I almost forgot...
I have a small mpreg offering that I've been meaning to post. :p Anyone from the BagginsBaby yahoogroup will have already seen this, since I posted it there at least a week ago for the morning sickness challenge issued by febobe (and brought to LJ by lilybaggins a while back).
So, yeah. Frodo. Morning sickness. No, it's not nearly as graphic as it could be; I'm saving that up for other stuff. :D This would be the earliest (chronologically) portion of my pre-existing mpreg universe (the rest of which is numbered in order on the mpreg list). Which still needs a name. Anyone?
Be advised this was written mostly while in class, sleep-deprived, or both. So if you spot anything that really doesn't make sense, do point it out so I can figure out what I was trying to say. ;)
Title: Indications
Authoress: Ancalime
Rating: perhaps PG, for subject matter and throwing up (mostly implied)
Summary: As I said above: Frodo. Morning sickness. Yup. :p
_Indications_
It began soon after they left Minas Tirith. He would wake with the others, but while they would venture off to find breakfast, he went off to find a secluded spot to crouch and try not to be sick. The featureless landscape and the large size of the travelling party made it difficult to go completely unnoticed and unobserved; he found his size and stealth extremely useful, and when those did not avail him, a polite request for privacy from the Ringbearer usually did the trick.
And then there was Sam. Frodo had snuck off for two days, disappearing during breakfast and only reappearing when the group prepared to leave, when Sam decided to follow him. Sam kept his distance, losing sight of his master once or twice as they made their winding way through the camp, but wasn't worried because he knew Frodo could no longer disappear completely from sight. At length, he found Frodo huddled in the shadows behind a supply wain, leaning against the wheel as he sat, chin on his knees.
Sam remained out of sight for some moments, observing Frodo. He seemed uncomfortable, changing position often, and looked pale even from a distance. As Sam watched, Frodo crawled a few paces farther away from him along the edge of the wain's shadow, then looked to be digging a small hole in the dry soil and... threw up? Sam wasn't sure, but he was certainly concerned. Still oblivious to being watched, Frodo filled in the hole he'd made and tried to make it look undisturbed before crawling back to sit against the wheel again.
Sam decided he'd seen enough. "Mr. Frodo?" he said as he stepped into his master's sight. "Is something wrong?"
"I'm fine," Frodo replied automatically, eyeing Sam warily as he approached and sat nearby.
"Don't you want breakfast?" Frodo shook his head vigorously. "Why not?" he felt he was being perhaps too bold, but it needed to be said.
"I don't know," Frodo admitted miserably. "The thought and sight of food makes me feel ill sometimes."
"So you hide an'..." he vaguely motioned toward the covered hole.
Frodo buried his face in his hands. "You were watching me."
"You keep disappearin'. I was concerned."
"I'm fine, Sam, really. I think I just need to get used to travelling again. It's difficult, after staying in one place for so long."
"Aye. 'Tis strange, at that," Sam conceded.
"So don't worry about me. I'm usually back to normal by luncheon." Frodo resumed staring off into space and seemed to consider the conversation over; Sam wasn't convinced.
"At least come back an' have some tea," he suggested. "'Tisn't good t' travel on an empty stomach."
Frodo looked at him skeptically. "If you insist," he sighed and allowed Sam to help him up. But before they came around the wain and into the view of camp, Frodo stopped and pulled at Sam's arm. "Promise me you won't mention this to anyone," he hissed in a whisper.
"O' course, Mr. Frodo," Sam replied, uncertain why the situation should require such a promise, and shrugged to himself as Frodo started off again. There were many things he still didn't understand about his master.
~~~~
Frodo was relieved when they reached Edoras, despite the prospect of more overgrown beings staring at him and the compulsory banquets to attend. Sam was getting on his nerves, and he figured it would be easier to evade his concern in the bustling town setting. After the funeral proceedings for Theoden -which he found to be most intriguing due to the strangeness of the customs- were the requisite feasts.
He threw himself wholeheartedly into the events, even if only to allay Sam's concern, and found that most mornings he wasn't sure if the queasiness was the result of over imbibing or the indication that the mysterious malady continued. He chose, of course, to go with the former conclusion, and thus was distressed when the morning ritual recurred as soon as they left the city behind. Even then, he endeavoured to convince Sam -and himself- that it would pass, given a bit of time. And as long as he ate enough later in the day to make up for the lack, Sam was willing to leave it at that, despite some niggling misgivings.
Frodo, quite simply, was frustrated with the entire situation... but not frustrated enough to elicit other help. He was tired, for the nausea usually woke him before everyone else rose; he usually managed to delay his dash until more people were up and his movement wouldn't be as noticeable. He would lie down and go back to sleep afterward when he could, but it wasn't always possible, so he started the day grouchy more often than not. Being tired meant he was often cranky, and while he realized he was being obnoxious that didn't mean he could do anything about it, so he was upset with himself when he snapped at someone, and that made him even more cranky.
And his exhaustion only seemed to increase daily, until he fell asleep at dinner. It was after he finished eating, naturally, but he didn't realize it happened until he found himself lying on his bedroll, being undressed by Sam and Merry. He yelled at them quite rudely, which he felt bad for, but he was just so embarrassed and exhausted that it slipped right out. He was left alone for the rest of the night, though he wasn't aware of that. He was too busy sleeping.
The next morning as he huddled behind some scraggly bushes, suffering a particularly bad bout of this whatever-it-was, he realized that someone was going to notice his behaviour sooner or later. . . The thought made him feel even sicker, this time with worry and fear.
So, yeah. Frodo. Morning sickness. No, it's not nearly as graphic as it could be; I'm saving that up for other stuff. :D This would be the earliest (chronologically) portion of my pre-existing mpreg universe (the rest of which is numbered in order on the mpreg list). Which still needs a name. Anyone?
Be advised this was written mostly while in class, sleep-deprived, or both. So if you spot anything that really doesn't make sense, do point it out so I can figure out what I was trying to say. ;)
Title: Indications
Authoress: Ancalime
Rating: perhaps PG, for subject matter and throwing up (mostly implied)
Summary: As I said above: Frodo. Morning sickness. Yup. :p
_Indications_
It began soon after they left Minas Tirith. He would wake with the others, but while they would venture off to find breakfast, he went off to find a secluded spot to crouch and try not to be sick. The featureless landscape and the large size of the travelling party made it difficult to go completely unnoticed and unobserved; he found his size and stealth extremely useful, and when those did not avail him, a polite request for privacy from the Ringbearer usually did the trick.
And then there was Sam. Frodo had snuck off for two days, disappearing during breakfast and only reappearing when the group prepared to leave, when Sam decided to follow him. Sam kept his distance, losing sight of his master once or twice as they made their winding way through the camp, but wasn't worried because he knew Frodo could no longer disappear completely from sight. At length, he found Frodo huddled in the shadows behind a supply wain, leaning against the wheel as he sat, chin on his knees.
Sam remained out of sight for some moments, observing Frodo. He seemed uncomfortable, changing position often, and looked pale even from a distance. As Sam watched, Frodo crawled a few paces farther away from him along the edge of the wain's shadow, then looked to be digging a small hole in the dry soil and... threw up? Sam wasn't sure, but he was certainly concerned. Still oblivious to being watched, Frodo filled in the hole he'd made and tried to make it look undisturbed before crawling back to sit against the wheel again.
Sam decided he'd seen enough. "Mr. Frodo?" he said as he stepped into his master's sight. "Is something wrong?"
"I'm fine," Frodo replied automatically, eyeing Sam warily as he approached and sat nearby.
"Don't you want breakfast?" Frodo shook his head vigorously. "Why not?" he felt he was being perhaps too bold, but it needed to be said.
"I don't know," Frodo admitted miserably. "The thought and sight of food makes me feel ill sometimes."
"So you hide an'..." he vaguely motioned toward the covered hole.
Frodo buried his face in his hands. "You were watching me."
"You keep disappearin'. I was concerned."
"I'm fine, Sam, really. I think I just need to get used to travelling again. It's difficult, after staying in one place for so long."
"Aye. 'Tis strange, at that," Sam conceded.
"So don't worry about me. I'm usually back to normal by luncheon." Frodo resumed staring off into space and seemed to consider the conversation over; Sam wasn't convinced.
"At least come back an' have some tea," he suggested. "'Tisn't good t' travel on an empty stomach."
Frodo looked at him skeptically. "If you insist," he sighed and allowed Sam to help him up. But before they came around the wain and into the view of camp, Frodo stopped and pulled at Sam's arm. "Promise me you won't mention this to anyone," he hissed in a whisper.
"O' course, Mr. Frodo," Sam replied, uncertain why the situation should require such a promise, and shrugged to himself as Frodo started off again. There were many things he still didn't understand about his master.
~~~~
Frodo was relieved when they reached Edoras, despite the prospect of more overgrown beings staring at him and the compulsory banquets to attend. Sam was getting on his nerves, and he figured it would be easier to evade his concern in the bustling town setting. After the funeral proceedings for Theoden -which he found to be most intriguing due to the strangeness of the customs- were the requisite feasts.
He threw himself wholeheartedly into the events, even if only to allay Sam's concern, and found that most mornings he wasn't sure if the queasiness was the result of over imbibing or the indication that the mysterious malady continued. He chose, of course, to go with the former conclusion, and thus was distressed when the morning ritual recurred as soon as they left the city behind. Even then, he endeavoured to convince Sam -and himself- that it would pass, given a bit of time. And as long as he ate enough later in the day to make up for the lack, Sam was willing to leave it at that, despite some niggling misgivings.
Frodo, quite simply, was frustrated with the entire situation... but not frustrated enough to elicit other help. He was tired, for the nausea usually woke him before everyone else rose; he usually managed to delay his dash until more people were up and his movement wouldn't be as noticeable. He would lie down and go back to sleep afterward when he could, but it wasn't always possible, so he started the day grouchy more often than not. Being tired meant he was often cranky, and while he realized he was being obnoxious that didn't mean he could do anything about it, so he was upset with himself when he snapped at someone, and that made him even more cranky.
And his exhaustion only seemed to increase daily, until he fell asleep at dinner. It was after he finished eating, naturally, but he didn't realize it happened until he found himself lying on his bedroll, being undressed by Sam and Merry. He yelled at them quite rudely, which he felt bad for, but he was just so embarrassed and exhausted that it slipped right out. He was left alone for the rest of the night, though he wasn't aware of that. He was too busy sleeping.
The next morning as he huddled behind some scraggly bushes, suffering a particularly bad bout of this whatever-it-was, he realized that someone was going to notice his behaviour sooner or later. . . The thought made him feel even sicker, this time with worry and fear.