what is to come, she will always have that with her.”
“Estel,” Strider whispered, the word falling easily from his lips.
“Yes,” Frodo answered. “She will be my Estel.”
~ el fin ~
8/19/06
6500 words
::cheers gleefully::
I've literally been up for the last 24 hours straight. I woke up at 10am on Fri. morning and it's now 10am Sat. morning. I started adding to this fic late last night, around 10pm. And I worked on it until 4am...when I had to get up, shower, dress, and go meet some people for a 5am breakfast-to celebrate someone *else's* birthday. There's a long backstory to it all, but it was some friends that my dad used to meet, 7 days a week, at 4:30 every morning, for breakfast and chit-chat. So today my Mom and I went and had breakfast with them, to celebrate one of the guy's turning 85. Wow!
I got back home here about 7am and started writing again. I finished the story at 9, proofed it, and HERE IT IS!! Fair warning: the fic hasn't been betaed, so any errors are my own. If you see something that needs adjusting, you can leave a note in my LJ. I checked really carefully, but I'm afraid that the name 'Aragorn' has still ended up here somewhere. This is a 'Strider' fic, but I kept slipping into typing 'Aragorn'. AUGH.
And Amy and Janet, if you find something, you can leave a note or email me with corrections/changes, since this will be coming your way for editing. :) I'm just going about it a bit backwards this time, to make the fic a gift for everyone first.
This story was started after lilybaggins made a request for 'fic with a very pregnant Frodo, found somewhere in the wilds by Aragorn, and cuddled, and cared for in a 'friendship' sort of way.' I don't know if I hit everything, but I think I've got most of it. I figured since I had about 700 words of this already, I'd go ahead and finish it for today. I am, after all, all about MPREG, so it seemed appropriate to write an MPREG fic as my bday mathom. It's come out to 6500 words, which means I added nearly 6000 words in the last 12 hours. For me, who sometimes spends two hours writing a paragraph, that's really saying something.
And if a mathom is something old-most of the my fics are old, since I start them and then they sit around forever until I get around to finishing them :)-that is given away to someone else, then I think this qualifies. My one fear-besides having not caught all the typos-is that a lot of the MPREG readers who used to check over here for fic have given up and gone away...since I'm so awful about writing/posting these days. So if you know someone who likes MPREG and you know they won't see it here, maybe you can point them in this direction...
Happy day!
ETA: Fic has now been 'edited' to add title and summary. :)
Title: Delivered from the Forest
Rating: PG for some medical-ish stuff (no slash)
Characters: Strider, Frodo
Summary: At eight months gone, Frodo runs into trouble in the Forest.
Delivered from the Forest
by Anastasia
Frodo ran blindly through the Old Forest…if what he was doing could be considered running. In all honestly, he felt like a lumbering oliphaunt. It seemed as though he’d been in the Forest for days and days-and it was quite possible that he had. When he’d left the safety of the Shire, he’d known he was taking a chance by entering the Forest but, considering his situation, he’d felt his choices rather limited. Now, considering the situation, he dearly wished he’d made another choice.
Lost in thoughts of the past, Frodo stumbled as he caught his foot on yet another gnarled tree root. A cry escaped his throat, and he clutched at his belly to protect it as he fell. Time seemed to slow as he felt his ankle twist and give way beneath him, sending him sprawling. Elbows and knees scraped the ground painfully, the only thing left to break his fall, and Frodo’s breath rushed from his chest as the earth came up to meet him.
When he was sure he could fall no further, Frodo took a shaky breath, trying to calm his racing heart. The side of his face felt as if it had been scraped raw, and there was a pounding at his temple that spoke of a bruise, but otherwise he seemed relatively unharmed. Instinctively, his hands caressed his belly, pressing here and there gently, feeling every inch of it. The babe within shifted at the touch and Frodo nearly wept with relief.
For several long minutes, he made no attempt to get up but lay still, instead, listening to the Forest. It seemed relatively quiet, but Frodo could feel an undercurrent of…something. He knew the trees and paths were said to be enchanted, alive; indeed he had had the impression of being watched since he’d entered. He had also noticed that while some trees seemed to shift and sway as he passed, others seemed to purposely halt their movements upon his approach. It was an odd feeling, almost as if they could sense him and knew that he meant them no harm. He had certainly never heard *that* detail among the stories told at Buckland.
Having caught his breath, Frodo pushed himself awkwardly up from the ground. Getting to his knees was hard enough, at eight months gone, and he found himself breathing heavily again from the effort. Gaining his feet was almost impossible, with nothing to hold onto or brace himself against, but he finally managed to stand…only to fall to the hard forest floor again when dizziness swamped him and his injured ankle refused to hold his weight.
Feeling foolish at his weakness and ashamed of his condition, Frodo crumpled into a ball and made no attempt to rise again. His ankle was throbbing and tears burned against the backs of his closed eyelids. When the babe gave a hard kick just below his ribs, he gasped. As the babe gave a second and then a third kick, both harder than the first, Frodo cried out in surprise and pain.
“Please, little one,” he said softly as he moved his hand in circles around the front and sides of his stomach. “Please be patient. I know you’ve had a bit of a rough ride today, but I promise I’ll get us both out of here soon. And when you arrive, we shall live somewhere warm and quiet, where no one will call either one of us an abomination again.”
The babe seemed to settle with the quiet talk, but his promises only reinforced to Frodo the hopelessness of his situation. He had no idea where he was. His ankle was badly twisted, if not broken. A sob bubbled up in the back of his throat, and he swallowed hard. The logical thing would be to turn and go back to Buckland, but he knew if he couldn’t face the others before, he certainly couldn’t do it now. The shame, the taunting, the ridicule-he wouldn’t make his child suffer that with him. He wouldn’t! Shivering with the memories and the chill of the damp night air, Frodo clutched his cloak more tightly about his large frame and sobbed.
~*~
Frodo was dreaming. He was dreaming of red, ripe tomatoes as big as his fist, fat, juicy blackberries, and potato soup simmered to such perfection that the potatoes melted in his mouth before he could chew them. He was dreaming of wide, green fields that went on as far as the eye could see, endless blue skies, and the sun beaming down on him with such warmth it reached the very tips of his toes. He dreamt of a soft bed, gentle, soothing hands, and a night filled with loving and being loved.
Then Frodo’s dream changed. He’d been so happy that night with the other lads, but as the months passed and Frodo realized what had happened, everything had gone downhill. He’d tried to leave Buckland before anyone found out, but one of the cousins had unknowingly walked in on him in the bath and the news of Frodo’s ‘disgrace’ has spread like wildfire. He’d never even had the chance to talk to the lad he’d been with that fateful night, but he knew his condition would never be accepted. The Shire was a lovely, friendly place for those who lived quiet, traditional lives, but Hobbits didn’t take kindly to those who chose to live in ways that were out of the ordinary.
On the cold, bare earth of the Forest floor, Frodo moved restlessly in his sleep. He had not meant to fall asleep at all, but he was physically and emotionally exhausted and what little energy he ever had, was drained from him by the babe. As his dreams shifted again, growing darker still, he moaned in anguish; it seemed he was destined to relive what he only wished to forget. The pained noises became a series of whimpers, which soon had Frodo tossing from side to side in the dirt and dead leaves.
When a large hand settled on his shoulder and another covered his mouth, Frodo came awake with a scream that would have shaken the Forest trees to their roots, had he been able to make a sound.
“Peace, my friend, peace,” a quiet voice said from above him. “Please, I mean you no harm; I only wish to help.”
Despite the calm tones, Frodo struggled against the hands that held him. Feeling as though he were suffocating, he arched his back and kicked out with his feet in an attempt to free himself. The exertion soon left him light-headed and panting.
“My apologies, master Hobbit. My intention was not to frighten you.” The stranger’s voice came through the darkness, soft as velvet. “But as you seem to have spent some time here, you will understand my concern at drawing any more attention to ourselves than is necessary.”
Frodo felt the hand over his mouth lift slowly, and he drew a long, shaky breath. The hand quickly dropped to his chest, where he knew the stranger would be able to feel his heart pounding frantically. “Who are you?” he whispered. His teeth chattered as he spoke, and though his fingers were stiff from the cold night air, he attempted to pull his cloak closer to his body.
“I am called Strider,” the Man said. “Now, I’m afraid I must insist we take our leave of this place immediately. I have a small camp set up just outside the Forest, and I promise that once we’re there I will answer any questions you wish to ask.”
Frodo stared into the inky blackness, wishing he were able to see more than a dark silhouette before him. “Are we…are we close to the edge of the Forest now?”
The Man nodded as he got to his feet. “Perhaps 200 paces.”
Frodo groaned. He had been very nearly free of the Forest and he hadn’t even known it.
“Master Hobbit, are you well?” The Man bent down again, looking into Frodo’s eyes with concern.
“I’m all right,” Frodo mumbled, more to himself than to the Man. “Merely suffering from an acute attack of embarrassment. And please, call me Frodo.”
Strider reached down to give Frodo a hand up, but grew concerned at the pained gasp that accompanied the Hobbit’s attempt to stand. He knelt beside Frodo. “You’re injured.” It was not a question.
Frodo hung his head. “It’s my own fault, I’m afraid. I wasn’t watching the path and I tripped on one of the tree roots. I felt my ankle twist and when I tried to stand up, I was unable to.” Tears flooded his eyes again as the feeling of trapped helplessness returned.
“Will you allow me to carry you, then?” Strider asked. “I can tend to your ankle and any other injuries you may have when we are safely away from here.”
Too tired to argue, Frodo nodded. Strong arms lifted him and he was carried without much jostling, despite the uneven ground. When his cloak fell open, exposing the loose-fitting shirt he wore and his over-large belly, Frodo was too close to sleep to see the curious look that passed over his rescuer’s face.
~*~
Frodo woke with a start as he was placed on the ground atop something soft. He blinked and looked around, relieved to see that they were in a small clearing and no longer surrounded by the giant trees of the Forest.
“I regret that I have nothing more than a bedroll to make you comfortable with,” Strider said. But perhaps for tonight it will be enough.”
Frodo’s earlier melancholy returned as he wondered about that. Was the Man planning to depart in the morning then, and leave him on his own? He had saved Frodo from the Forest, and for that he knew he should be grateful. It had just been such a comfort, feeling as if he weren’t all alone, even in the short time they’d been together.
With careful movements, Strider raised Frodo’s leg and slipped his rucksack beneath his foot. In the light of a small lantern, he examined the Hobbit’s swollen ankle with long-practiced fingers. He stopped each time Frodo gave a hiss of discomfort, but continued to press and probe the injury until he was satisfied with his findings.
“I don’t believe you’ve broken any bones, Frodo, but the muscles around your ankle have been severely strained. I’m afraid walking on it is going to be impossible for a while.” Reaching into his cloak, he removed a length of cloth and deftly began wrapping it about Frodo’s ankle and foot.
Frodo attempted to see what Strider was doing, but it was difficult to see anything over his distended belly. Thinking about that suddenly made Frodo suspicious. Strider hadn’t mentioned his condition even once, though it was impossible that he wouldn’t have noticed by now. With an odd turning in his stomach that had nothing to do with the babe, Frodo wondered if the Man was waiting for him to explain it in his own time, or if he simply had no desire to deal with anyone foolish enough to find themselves in Frodo’s situation.
Feeling Frodo’s eyes upon him, Strider looked up. “I am wrapping your ankle as tightly as I can, without cutting off the blood flow to your toes. It may hurt a bit now, but it will help to keep you from constantly moving it and will allow the injury to begin to mend.”
Although he was getting drowsy again and his ankle was throbbing, Frodo’s curiosity won out. “How do you know so much about things like strained muscles and broken bones?”
Strider tucked the end of the cloth beneath the rest of the wrappings and smiled. “I am trained in many areas, my friend.”
“Such as how to find a Hobbit in the middle of the night in a Forest full of trees?” Frodo asked.
The Man chuckled. “Among other things. I am a Ranger.” He paused as Frodo’s eyes widened. “Ah, I see you are familiar with what we are.”
Frodo nodded. His cousin Bilbo had told him of such Men.
Strider went on. “As I was setting up camp, I heard something in the Forest. The footsteps were uneven and halting, and I thought perhaps an animal had been injured. I went in to investigate.”
“And there I was,” Frodo concluded. Thinking back on it brought all of his fears to the forefront again and Frodo began to shiver. Not wanting to seem any weaker than he already appeared, he hunched down into his cloak and tried to stop shaking.
“Frodo?” Strider asked with concern.
“I’m f…fine,” Frodo managed between shudders. “J…just t…tired, I think.”
“You are most likely suffering from shock,” Strider said. “You’re exhausted. You have had a fall and a scare tonight, and it is all catching up to you now.” He sighed. “I wish I had more to offer you than a bedroll and the hard ground, but you need to stay warm and get some rest.”
As he spoke, he leaned over and fully opened the bedroll, on which Frodo was already reclining. “If I may?” he asked. He gently shifted the Hobbit from atop the bedroll to between its thick layers.
Frodo lay perfectly still, as he was all but tucked into bed. The babe was beginning to stir in its crowded confines, and he held his breath, hoping it wouldn’t kick or otherwise draw the attention of the Ranger. He wondered how the Man happened to have a second bedroll along with him; he knew Rangers were prepared to live their lives in the wild, but he also knew that necessity would demand they pack light. His question was answered moments later, when Strider settled on the bare ground beside him, with only his cloak about him for warmth. He didn’t even have a place to rest his head, as Frodo’s foot was currently propped up on his travel sack.
When he chanced a look, he could see Strider resting on his back, eyes closed. It was possible he was even asleep. He *had* been busy looking after Frodo tonight and was probably tired. Frodo, on the other hand, found himself awake and still shivering, despite his downy blanket. He was also beginning to feel slightly nauseous, which was strange considering he hadn’t had much to eat all day. Half an hour later, he was no closer to sleep and feeling more ill than ever.
“Frodo?” Strider rolled up onto one elbow so that he could have a better look at the Hobbit. “Are you still cold?”
Frodo found that he couldn’t answer; the chills had become so severe that he knew his voice would give him away. He had no wish to be a further burden to the Man who had been so kind to him already. No, he would not appear ungrateful for the bedroll. Strider was sacrificing his own warmth for Frodo’s, and Frodo would not let him feel guilt simply because his body could not seem to soak up enough warmth.
“Frodo?” Strider was on his knees, leaning over Frodo now, a worried look on his face.
Frodo turned his head so that he would not have to meet the Ranger’s eyes. “’m ‘ll right,” he managed to force out between shuddering breaths. He closed his eyes and hoped Strider would think he had fallen asleep.
A gentle hand settled on Frodo’s shoulder. “I think you are very far from all right, my friend,” Strider said quietly. “For now, my assessment remains. Do you have any reason to believe it is something other than shock?” He reached out and tipped Frodo’s face back toward him, to be sure he received an answer.
Frodo shook his head, eyes still squeezed shut. “N…no.”
“Very well. Then I can think of only one other thing that may help.” Strider stood and gestured to the bedroll. “You need to be kept warm, and I cannot risk making a fire here. If we share the bedroll, my body will help provide you with some much-needed heat.”
Frodo’s eyes popped open and he stared at Strider. The Man wanted them to share a bedroll? He felt his face growing flushed, though the rest of him felt no warmer, and his heart began to pound.
His body was huge and misshapen. He moved awkwardly and slept poorly even on his good days. How could Strider make such an offer? It had been more than half a year since Frodo had slept near anyone, and the thought of what he had inside him made *him* uneasy at times. What would the Man feel, being in such close proximity to Frodo?
Misinterpreting Frodo’s discomfort, the Ranger sat down next to him. “I didn’t wish to make you uncomfortable, my friend, or to make you think I was hinting at anything except sleep. My apologies if my offer seemed to infer otherwise.”
Strider did not wish to make *him* uncomfortable? Frodo’s face reddened further at the inference Strider had thought he’d made. “N…not at all,” he said.
Taking that as acquiescence, Strider deftly slipped inside the bedroll, spooning up behind Frodo. When Frodo stiffened, he moved away a bit, but could not go very far. “I regret that this makes you uneasy,” he said. “But I know of no other way to ensure that you remain warm.”
The babe chose that moment to turn what must have been a summersault. Frodo’s nausea increased ten-fold and he tried to stifle a gasp, wishing to be anywhere other than a mere hand’s breadth from the Ranger. Breathing slowly in and out, he willed his last meal to stay down and the babe to go to sleep.
As Frodo squirmed and twisted in front of him, Strider’s concern grew. He had his suspicions about what was bothering the Hobbit, but he wasn’t sure if his questions would be welcomed. However, when Frodo’s hands flew to his belly and he groaned as if he were in pain, Strider could be silent no longer.
“Frodo, please…”
Frodo’s head was swimming. His back felt as though it had seized up, and his belly felt tight and stiff.
Worried, Strider sat up. He found himself looking down into a face that was a study in agony. Frodo’s blue eyes, so expressive and bright before, were glazed over and glassy. His breathing was too fast and his jaw was clenched so hard that Strider could hear his teeth grinding against one another.
“Please, may I?” Strider’s hands hovered over Frodo’s belly, asking permission before touching. His only answer was a soft cry, and Strider could take no more. Carefully, he pushed Frodo’s cloak and shirt aside, moving Frodo’s hands away and placing his own atop the Hobbit’s midsection. Closing his eyes, he slowly moved his fingertips over the rounded surface, seeming to sense what was outside as well as what was inside.
Though Frodo didn’t understand it, the pain seemed to lessen somewhat when Strider touched him. He found himself breathing easier and able to relax slightly. The discomfort was still there, but at least it was bearable for the moment. He didn’t know what was happening. The babe often had its active periods, but even the kicks to his ribs had never hurt so badly or lasted so long.
“How are you feeling now, Frodo?” Strider asked, his hands still in place over Frodo’s belly.
“I…” Frodo felt a bit calmer, now that some of the pain had gone away, but he still had a fuzzy, disconnected feeling. “It’s…usually not like this.”
“In what way?”
“The b…b…babe…” Frodo found that he could barely get the word out. He’d not talked about the babe with anyone, and had kept it to himself for so long that it seemed wrong to be talking aloud about it now. “When the babe is…awake and moving around, it can be uncomfortable, but…”
Suddenly, the burning, pulling pain was back, and the breath was driven from Frodo’s lungs.
Sensing the tension in Frodo’s body and feeling the muscles in the large belly tighten, Strider glanced up quickly. “Breathe, Frodo,” he prompted. “Holding your breath is only going to make you light-headed and the pain harder to bear.” Slowly, he began to move his hands in circles, feeling for the babe’s position, whispering words of tranquility and peace.
With a gasp, Frodo let out the breath he’d been holding in. “Is that Elvish?” he asked, startled to hear the language he only heard spoken by Bilbo.
It was Strider’s turn to be startled. “You recognize it?”
Frodo nodded. “I’ve been taught some of it by my cousin, and I’ve read it in a book.”
Strider smiled. “You are full of surprises, Frodo.”
The pain was starting to fade again, and Frodo attributed it to Strider’s gentle massage of his belly and the distraction of their conversation. “Do you…do you think there is something wrong with…” He couldn’t finish the thought.
The Ranger straightened Frodo’s shirt and pulled his cloak back into place. Carefully, he slipped back into the bedroll behind the Hobbit once again. This time, instead of keeping his distance, he moved one hand to the back of Frodo’s head and the other to Frodo’s belly. The touches seemed to give the Hobbit ease and Strider felt no guilt about invading the other’s space.
“I can sense nothing wrong,” he assured Frodo. “However… Tell me, how long have you been experiencing this tightening of the muscles in your belly, the pains in your back?”
Frodo blinked in shock. How could the Ranger know he had been feeling such things before now? “There are always times when…when the babe is active. It has been like that for months now,” he said, side-stepping the question.
“Frodo… I will not lie to you. I believe the tightness in your belly to be a precursor to the babe’s birth.”
Frodo blanched. No…it was too soon. It could not be.
“There are often pains such as these that come upon a…bearer…who is some weeks away from giving birth. These pains are a sort of ‘practice’ for the actual birth. But the intensity of your pains and their closeness of one upon the other lead me to believe that they will continue to build until the babe is born.”
“But…” Frodo felt as though his world were slowly collapsing. According to all his calculations, it was to be at least another month before the babe arrived. If the pains were to be upon him all that time, he feared he would be out of his mind by the time of the birth. “The babe is not due for weeks.” His voice was barely a whisper. “I don’t think I can bear to feel like this until…”
Strider bit back a smile at the Hobbit’s misunderstanding. “I believe I’ve misled you, Frodo. When I said that the pains will continue until the babe is born, I meant that they will continue for the next hour or two.”
Frodo felt the pain building again, but he had to know. “So they *will* let up soon and things will return to normal?”
“They will let up after an hour or two…when I expect the babe to be born.”
His heart dropped to somewhere near his feet, but Frodo was too overcome with the burning, twisting pain to notice it for long. “But…you…” He panted for breath, unable to concentrate on the feelings in his belly and their conversation at the same time. “You…”
Strider rubbed the back of Frodo’s neck, hoping to relax him. “Shhh…” he soothed. “Just remain quiet for now. Let yourself feel the pain, but dismiss it. Let it flow through you and away from you.”
“It…hurts…” Frodo managed to say between gasps.
“I know,” Strider said with sympathy. “It will continue to hurt, and you will soon need to prepare yourself to birth the babe, but for now, try to rest. Lie here during the pains and between them and allow me to give you ease.”
“But why…how…” Frodo stopped, panting in relief as the pain ebbed away to a dull ache. “How can the babe be coming now, when it’s not yet time?”
Strider massaged Frodo’s back and belly. “Near the last weeks of pregnancy, there is no sure time for the babe to arrive. Some are early, some late. Your babe has dropped down low in your belly. And once a babe is in that position…”
Despite the pain, Frodo laughed. “There’s nowhere to go but out, is that what you’re saying?”
A low, melodic laugh joined Frodo’s higher one. “Something like that, yes. When a babe drops low in the belly, it usually means the birth is drawing near. When a child is as low as yours is and the pains begin and remain steady, the foregone conclusion is that the birth will follow.”
“Do babes always come this quickly? I don’t suppose it’s the same thing, exactly, but I had an aunt who had pains for more than a day before my cousin was finally born. How is it possible that I could give birth in a matter of hours?”
“I asked before how long you’d been feeling these pains, but you avoided answering me,” Strider told Frodo gently.
A blush crept up Frodo’s neck. “While I was still in the Forest, maybe around mid-day, I began to have short spans of my back seizing up and my belly feeling overly tight. But they didn’t last long and they weren’t anywhere near as painful as they’ve gotten now. I thought it was just from the stress of walking all that way.” He stopped talking as he sensed another pain coming.
“If you have been feeling this way for more than half the day, then I suspect your body has been preparing itself for hours. And sometimes the birthing process is initiated by stress, so that may very well be how this all began. But before you ask, the babe seems to be of a large size. Quite large enough to survive on its own outside the womb. So being born now will not harm it.”
Frodo panted as his belly heaved again with the pain. His back seemed to ache clear through to his chest, and every breath burned.
“Does this help or does it make it worse?” Strider asked, as he rubbed Frodo’s belly more firmly.
“H…” Frodo shuddered as a particularly hard cramp grabbed hold of his insides, seemingly intent on pulling him apart. “Helps…” he murmured breathlessly. “Please…”
They rode out the pain together, and when it subsided Frodo asked, “Have you done this before? Helped to birth a babe?”
Strider nodded, his hands still moving on Frodo’s belly. “I learned healing, under my…father. As part of my training, I accompanied him through many births.”
“And were all of these births to…females?” Frodo asked with hesitation.
“Yes,” Strider nodded. “But they were not all beings such as we. There were several times when it was necessary for my father to assist in the birth of a foal or a kitten, when nature did not take its course.”
Frodo smiled in amazement. “That’s wonderful. Your father must have been very proud, to have you following in his footsteps.”
Strider’s eyes lost their focus for a moment. “He always told me that he was, but it was more my honor to be able to follow him.”
They lay in silence for a time, until Frodo began to gasp and then to cry out. “Strider! Oh…it’s…it’s…ohhhhhhhhhhhh…” Back arching, Frodo moaned and writhed, unprepared for the sudden speed and sharpness of the pain. “Please…it hurts…”
In an instant, Strider was out of the bedroll and lifting Frodo’s clothing away from his legs and midsection. “I must move your feet, so that I can check the babe’s progress,” he warned. “This may hurt your ankle, but I will be as gentle as I can in moving it.”
Head swimming with the pain in his belly, Frodo took no notice of the repositioning of his legs and knees. He imagined he could feel the babe moving even lower than it had been, and wondered if it really was just his imagination.
“Breathe slowly, Frodo,” Strider coached. “As slowly as you’re able. It may help to use short pants of breath, but do so in measured strides. In and out…in and out… Think about counting to three or four as you breathe out and then again as you breathe in. Evening out your breathing will allow you better control of your pain and will clear your head.”
Frodo attempted to do as Strider asked, but lost count as he felt a stinging pain where he had rarely felt anything before. He flinched violently, his hips rising against Strider’s hands.
“My apologies,” Strider said, not looking up from what he was doing. “I had to place my fingers inside your opening, to gauge the babe’s readiness.”
“In…inside…?” Frodo felt as though he might be sick. “With your fingers?”
“There is no other way. I should have warned you, and for that I am sorry. I only wished to feel inside as your pains were upon you, as that is often the time when the babe is moving lower.”
Frodo swallowed and hoped he didn’t look as green as he felt. “And what did you discover?” he asked as soon as he was sure he could speak steadily.
Strider looked at Frodo then, not even trying to hide his wonder. “I felt the babe’s head.”
“What?” Frodo was awe-struck. “You could…you…” He could barely fathom such a thing, let alone imagine being able to do it. “You felt…inside…but how…?”
“The pains are your muscles contracting, working to push the babe toward the opening. Your babe is so low that when your last pains were upon you, they pushed the babe close enough for my fingers to touch it while I had them inside.”
“You *felt* the babe.” Frodo could think of nothing else to say.
There was another soft laugh. “Yes. Although I would not be able to do so right now, because your muscles aren’t as active and the babe has slipped further inside again.”
It was amazing, Frodo thought. Miraculous. He had lived with the babe growing and moving inside him for so long, but to think that Strider had actually touched it…and would soon see it emerging from his body… The thought nearly rendered him senseless.
Strider was quiet for a time, as he studied the rippling of Frodo’s belly and the expression on his face. “I think that you’re nearing the time to push,” he said finally. “The pains were bad this last time, and they should continue to build.”
He bent his head and peered between Frodo’s open legs. “Your body is fairly open now, and it will stretch a bit to accommodate the babe’s exit, in any case. Tell me when you feel the pains beginning again, and we will try some gentle pushes to see if the time is yet right.”
Frodo looked startled. “Push? Push what?”
The Ranger’s head snapped up and he stared at Frodo, as if trying to decide whether he was teasing or not. The wide, frightened eyes that stared back at him said that he was not. “You will need to help the babe out of your body by pushing with your lower muscles,” Strider said slowly. Frodo had seemed to take the pregnancy in stride, acting as if it were the most natural thing in the world to him; that he had been told nothing of the birthing process or procedures gave Strider pause and made him wonder what else he had been left to figure out on his own. The thought made Strider’s heart ache.
“When the time comes, you will bear down as if trying to expel the child from your body. You will do it when the pains are at their worst, so that you are working with the contracting muscles. Together, your pushing and the movement of the muscles will help the babe out of your body.”
He watched as Frodo’s already pale face went three shades whiter at the thought. Strider’s heart crumbled completely. Frodo looked lost, and so very scared. “I will try to explain everything as we go along, so you will know what is happening. It is all right if you feel confused; it is a lot to take in. If you have any questions, please ask them of me at any time.”
Frodo shuddered. “Will it be…very painful? To push that hard and to have the child coming out of such a small opening?” he asked in a small voice.
Strider moved to his travel sack and reached into a pocket at its front. He returned to Frodo with a small, green leaf. “This will be bitter, but if you chew it all and swallow it, it will help with some of the pain. I cannot risk giving you more, for if you are too relaxed or too numb, your muscles around your birth opening not respond correctly and it could hinder the progress of the birth.”
Gagging as he chewed the last of the leaf, Frodo forced himself to swallow it down. “Thank y…” He gasped as the pains returned, fast and hard, coming one upon the next. Frodo was panic-stricken as he tried to hold on through the haze of pain and remember everything Strider had said. “C…can you f…f…feel the babe again?” he asked shakily.
From his place between Frodo’s legs, Strider looked up. “I am going to use my fingers again, to probe inside your opening. If the leaf has done its job, you should feel nothing more than a fullness, or a stretching, if you feel anything at all.”
Panting, Frodo nodded and waited for further instructions. The pain was coming in great waves, and he felt as though it would wash him away in its strength.
“I can feel the head once again,” Strider said. “Is the pain still strong?” He saw Frodo nod again. “Good. Let it build up until it gets to be too much, then plant your heels against the ground and bear down with your inner muscles.”
Frodo waited until he was literally screaming with the pain, then pushed with all his might as Strider had told him to. It didn’t feel as though anything were happening. Soon the pain had receded again and Frodo lay gasping for breath, puzzled. “How is this helping?” he asked.
“Every time you bear down, you’re pushing the babe further toward your opening. Eventually it *will* be born.”
Frodo’s eyes filled with tears of frustration. “If it goes this slowly, I can’t see how I’ll have any strength left to push *with*.”
Strider put one hand on Frodo’s knee and gave it a squeeze. “You will. And if you don’t, I shall help you. Together we’ll see to it. Now, I can tell that the pains are beginning again. When you feel you cannot hold back any longer, push hard and do not stop until I tell you.”
Over the next hour, Frodo felt as though his insides were being rearranged and put back in the wrong order. He pushed when Strider told him to push, and he stopped when Strider told him to stop. He panted and counted and braced his feet against the ground until he felt sure he was digging great trenches into it.
“Much of the babe is visible now, Frodo,” Strider said with excitement. “When you bear down again, do so with the intent of pushing the babe into my waiting hands.” When there was no response, he quickly glanced up. Frodo’s eyes had dark circles beneath them, and tears tracked in wet lines down his cheeks. “Oh, Frodo…”
The pains were nearly constant now, so Strider couldn’t move to comfort the Hobbit. He did, however, place a hand over Frodo’s bulging midsection and press down gently, experimentally. Frodo’s eyes widened, either from surprise or pain-or both.
“If you can find it in you to give one more hard push, Frodo, I will try to help from above. When you push down, I’ll press against your belly, and perhaps that will encourage your child to make its way out.”
Almost immediately, Frodo gave a shout. He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and used all the strength he had left to do as Strider asked. At the same time, he felt a steady pressure on his belly and movement between his legs. He had felt the babe moving lower and lower, but this was different. It was like water building up behind a dam, demanding release.
“Yes, Frodo! That’s it! Give me your hand.”
Confused, Frodo moved his hand in Strider’s direction. The Ranger took it and placed it near his entrance, where he felt something warm and wet against his fingers. “That’s your babe, Frodo! The head is out and its shoulders are on their way.”
At that moment, Frodo knew that whatever pain he had suffered, whatever fear he had encountered, it had all been worth it. When he felt all of the built-up pressure flood out of him and felt the sticky waters and fluids of the birth flow over his hand, the tears came in full force and Frodo couldn’t make them stop. The babe was fully out.
“Oh, Frodo.” Strider lifted the babe, birthing cord still attached, and placed it atop Frodo’s chest. He draped a blanket over them both. “She’s beautiful.”
Frodo looked down, his vision somewhat watery and blurred, to see a head full of reddish ringlets. “She? It’s a lass?”
“Yes, Frodo,” Strider smiled broadly at the pride in the Hobbit’s voice. “It’s a lass. A beautiful, perfect, pink-skinned Hobbit lass.”
“You are lovely,” Frodo said to his daughter in wonderment, twirling one small curl around his finger. “Thank you Strider. For everything. I don’t know what I would have done if you had not found me tonight.”
“It is better to think about the present, rather than dwelling on the past,” Strider told him, though the very same chilling thought had crossed his mind at least a dozen times over the last few hours. “Have you chosen a name for her?”
Frodo blinked, as though he had forgotten that he would need to give his child a name. He looked at the babe again, contemplating his choices. “I believe so. I have had several in mind, but I wanted to have one name that would fit both a lad and a lass. In Elvish, there is a word that means ‘hope’. I think I shall give that name to my child, so that no matter what is to come, she will always have that with her.”
“Estel,” Strider whispered, the word falling easily from his lips.
“Yes,” Frodo answered. “She will be my Estel.”
~ el fin ~
8/19/06
6500 words
::cheers gleefully::