(no subject)
Warning: M’Preg, affronts to canon, AU, NC17, h/c. Yes, I am playing appalling games with time lines, journey routes and possibilities and causing every other sort of affront - Lily made me do it!
Summary: The Ring has been destroyed and the wounded are being taken back to Gondor. On the way a pregnant Frodo is reunited with the father of his unborn child, Eomer of Rohan. Whilst camping overnight at Osgiliath Frodo has an accident.
Beta by Lily.
In the Midst of Death part 18/?
Frodo spent a happy morning lying in Eomer’s arms and listening to stories. When telling tales, Eomer’s voice took on a different tone and inflection from usual. Frodo found himself easily picturing the characters and scenes and remembered the delight of listening to stories at the knee of an elder hobbit when he was a child. It warmed him and he smiled when he thought about how wonderful Eomer was going to be at telling their child bedtime stories.
It must be admitted that he fell asleep more than once, but when he woke the beloved voice was still creating pictures for him. It was the hour before noon before they were interrupted. The other three hobbits had returned with trays of food and behind them came Aragorn, looking a little uncertain of his welcome.
“Look what I have for you,” Aragorn greeted, waving a bundle of cloth. “More supplies have been sent from the city and I thought you might appreciate this.”
Frodo welcomed the peace offering graciously and even smiled a little remorsefully at his friend.
“What is it?” Pippin asked, setting down one tray and securing a link of sausage for himself, which he ate with his fingers with great relish. He reached for another but Merry slapped his hand away and frowned at him.
Aragorn shook out the garment, which turned out to be a man’s nightshirt. It was very long. “I have not had time to have it taken up but it should do you for now. It’s certainly better than the ones you are currently outgrowing.”
“That is thoughtful of you.” Frodo was a well-brought-up hobbit and always said thank you for gifts, even when they looked like they would cover his feet with cloth to spare and drown his hands as well.
“And well timed.” Eomer shifted Frodo from his lap to the cot and, to Frodo’s dismay, in a moment the hobbit found himself divested of his clothing. He snatched a blanket to cover himself as Aragorn bunched up the new nightshirt and dropped it over his head.
It took a moment for Frodo to find his way out of it again and when he did, he was dismayed to have been right. The sleeves fell down over his hands and when Eomer helped him shift the material into place, the nightshirt came a good way past Frodo’s feet.
“Now here’s a pretty thing to wrap a pregnant hobbit in,” Aragorn exclaimed.
Pippin stood watching wide-eyed as Merry tried to stifle his giggles very unsuccessfully.
“I can soon stitch the hem up.” Sam tried to come to his master’s rescue.
“Never fear, Sam,” Aragorn chuckled. “Our rotund hobbit will soon grow into it. And for now it will help confine him to his bed.”
Frodo could not help himself; he broke into a merry laugh. “I’m well punished for my stubbornness,” he said. “I certainly shan’t dare to be seen out like this. But wait till the people of Minas Tirith discover what a scurvy knave they have for a new king.” Frodo flapped the arms of his new nightshirt. “I think I shall wear this to your coronation.”
Aragorn came forward and placed a kiss to Frodo’s forehead.
“And you cannot fool me. I know that gesture of affection was just to test my temperature.”
Aragorn laughed out loud. “I am well caught out!”
Tut-tutting, Sam came forward. “We also found you some breeches, Mr. Frodo. You can’t sail tomorrow in naught but your skin. I let them out a little and put in some inserts so you can button them easy.”
“Bless you, Sam.” Frodo smiled in affection at his dear friend. “It will be very nice to be allowed to wear breeches again.”
“Can we eat now?” Pippin asked, and Merry cuffed him again.
“Indeed, gentlemen, if I might steal Eomer away from you while you enjoy your meal I promise to return him promptly.”
****
The hobbits enjoyed a lighthearted meal together. Frodo ate with caution and stuck to the blander foods, but he found it all stayed down, and after a hesitant start he tucked in with the rest of them. Merry and Pippin chattered on to him about the camp outside and what they had seen there. They still found many of the things men did to be strange. Sam spoke a little of the horses with reverence in his voice. Gandalf had allowed him to help groom Shadowfax and the little gardener was obviously quite in love with the magnificent creature.
Afterward, Merry and Pippin went to take the food trays back. A job they volunteered for with so much enthusiasm that Frodo felt sorry for the camp cooks, as surely his cousins were nosing around for something to fill up the corners. Another delivery from Minas Tirith was a welcome addition to a camp besieged by two ever-hungry hobbits.
Frodo sat back against his pillows and patted his stomach. Sam came to sit by his side and shyly took Frodo’s hand in his. “I can take that nightshirt up for you without you having to move,” he offered. “Mr. Aragorn… the king that is… found me a right nice sewing kit.” He fingered the overly long hem of Frodo’s clothing. “I could make you a nice nightcap out of the left-over material.”
“Dear Sam,” Frodo said, “as King Strider has proclaimed I am to walk nowhere let us leave it as it is. You can take some rest. I’ve no doubt you’re tired and have been overdoing it.”
“A little.” Sam looked sheepish. “But Mr. Frodo, those horses are a fine sight. They are as far above my Bill as elves are above hobbits.”
Frodo patted Sam’s hand. “Your Bill will be waiting back in Rivendell for you, my dearest Sam. And then you’ll forget all these other ‘fine’ horses.”
“Reckon I will,” Sam smiled. “Reckon I will.”
By the time Eomer and Aragorn returned to the hobbits’ tent Sam had fallen asleep curled by Frodo’s side, his hand still held in his master’s. Frodo smiled in greeting to the two tall kings.
“How was your food?” Aragorn asked in a hushed voice.
“Very welcome.”
Eomer slid strong hands beneath Sam and moved the faithful gardener back to his own cot. “He will rest better there,” he said, tucking him up with nearly as much tenderness as he showed Frodo.
Aragorn sat on the edge of Frodo’s bed. “I am glad you enjoyed your meal,” he said. “And it reminds me to ask you when you last had a bowel movement?”
Frodo blinked. “Pardon?” He must have misheard the question.
“When did you last move your bowels? Often during pregnancy there can be difficulties with digestion.”
“I’m fine,” Frodo said. “No problems.”
“You did not exactly answer my question,” Aragorn pointed out. “And I have noticed with hobbits that is a bad sign. No dragon riddle talk with me, Frodo. When did you last pass a motion?”
Frodo frowned. “Well… I can’t really remember. I am sure I went the day before yesterday!” He felt rather flustered. Really, obsessed with food hobbits might be, but that was not really a sort of question to be asked.
“Are you sure?”
A decided blush started up from the collar of Frodo’s new nightshirt. “It may have been the day before.”
“Bed rest could make the problem worse,” Aragorn said. “I may have to take matters into my own hands if you continue to be constipated. I want to know as soon as you go.”
Frodo started to become worried; he did not really want to know what ‘taking matters into my own hands’ meant. As a teen he had suffered more than one herbal bolus and even the odd enema or two; it was something that came with being a hobbit and he was as greedy for mushrooms as the next. The thought of Aragorn having to assist with anything of the kind was mortifying in the extreme.
“Now, I am going to give you a tonic to put you to sleep. The danger from the concussion is past.”
Frodo grimaced at the thought and watched warily as Aragorn mixed some dried herbs into a cup of water. He drank the resulting mixture down with a grimace.
Eomer fluffed up the pillows and helped Frodo to lie down, but it was Aragorn who smoothed the over-long nightshirt, turned the ends of it over Frodo’s feet and then tucked the blankets securely around him. He took a moment to smooth the covers comfortably and even in that short time Frodo started to yawn. Aragorn reached up to gently brush a few curls away from Frodo’s face. “We shall have to get you a proper haircut before we enter the city.”
Frodo smiled a little. “Real beds,” he murmured. “Not that this isn’t comfortable.”
“Feather pillows and a mattress so big and soft we shall lose you in it,” Aragorn promised. “Sheets, clean and fresh and scented with lavender. And a hot-water bottle for your toes.”
Frodo laughed and yawned again. He could feel sleep like a wonderful warmth pulling him down and promising refreshment and comfort. With a small smile upon his lips he surrendered to its depths.
Summary: The Ring has been destroyed and the wounded are being taken back to Gondor. On the way a pregnant Frodo is reunited with the father of his unborn child, Eomer of Rohan. Whilst camping overnight at Osgiliath Frodo has an accident.
Beta by Lily.
In the Midst of Death part 18/?
Frodo spent a happy morning lying in Eomer’s arms and listening to stories. When telling tales, Eomer’s voice took on a different tone and inflection from usual. Frodo found himself easily picturing the characters and scenes and remembered the delight of listening to stories at the knee of an elder hobbit when he was a child. It warmed him and he smiled when he thought about how wonderful Eomer was going to be at telling their child bedtime stories.
It must be admitted that he fell asleep more than once, but when he woke the beloved voice was still creating pictures for him. It was the hour before noon before they were interrupted. The other three hobbits had returned with trays of food and behind them came Aragorn, looking a little uncertain of his welcome.
“Look what I have for you,” Aragorn greeted, waving a bundle of cloth. “More supplies have been sent from the city and I thought you might appreciate this.”
Frodo welcomed the peace offering graciously and even smiled a little remorsefully at his friend.
“What is it?” Pippin asked, setting down one tray and securing a link of sausage for himself, which he ate with his fingers with great relish. He reached for another but Merry slapped his hand away and frowned at him.
Aragorn shook out the garment, which turned out to be a man’s nightshirt. It was very long. “I have not had time to have it taken up but it should do you for now. It’s certainly better than the ones you are currently outgrowing.”
“That is thoughtful of you.” Frodo was a well-brought-up hobbit and always said thank you for gifts, even when they looked like they would cover his feet with cloth to spare and drown his hands as well.
“And well timed.” Eomer shifted Frodo from his lap to the cot and, to Frodo’s dismay, in a moment the hobbit found himself divested of his clothing. He snatched a blanket to cover himself as Aragorn bunched up the new nightshirt and dropped it over his head.
It took a moment for Frodo to find his way out of it again and when he did, he was dismayed to have been right. The sleeves fell down over his hands and when Eomer helped him shift the material into place, the nightshirt came a good way past Frodo’s feet.
“Now here’s a pretty thing to wrap a pregnant hobbit in,” Aragorn exclaimed.
Pippin stood watching wide-eyed as Merry tried to stifle his giggles very unsuccessfully.
“I can soon stitch the hem up.” Sam tried to come to his master’s rescue.
“Never fear, Sam,” Aragorn chuckled. “Our rotund hobbit will soon grow into it. And for now it will help confine him to his bed.”
Frodo could not help himself; he broke into a merry laugh. “I’m well punished for my stubbornness,” he said. “I certainly shan’t dare to be seen out like this. But wait till the people of Minas Tirith discover what a scurvy knave they have for a new king.” Frodo flapped the arms of his new nightshirt. “I think I shall wear this to your coronation.”
Aragorn came forward and placed a kiss to Frodo’s forehead.
“And you cannot fool me. I know that gesture of affection was just to test my temperature.”
Aragorn laughed out loud. “I am well caught out!”
Tut-tutting, Sam came forward. “We also found you some breeches, Mr. Frodo. You can’t sail tomorrow in naught but your skin. I let them out a little and put in some inserts so you can button them easy.”
“Bless you, Sam.” Frodo smiled in affection at his dear friend. “It will be very nice to be allowed to wear breeches again.”
“Can we eat now?” Pippin asked, and Merry cuffed him again.
“Indeed, gentlemen, if I might steal Eomer away from you while you enjoy your meal I promise to return him promptly.”
****
The hobbits enjoyed a lighthearted meal together. Frodo ate with caution and stuck to the blander foods, but he found it all stayed down, and after a hesitant start he tucked in with the rest of them. Merry and Pippin chattered on to him about the camp outside and what they had seen there. They still found many of the things men did to be strange. Sam spoke a little of the horses with reverence in his voice. Gandalf had allowed him to help groom Shadowfax and the little gardener was obviously quite in love with the magnificent creature.
Afterward, Merry and Pippin went to take the food trays back. A job they volunteered for with so much enthusiasm that Frodo felt sorry for the camp cooks, as surely his cousins were nosing around for something to fill up the corners. Another delivery from Minas Tirith was a welcome addition to a camp besieged by two ever-hungry hobbits.
Frodo sat back against his pillows and patted his stomach. Sam came to sit by his side and shyly took Frodo’s hand in his. “I can take that nightshirt up for you without you having to move,” he offered. “Mr. Aragorn… the king that is… found me a right nice sewing kit.” He fingered the overly long hem of Frodo’s clothing. “I could make you a nice nightcap out of the left-over material.”
“Dear Sam,” Frodo said, “as King Strider has proclaimed I am to walk nowhere let us leave it as it is. You can take some rest. I’ve no doubt you’re tired and have been overdoing it.”
“A little.” Sam looked sheepish. “But Mr. Frodo, those horses are a fine sight. They are as far above my Bill as elves are above hobbits.”
Frodo patted Sam’s hand. “Your Bill will be waiting back in Rivendell for you, my dearest Sam. And then you’ll forget all these other ‘fine’ horses.”
“Reckon I will,” Sam smiled. “Reckon I will.”
By the time Eomer and Aragorn returned to the hobbits’ tent Sam had fallen asleep curled by Frodo’s side, his hand still held in his master’s. Frodo smiled in greeting to the two tall kings.
“How was your food?” Aragorn asked in a hushed voice.
“Very welcome.”
Eomer slid strong hands beneath Sam and moved the faithful gardener back to his own cot. “He will rest better there,” he said, tucking him up with nearly as much tenderness as he showed Frodo.
Aragorn sat on the edge of Frodo’s bed. “I am glad you enjoyed your meal,” he said. “And it reminds me to ask you when you last had a bowel movement?”
Frodo blinked. “Pardon?” He must have misheard the question.
“When did you last move your bowels? Often during pregnancy there can be difficulties with digestion.”
“I’m fine,” Frodo said. “No problems.”
“You did not exactly answer my question,” Aragorn pointed out. “And I have noticed with hobbits that is a bad sign. No dragon riddle talk with me, Frodo. When did you last pass a motion?”
Frodo frowned. “Well… I can’t really remember. I am sure I went the day before yesterday!” He felt rather flustered. Really, obsessed with food hobbits might be, but that was not really a sort of question to be asked.
“Are you sure?”
A decided blush started up from the collar of Frodo’s new nightshirt. “It may have been the day before.”
“Bed rest could make the problem worse,” Aragorn said. “I may have to take matters into my own hands if you continue to be constipated. I want to know as soon as you go.”
Frodo started to become worried; he did not really want to know what ‘taking matters into my own hands’ meant. As a teen he had suffered more than one herbal bolus and even the odd enema or two; it was something that came with being a hobbit and he was as greedy for mushrooms as the next. The thought of Aragorn having to assist with anything of the kind was mortifying in the extreme.
“Now, I am going to give you a tonic to put you to sleep. The danger from the concussion is past.”
Frodo grimaced at the thought and watched warily as Aragorn mixed some dried herbs into a cup of water. He drank the resulting mixture down with a grimace.
Eomer fluffed up the pillows and helped Frodo to lie down, but it was Aragorn who smoothed the over-long nightshirt, turned the ends of it over Frodo’s feet and then tucked the blankets securely around him. He took a moment to smooth the covers comfortably and even in that short time Frodo started to yawn. Aragorn reached up to gently brush a few curls away from Frodo’s face. “We shall have to get you a proper haircut before we enter the city.”
Frodo smiled a little. “Real beds,” he murmured. “Not that this isn’t comfortable.”
“Feather pillows and a mattress so big and soft we shall lose you in it,” Aragorn promised. “Sheets, clean and fresh and scented with lavender. And a hot-water bottle for your toes.”
Frodo laughed and yawned again. He could feel sleep like a wonderful warmth pulling him down and promising refreshment and comfort. With a small smile upon his lips he surrendered to its depths.