the LB-request ficlet
First off, I'd like to apologize. This isn't quite what you asked for, I'm afraid, and this certainly isn't what I set out to write! :p The idea turned out to be a rather rabid plot hamster that dragged me to places I completely didn't expect... which is partly why I'm posting it now, without having anyone else look it over or anything -I think if I waited, I'd lose my nerve.
lilybaggins had asked for a ficlet in which pregnant Frodo is being examined on one of those tables with stirrups or whatever. This is what my strange mind came up with, and it is *not* part of my existing mpreg universe. It may, in fact, be the beginning of a new (hopefully short!) series, if my hamsters are serious about the follow-up ideas they were showering me with this morning (before I even got out of bed -what nerve!). :p But don't hold me to that...
Title: Probing (I could use other suggestions)
Rating: PG-13/R (?) for thematic material, mentions of m/m relationships
Warnings: where do I begin? ;) MPREG, post-slash, semi-promiscuous Frodo (you'll see what I mean), a bit of sexual androgyny (again, you'll see what I mean), um... don't think there's much else, just keep in mind the requested scenario... Oh, and lame attempts at humor (sorry, I'm not too good at the funny end of things).
Notes: Post-Quest, Minas Tirith
It had been over a month since he'd awoken, and a couple weeks since they'd arrived in Minas Tirith. With the availability of more and better food, he found his appetite increasing considerably. So did his waistline. Thus, he was not greatly surprised that Strider . . . er, Aragorn -or The High King of Gondor, if you preferred to be absolutely precise- wanted to take a look at him. To check on the babe and all.
Poor Strider had been the picture of discomfiture when he'd approached Frodo in Ithilien, saying there's something he should know. The Man had looked so uncomfortable on his behalf that Frodo almost didn't have the heart to tell him he'd already known, and for quite some time at that. He was only surprised the poor child had survived the ordeal.
His revelation naturally led to a number of questions from the flabbergasted healer. No, he hadn't known when he volunteered to bear the Ring -he wasn't stupid. (The fact that he suspected the conception occurred after the Council didn't seem vital to reveal to the Man at that point.) No, he didn't realize until after they'd left Rivendell, and he didn't say anything once he did because he knew nothing could be done. (Sam knew, or rather, he figured it out . . . perhaps that explains Sam's insistence on caring for him so.) Aragorn left off his questions, shaking his head at the 'incorrigible hobbit,' and let him go with an admonishment to take care of himself and a warning of a thorough examination to come.
So he was not surprised when Aragorn approached him one afternoon and politely requested his cooperation. He was surprised, however, by the strange-looking table in the small spare room the King led him to. He eyed it as he was handed a robe and instructed to undress, which he did with no little embarrassment. Sure, Aragorn had seen him in various states of undress, but it was different when one's belly is much larger than it had been a short time before, and particularly when one's size was due to an unusual pregnancy. It did not help that the robe had obviously been intended for a child, not a hobbit with child, as it didn't quite meet in the middle (though, at least, it was of a suitable length).
When Aragorn finished scrubbing his hands in the basin on the stand next to the strange contraption, he turned and, seeing Frodo had changed, said, "Up on that table if you would, please."
He complied, but decided it was past time that he be told what's going on. "What is this about, exactly?"
Aragorn smirked. "I said there'd be a more thorough examination; this is it. And I would've done it sooner, but some adjustments had to be made to the stirrups," he said, motioning to the things sticking out from the table at one end (Frodo had sat down well at the other end).
Now that he looked, those things did look like stirrups. But why . . . ? He had a nagging feeling he would soon find out.
"Down here, Frodo," the Man prodded, gesturing to the intimidating end of the table. "First, I want you to just dangle your legs over the edge and lie back."
Frodo moved accordingly -this didn't sound so bad- dangling his feet over the edge between the strange things. As Aragorn poked, prodded, and palpated his abdomen, he wondered when the strangeness would start -this was reasonably normal.
"All right, now slide down the table, a little closer to me."
As he did so, he asked, "Why?"
"So we can get your feet" -he took one furry foot and lifted it- "and put them in the stirrups" -he angled the bent leg upwards and slid the foot into the stirrup- "like so."
"Why?"
"So I" -he grabbed the other foot and lifted- "can get a good look at how things are progressing."
He could get a good look, all right. Frodo felt like his legs were spread wide enough to let the entire city have a good look. He was trussed up like some animal, and his cheeks burned with humiliation. His other cheeks were pressed flat into the frigid surface -his robe had ridden up in the course of the adjustments- and between that and the coldness of the stirrups and the air now circulating freely around his intimate parts, he felt cold and absolutely vulnerable.
And he couldn’t see what Aragorn was doing. At this point, that worried him most of all. Frodo tried to raise himself on his elbows, but the positioning of his legs made it impossible.
Aragorn looked up. "Try to relax, and this shouldn't hurt."
Frodo's snide remark was cut off when a frightfully cold implement was applied to his skin down there, and he felt something stretching the babe opening. He jerked automatically at the coldness, and likely would've kicked a certain King in the head had his feet not been detained. Frodo swore in frustration and Aragorn chuckled. "Take it easy."
"Let's switch places and see if you can take it easy," Frodo snapped back. "What are you doing?!"
"Stretching you a bit so I can slide my hand in and check things on the inside."
"And I suppose you'll immerse your hand in snow just before you do it."
Aragorn laughed. "No, my hand should be warm. Now, while we're waiting, tell me how it is that male hobbits can bear children."
Frodo crossed his arms defiantly -a gesture made comical by his position and the interference of his prominent stomach- and glared at him. "It just happens."
Not allowing the hobbit to bait him so, Aragorn said placidly, "I am unable to help you unless I become more familiar with how this is possible. As you may have noticed, this does not occur among Men." He paused. "Now, when Elrond inquired about the extra passage you possess, you told him it was a family trait. Is this ability to bear children also inherited?" (He didn't see it necessary to remind Frodo that's what the hobbit told him, as well, when the matter . . . came up.)
Frodo sighed heavily. "Yes. The 'extra passage,' as you call it, generally indicates the possessor can bear children. Very old stories tell of several Brandybuck family groups who had many children this way, but . . ." he shrugged. "It doesn't happen much anymore."
Aragorn took advantage of the hobbit's preoccupation and used the implement to sufficiently widen the passage. Sliding his hand in, he continued the conversation to keep Frodo distracted. "Why doesn't it happen anymore?"
"I don't know," he replied irritably. "It is not exactly commonplace for hobbits to speak of such things, especially about having children, and particularly amongst lads!" He gritted his teeth. "What are you doing? Something is pinching."
"I am sorry, I shall be finished soon," Aragorn assured him.
Frodo was almost surprised when he heard Aragorn's chair slide back moments later, followed by the splash of him again washing his hands. He stared morosely at the uninteresting ceiling and wondered when he'd be freed from this appalling contraption.
"Frodo, I need to ask you a few things, and I want you to answer me honestly." Aragorn's voice sounded vaguely . . . curious? uneasy? disturbed? He couldn't quite tell, and he couldn't see the Man to check on his expression.
"If it's all the same to you, I'd prefer to be let down from this . . . thing first. So you're talking to my face and not my rear. And my feet are going numb."
"Of course." Aragorn hastily returned the use of Frodo's legs.
Frodo sighed with relief as he resumed the normal position for one lying on a table. Then, realizing how exposed he remained, he awkwardly sat up and rearranged the small robe to cover as much as possible. Once he felt reasonably presentable, he looked up. "You had questions for me?"
"Yes." Aragorn sat on the table next to Frodo. "How far along do you think you are?"
Frodo's forehead crinkled in concentration as he counted. "Maybe . . . six months? Seven? No more than seven."
Aragorn nodded. "About seven months would be consistent with what I can tell of the babe's development." He shook his head ruefully. "You didn't seem nearly so far along in Ithilien . . . hobbit babes must possess the same facility for recovery as their parents."
Silence cloaked the room for several minutes before Aragorn spoke again. "Be honest, now. Do you know who-"
"No," Frodo's reply was quick and to the point. This was the sort of uncomfortable question he'd been anticipating for some time. "No, I don't know who. I wasn't expecting this to happen, so I wasn't keeping track." His tone was sarcastic and slightly bitter.
Aragorn said nothing, just stared at his clasped hands where they rested in his lap, and thought.
After a few moments of silence, Frodo added defensively, "You can't blame a hobbit for taking pleasure while he can."
"Be at peace, Frodo, I am not judging you. I am merely considering some things," Aragorn quickly assured him.
"Like whether it could be yours," Frodo muttered, and rubbed a spot where the babe had just kicked particularly hard.
Aragorn glanced at him without meeting his eyes. "There is that," he acknowledged, "but that is unlikely, as I believe you spent far more time with the other hobbits than you did with me. But in any case," he rushed on, to head off Frodo's impending rebuttal, "you will need to consider your future with this child, and where you plan to raise it, among other things."
Frodo sighed. "I don't suppose I have an 'I don't want to do this' option."
Aragorn patted his knee. "I'm afraid not. But all of us will help you decide what to do. You don't have to manage this on your own."
Frodo nodded, lost in thought. Should he mention what had been bothering him since Ithilien . . . ?
"If you don't have any questions, we're finished here," Aragorn added at length.
Frodo opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, and repeated this several times before managing to make words come out. "Are you sure . . . are you sure the babe is all right? It's hard to believe it could survive and be well after all that." He sounded as uncertain as he felt, and for a moment he wondered if he should have voiced his doubt (and secret hope).
Aragorn, realizing the gravity of Frodo's concern, answered likewise. "I cannot be entirely certain, no. Some problems would not be evident at this point, but it seems to be going well. The babe is growing quickly, and you are coming along just as would be expected of a female at this stage." He paused, and added, "Once Elrond arrives, it would be wise to have him also examine you. He may be able to probe more deeply into the condition of the babe than I am able."
"Will it require me to be all trussed up and exposed again?" Frodo asked plaintively.
Aragorn smirked. "Possibly. That would be Elrond's decision."
Frodo rolled his eyes. "You know he'll have me up in that thing, even if it's just because I don't want to be." He eyed the floor calculatingly, then shook his head and inched his way along the table to where the chair stood next to it, and let himself down as gracefully as he was able. His clothes were perched on the same chair, and as he picked up his undertrousers, he said, "Don't look."
Aragorn chuckled, and it took Frodo a moment to realize what was funny. He flushed; having just concluded a very intimate examination, it was rather absurd to worry about his modesty.
Frodo dressed quickly, glad to be back in clothes again, but had a bit of trouble getting his trousers tied. The trousers were fairly new, having replaced his usual buttoned breeches when he outgrew them, and he wasn't quite used to the laces. They kept slipping from his fingers.
"Here, let me help," Aragorn offered, crouching in front of Frodo and easily doing up the stubborn ties. "There."
"And if they fall down, you'll be to blame," Frodo teased.
"Minas Tirith should be so lucky," Aragorn countered.
Frodo's jaw dropped in mock horror. "I wonder if the people know what a rascal their new King is," he shot back.
"They would never believe it," was the smug reply.
"Oh? Wouldn't they, if the babe is yours?" Frodo challenged, taking advantage of seeing the Man eye-to-eye to stare him down. Aragorn's expression changed from amused to something he couldn't readily interpret, and he knew his comment had completely killed the banter.
"Don't toy with me, Frodo. Are you certain you do not know who caused this?"
"Yes, I'm certain," he said, exasperated. "I'd love to know myself! But I will find out when the lot of you do, and no amount of prodding will change that."
"I am sorry, Frodo. It would just be easier to know what to tell Arwen when she arrives." He tried to sound contrite, but at the mention of Arwen Frodo stiffened.
"Perhaps you should have thought about that before," he hissed before stalking from the room.
Aragorn hurried to the door and called out after him, but the hobbit did not even pause. The King heaved a sigh; at least he knew better than to try appeasing Frodo when he was in such a mood -he'd have to apologize later.
That sure didn't end well.
[Continued in "Preparing"]
lilybaggins had asked for a ficlet in which pregnant Frodo is being examined on one of those tables with stirrups or whatever. This is what my strange mind came up with, and it is *not* part of my existing mpreg universe. It may, in fact, be the beginning of a new (hopefully short!) series, if my hamsters are serious about the follow-up ideas they were showering me with this morning (before I even got out of bed -what nerve!). :p But don't hold me to that...
Title: Probing (I could use other suggestions)
Rating: PG-13/R (?) for thematic material, mentions of m/m relationships
Warnings: where do I begin? ;) MPREG, post-slash, semi-promiscuous Frodo (you'll see what I mean), a bit of sexual androgyny (again, you'll see what I mean), um... don't think there's much else, just keep in mind the requested scenario... Oh, and lame attempts at humor (sorry, I'm not too good at the funny end of things).
Notes: Post-Quest, Minas Tirith
It had been over a month since he'd awoken, and a couple weeks since they'd arrived in Minas Tirith. With the availability of more and better food, he found his appetite increasing considerably. So did his waistline. Thus, he was not greatly surprised that Strider . . . er, Aragorn -or The High King of Gondor, if you preferred to be absolutely precise- wanted to take a look at him. To check on the babe and all.
Poor Strider had been the picture of discomfiture when he'd approached Frodo in Ithilien, saying there's something he should know. The Man had looked so uncomfortable on his behalf that Frodo almost didn't have the heart to tell him he'd already known, and for quite some time at that. He was only surprised the poor child had survived the ordeal.
His revelation naturally led to a number of questions from the flabbergasted healer. No, he hadn't known when he volunteered to bear the Ring -he wasn't stupid. (The fact that he suspected the conception occurred after the Council didn't seem vital to reveal to the Man at that point.) No, he didn't realize until after they'd left Rivendell, and he didn't say anything once he did because he knew nothing could be done. (Sam knew, or rather, he figured it out . . . perhaps that explains Sam's insistence on caring for him so.) Aragorn left off his questions, shaking his head at the 'incorrigible hobbit,' and let him go with an admonishment to take care of himself and a warning of a thorough examination to come.
So he was not surprised when Aragorn approached him one afternoon and politely requested his cooperation. He was surprised, however, by the strange-looking table in the small spare room the King led him to. He eyed it as he was handed a robe and instructed to undress, which he did with no little embarrassment. Sure, Aragorn had seen him in various states of undress, but it was different when one's belly is much larger than it had been a short time before, and particularly when one's size was due to an unusual pregnancy. It did not help that the robe had obviously been intended for a child, not a hobbit with child, as it didn't quite meet in the middle (though, at least, it was of a suitable length).
When Aragorn finished scrubbing his hands in the basin on the stand next to the strange contraption, he turned and, seeing Frodo had changed, said, "Up on that table if you would, please."
He complied, but decided it was past time that he be told what's going on. "What is this about, exactly?"
Aragorn smirked. "I said there'd be a more thorough examination; this is it. And I would've done it sooner, but some adjustments had to be made to the stirrups," he said, motioning to the things sticking out from the table at one end (Frodo had sat down well at the other end).
Now that he looked, those things did look like stirrups. But why . . . ? He had a nagging feeling he would soon find out.
"Down here, Frodo," the Man prodded, gesturing to the intimidating end of the table. "First, I want you to just dangle your legs over the edge and lie back."
Frodo moved accordingly -this didn't sound so bad- dangling his feet over the edge between the strange things. As Aragorn poked, prodded, and palpated his abdomen, he wondered when the strangeness would start -this was reasonably normal.
"All right, now slide down the table, a little closer to me."
As he did so, he asked, "Why?"
"So we can get your feet" -he took one furry foot and lifted it- "and put them in the stirrups" -he angled the bent leg upwards and slid the foot into the stirrup- "like so."
"Why?"
"So I" -he grabbed the other foot and lifted- "can get a good look at how things are progressing."
He could get a good look, all right. Frodo felt like his legs were spread wide enough to let the entire city have a good look. He was trussed up like some animal, and his cheeks burned with humiliation. His other cheeks were pressed flat into the frigid surface -his robe had ridden up in the course of the adjustments- and between that and the coldness of the stirrups and the air now circulating freely around his intimate parts, he felt cold and absolutely vulnerable.
And he couldn’t see what Aragorn was doing. At this point, that worried him most of all. Frodo tried to raise himself on his elbows, but the positioning of his legs made it impossible.
Aragorn looked up. "Try to relax, and this shouldn't hurt."
Frodo's snide remark was cut off when a frightfully cold implement was applied to his skin down there, and he felt something stretching the babe opening. He jerked automatically at the coldness, and likely would've kicked a certain King in the head had his feet not been detained. Frodo swore in frustration and Aragorn chuckled. "Take it easy."
"Let's switch places and see if you can take it easy," Frodo snapped back. "What are you doing?!"
"Stretching you a bit so I can slide my hand in and check things on the inside."
"And I suppose you'll immerse your hand in snow just before you do it."
Aragorn laughed. "No, my hand should be warm. Now, while we're waiting, tell me how it is that male hobbits can bear children."
Frodo crossed his arms defiantly -a gesture made comical by his position and the interference of his prominent stomach- and glared at him. "It just happens."
Not allowing the hobbit to bait him so, Aragorn said placidly, "I am unable to help you unless I become more familiar with how this is possible. As you may have noticed, this does not occur among Men." He paused. "Now, when Elrond inquired about the extra passage you possess, you told him it was a family trait. Is this ability to bear children also inherited?" (He didn't see it necessary to remind Frodo that's what the hobbit told him, as well, when the matter . . . came up.)
Frodo sighed heavily. "Yes. The 'extra passage,' as you call it, generally indicates the possessor can bear children. Very old stories tell of several Brandybuck family groups who had many children this way, but . . ." he shrugged. "It doesn't happen much anymore."
Aragorn took advantage of the hobbit's preoccupation and used the implement to sufficiently widen the passage. Sliding his hand in, he continued the conversation to keep Frodo distracted. "Why doesn't it happen anymore?"
"I don't know," he replied irritably. "It is not exactly commonplace for hobbits to speak of such things, especially about having children, and particularly amongst lads!" He gritted his teeth. "What are you doing? Something is pinching."
"I am sorry, I shall be finished soon," Aragorn assured him.
Frodo was almost surprised when he heard Aragorn's chair slide back moments later, followed by the splash of him again washing his hands. He stared morosely at the uninteresting ceiling and wondered when he'd be freed from this appalling contraption.
"Frodo, I need to ask you a few things, and I want you to answer me honestly." Aragorn's voice sounded vaguely . . . curious? uneasy? disturbed? He couldn't quite tell, and he couldn't see the Man to check on his expression.
"If it's all the same to you, I'd prefer to be let down from this . . . thing first. So you're talking to my face and not my rear. And my feet are going numb."
"Of course." Aragorn hastily returned the use of Frodo's legs.
Frodo sighed with relief as he resumed the normal position for one lying on a table. Then, realizing how exposed he remained, he awkwardly sat up and rearranged the small robe to cover as much as possible. Once he felt reasonably presentable, he looked up. "You had questions for me?"
"Yes." Aragorn sat on the table next to Frodo. "How far along do you think you are?"
Frodo's forehead crinkled in concentration as he counted. "Maybe . . . six months? Seven? No more than seven."
Aragorn nodded. "About seven months would be consistent with what I can tell of the babe's development." He shook his head ruefully. "You didn't seem nearly so far along in Ithilien . . . hobbit babes must possess the same facility for recovery as their parents."
Silence cloaked the room for several minutes before Aragorn spoke again. "Be honest, now. Do you know who-"
"No," Frodo's reply was quick and to the point. This was the sort of uncomfortable question he'd been anticipating for some time. "No, I don't know who. I wasn't expecting this to happen, so I wasn't keeping track." His tone was sarcastic and slightly bitter.
Aragorn said nothing, just stared at his clasped hands where they rested in his lap, and thought.
After a few moments of silence, Frodo added defensively, "You can't blame a hobbit for taking pleasure while he can."
"Be at peace, Frodo, I am not judging you. I am merely considering some things," Aragorn quickly assured him.
"Like whether it could be yours," Frodo muttered, and rubbed a spot where the babe had just kicked particularly hard.
Aragorn glanced at him without meeting his eyes. "There is that," he acknowledged, "but that is unlikely, as I believe you spent far more time with the other hobbits than you did with me. But in any case," he rushed on, to head off Frodo's impending rebuttal, "you will need to consider your future with this child, and where you plan to raise it, among other things."
Frodo sighed. "I don't suppose I have an 'I don't want to do this' option."
Aragorn patted his knee. "I'm afraid not. But all of us will help you decide what to do. You don't have to manage this on your own."
Frodo nodded, lost in thought. Should he mention what had been bothering him since Ithilien . . . ?
"If you don't have any questions, we're finished here," Aragorn added at length.
Frodo opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, and repeated this several times before managing to make words come out. "Are you sure . . . are you sure the babe is all right? It's hard to believe it could survive and be well after all that." He sounded as uncertain as he felt, and for a moment he wondered if he should have voiced his doubt (and secret hope).
Aragorn, realizing the gravity of Frodo's concern, answered likewise. "I cannot be entirely certain, no. Some problems would not be evident at this point, but it seems to be going well. The babe is growing quickly, and you are coming along just as would be expected of a female at this stage." He paused, and added, "Once Elrond arrives, it would be wise to have him also examine you. He may be able to probe more deeply into the condition of the babe than I am able."
"Will it require me to be all trussed up and exposed again?" Frodo asked plaintively.
Aragorn smirked. "Possibly. That would be Elrond's decision."
Frodo rolled his eyes. "You know he'll have me up in that thing, even if it's just because I don't want to be." He eyed the floor calculatingly, then shook his head and inched his way along the table to where the chair stood next to it, and let himself down as gracefully as he was able. His clothes were perched on the same chair, and as he picked up his undertrousers, he said, "Don't look."
Aragorn chuckled, and it took Frodo a moment to realize what was funny. He flushed; having just concluded a very intimate examination, it was rather absurd to worry about his modesty.
Frodo dressed quickly, glad to be back in clothes again, but had a bit of trouble getting his trousers tied. The trousers were fairly new, having replaced his usual buttoned breeches when he outgrew them, and he wasn't quite used to the laces. They kept slipping from his fingers.
"Here, let me help," Aragorn offered, crouching in front of Frodo and easily doing up the stubborn ties. "There."
"And if they fall down, you'll be to blame," Frodo teased.
"Minas Tirith should be so lucky," Aragorn countered.
Frodo's jaw dropped in mock horror. "I wonder if the people know what a rascal their new King is," he shot back.
"They would never believe it," was the smug reply.
"Oh? Wouldn't they, if the babe is yours?" Frodo challenged, taking advantage of seeing the Man eye-to-eye to stare him down. Aragorn's expression changed from amused to something he couldn't readily interpret, and he knew his comment had completely killed the banter.
"Don't toy with me, Frodo. Are you certain you do not know who caused this?"
"Yes, I'm certain," he said, exasperated. "I'd love to know myself! But I will find out when the lot of you do, and no amount of prodding will change that."
"I am sorry, Frodo. It would just be easier to know what to tell Arwen when she arrives." He tried to sound contrite, but at the mention of Arwen Frodo stiffened.
"Perhaps you should have thought about that before," he hissed before stalking from the room.
Aragorn hurried to the door and called out after him, but the hobbit did not even pause. The King heaved a sigh; at least he knew better than to try appeasing Frodo when he was in such a mood -he'd have to apologize later.
That sure didn't end well.
[Continued in "Preparing"]