The baby is on the way!
Poor Timing 2 of 3
Another part of the continuing Lilybaggins encouraged saga of post-quest Frodo and his lover Eomer. M’preg.
It’s all Lily’s fault, Lily made me do it! I would never write anything like this.
WARNING WARNING WARNING
BODILY FUNCTIONS OF THE MESSY KIND
It seemed an age ago since Aragorn and Eomer had carried him up the stairs and got him into bed. An age that had been filled with repetitions of the same cycle of pain and then waiting for more pain, and then pain again. At some point he had been stripped of his clothing and clad in a nightshirt.
Aragorn had then lost no time in preparing himself and sending for the things he needed. Whilst he waited for them to arrive he carefully washed his hands and approached his patient on the bed. “Frodo, I am going to conduct a vaginal exam. It may feel a little uncomfortable. I need to check your dilation and establish where the baby is positioned in the uterus.”
Frodo was enjoying one of the increasing brief respites from contractions and was lying back in Eomer’s arms sipping a cup of water. He frowned at Aragorn’s words - just wanting to be left alone to enjoy a pain free moment-but he knew it was necessary.
He allowed Aragorn to pull up his nightshirt and then spread his legs as directed.
“I will need you to relax,” Aragorn asked as he rested his hands on Frodo’s thighs, guiding them further apart. Frodo looked down the bed to the dark haired head as it bent low between his spread legs. He took a breath and let it out slowly as he felt two fingers probe the entrance to his body and push inside. They seemed to go a long way in and Frodo winced a little. He wanted things to be coming OUT of his body right now, not more going in. Fleetingly he wondered if the babe would bite Aragorn.
It was not as painful as the contractions but it was uncomfortable. He felt tender and over full. He drew in a sharp breath, knowing that he was tensing up, but little he could do about it. Eomer’s hand caressed through his hair.
“Relax Frodo, and breathe slowly and deeply.” Frodo could feel Aragorn moving his fingers about and then withdrawing them. The man washed his hands in a little bowl to one side.
“You are about half way there.”
“Only half way?” Frodo protested.
“These things take their time,” Aragorn said. “Your babe will not be rushed.”
Frodo had no time for further questions. He could feel another contraction building within his body. Half way there, he told himself, I can do this.
***
It felt like days later but Eomer told him only an hour had passed and it seemed their babe was certainly taking him time. Each time a contraction built Frodo was sure Aragorn would tell him to push the baby out. He had been told what would happen, that it could take hours, but it had never really registered that each hour would seem like a day and that the contractions would built in intensity until Frodo felt as though his body were splitting in to and he longed to yell at some one to draw the baby out. Maybe something was wrong? Was the baby hurt?
“Aragorn,” Frodo gasped, “Is it meant to hurt this much? Why would anyone have a baby?” By now Frodo was soaked with sweat. Each contraction had him writhing upon the bed, trying to push himself away from the pain. His nightshirt clung about him like a filthy crumbled rag and he plucked at it with restless fingers wishing for a fresh garment, and end to the pain.
Aragorn smiled and smoothed Frodo’s face with a damp cloth. “You will soon forget the pain when you hold your little one in your arms.” Aragorn moved Frodo’s hair tenderly back from his brow.
Frodo did not see how forgetting this pain was possible. It felt as though he were being ripped apart from within by Orcs with a thousand red-hot knives. Aragorn was massaging his belly but his hand felt too heavy. Frodo had vaguely noticed that others were coming and going about the room, healers, bringing fresh water and towels.
“Can I…” Frodo dropped his eyes, feeling foolish for asking for such a thing. “Can I…”
“What is it my love?” Eomer’s voice rumbled behind him and Frodo could hear it where his back rested against the man’s chest. “Tell us what we can do for you?”
“Could I have a fresh nightshirt?” Frodo asked. “I know it is silly but I just feel so itchy and uncomfortable.”
It was Aragorn who answered and went to call for someone to go to Frodo’s rooms and fetch one. Whilst they waited Eomer stripped the old nightshirt from Frodo, and keeping him covered with a clean sheet the men washed Frodo’s body down with sponges. Frodo could not help he sigh of relief which escaped him. “That feels wonderful.”
Aragorn smiled up at the hobbit as he dried the huge mound f Frodo’s stomach with a towel, rubbing tenderly. It felt so soothing and almost seemed to ease the pain of the next contraction which was building. The fresh nightshirt arrived almost at the same time as the next contraction and Frodo was soon a writhing, sweaty mass
Frodo wailed out in both pain and frustration. “Aragorn, can I push? I need to push!”
“Not yet,” Aragorn came to Frodo’s side and rested his hand upon Frodo’s belly. “I want you to focus and to relax and breathe deeply. You must not bear down yet.”
“Why not?” Frodo demanded. “I thought we were trying to birth a baby.”
“We are,” Aragorn spoke softly. “But if you bear down before your baby is ready to come out you will just waste your strength. Hold on Frodo, when your babe is ready he will need all your help.”
Frodo tried to calm his breathing, looking up into the face of his lover and trying to draw strength from him. Eomer, too, looked concerned, his brows furrowed with distress. Frodo reached out and caressed the side of Eomer’s face as best he could with a shaking hand. “It will be well.”
Eomer turned his head to kiss Frodo’s fingers. “I know it will, my love, you are strong - and so is our child.”
“Have you seen many foals born?” Frodo asked, trying to distract himself.
Eomer grinned. “Nay, you will not trap me. I remember a threat you made should I compare you to a breeding mare.”
Frodo tried to smile back. “Tell me anyway?”
“My uncle promised me the first new foal to be born out of his favourite mare,” Eomer said, leaning in close to Frodo and supporting him through another contraction. “I all but took up residence in her stall after that. Whenever I was needed for lessons, meals, or punishment, they knew to find me there. At night I would sneak out with a rug and sleep in her stall.”
“Were you not frightened she would tread on you?”
“No, our horses are too well trained for that. Though when it came to her time she did nearly sit on me.”
“And did you get your foal?” Frodo grunted, trying not to bear down though he dearly longed to push.
“I did. She was born just before dawn, but it was a long night for the mare. The foal had one leg twisted and became stuck. It took two strong men to pull her out. I had the job of cleaning her up and she was a mess, but so beautiful to me. Since then I have aided in many foalings but each time is like a miracle to me.”
“I think I may be about to have a foal.” Frodo clenched Eomer’s hand, not noticing the wince of pain that crossed his lover’s face.
During this exchange Aragorn had been washing his hands and now he settled between Frodo’s legs again. “Frodo, I want to see how you are progressing. I need you to spread your legs as wide as you can.”
Frodo whimpered in distress but complied as best as he could. Aragorn’s fingers felt burning hot as they pushed into his body and almost at the same time Frodo felt another contraction hitting him at full force. He cried out trying to twist from the pain, wanting to leave the bed.
“No! It hurts too much!” he cried and then lost his words as the pain became more severe.
“Breath deeply,” Aragorn said, his fingers still probing within Frodo’s vagina.
“No!” I cannot!” Frodo wailed. “Let me be!” He tried to kick out at Aragorn but there was no strength left in his legs. Another healer was there then, holding his thighs apart. “Let me go!” Frodo’s words trailed off in to a scream of pure pain.
“Frodo love. Be strong,” Eomer murmured. Frodo could feel Eomer behind him, knowing the man must be terrified from the tremor in his voice, but unable to help even himself. He tossed his head back and forth on Eomer’s chest, his mouth open and gaping around his cries.
He felt fingers withdrawing but the pain did not cease.
“Frodo,” Aragorn interrupted, “it is nearly time for you to start pushing, but only when I say so.”
Frodo tried to nod. On instruction from Aragorn, Eomer moved around on the bed, coming up behind Frodo and supporting him. Frodo felt his fear easing a little at the reassurance of the strong body behind him. Eomer and Aragorn would let nothing happen to him or his baby. With them he was safe and could manage anything.
He would not think so later.
“Frodo, we are moving you into position.”
Frodo felt the covers being moved completely out of the way and his nightshirt lifted to bare his entire lover body. Around the room he was aware of other people moving, all of them silent.
At Aragorn’s instructions Eomer had reached round and grasped Frodo behind the knees, lifting his legs and bending them back so that Frodo’s thighs lay on either side of his abdomen. Frodo was grateful for the large hands supporting his thighs, for he did not think he could hold the position himself. Then again, his legs spread wide and his pelvis tilted upward made him feel dreadfully exposed. He knew it was silly to feel thus - he was about to give birth to a baby - and modesty did not really come into it.
Tbc - tomorrow
Another part of the continuing Lilybaggins encouraged saga of post-quest Frodo and his lover Eomer. M’preg.
It’s all Lily’s fault, Lily made me do it! I would never write anything like this.
WARNING WARNING WARNING
BODILY FUNCTIONS OF THE MESSY KIND
It seemed an age ago since Aragorn and Eomer had carried him up the stairs and got him into bed. An age that had been filled with repetitions of the same cycle of pain and then waiting for more pain, and then pain again. At some point he had been stripped of his clothing and clad in a nightshirt.
Aragorn had then lost no time in preparing himself and sending for the things he needed. Whilst he waited for them to arrive he carefully washed his hands and approached his patient on the bed. “Frodo, I am going to conduct a vaginal exam. It may feel a little uncomfortable. I need to check your dilation and establish where the baby is positioned in the uterus.”
Frodo was enjoying one of the increasing brief respites from contractions and was lying back in Eomer’s arms sipping a cup of water. He frowned at Aragorn’s words - just wanting to be left alone to enjoy a pain free moment-but he knew it was necessary.
He allowed Aragorn to pull up his nightshirt and then spread his legs as directed.
“I will need you to relax,” Aragorn asked as he rested his hands on Frodo’s thighs, guiding them further apart. Frodo looked down the bed to the dark haired head as it bent low between his spread legs. He took a breath and let it out slowly as he felt two fingers probe the entrance to his body and push inside. They seemed to go a long way in and Frodo winced a little. He wanted things to be coming OUT of his body right now, not more going in. Fleetingly he wondered if the babe would bite Aragorn.
It was not as painful as the contractions but it was uncomfortable. He felt tender and over full. He drew in a sharp breath, knowing that he was tensing up, but little he could do about it. Eomer’s hand caressed through his hair.
“Relax Frodo, and breathe slowly and deeply.” Frodo could feel Aragorn moving his fingers about and then withdrawing them. The man washed his hands in a little bowl to one side.
“You are about half way there.”
“Only half way?” Frodo protested.
“These things take their time,” Aragorn said. “Your babe will not be rushed.”
Frodo had no time for further questions. He could feel another contraction building within his body. Half way there, he told himself, I can do this.
***
It felt like days later but Eomer told him only an hour had passed and it seemed their babe was certainly taking him time. Each time a contraction built Frodo was sure Aragorn would tell him to push the baby out. He had been told what would happen, that it could take hours, but it had never really registered that each hour would seem like a day and that the contractions would built in intensity until Frodo felt as though his body were splitting in to and he longed to yell at some one to draw the baby out. Maybe something was wrong? Was the baby hurt?
“Aragorn,” Frodo gasped, “Is it meant to hurt this much? Why would anyone have a baby?” By now Frodo was soaked with sweat. Each contraction had him writhing upon the bed, trying to push himself away from the pain. His nightshirt clung about him like a filthy crumbled rag and he plucked at it with restless fingers wishing for a fresh garment, and end to the pain.
Aragorn smiled and smoothed Frodo’s face with a damp cloth. “You will soon forget the pain when you hold your little one in your arms.” Aragorn moved Frodo’s hair tenderly back from his brow.
Frodo did not see how forgetting this pain was possible. It felt as though he were being ripped apart from within by Orcs with a thousand red-hot knives. Aragorn was massaging his belly but his hand felt too heavy. Frodo had vaguely noticed that others were coming and going about the room, healers, bringing fresh water and towels.
“Can I…” Frodo dropped his eyes, feeling foolish for asking for such a thing. “Can I…”
“What is it my love?” Eomer’s voice rumbled behind him and Frodo could hear it where his back rested against the man’s chest. “Tell us what we can do for you?”
“Could I have a fresh nightshirt?” Frodo asked. “I know it is silly but I just feel so itchy and uncomfortable.”
It was Aragorn who answered and went to call for someone to go to Frodo’s rooms and fetch one. Whilst they waited Eomer stripped the old nightshirt from Frodo, and keeping him covered with a clean sheet the men washed Frodo’s body down with sponges. Frodo could not help he sigh of relief which escaped him. “That feels wonderful.”
Aragorn smiled up at the hobbit as he dried the huge mound f Frodo’s stomach with a towel, rubbing tenderly. It felt so soothing and almost seemed to ease the pain of the next contraction which was building. The fresh nightshirt arrived almost at the same time as the next contraction and Frodo was soon a writhing, sweaty mass
Frodo wailed out in both pain and frustration. “Aragorn, can I push? I need to push!”
“Not yet,” Aragorn came to Frodo’s side and rested his hand upon Frodo’s belly. “I want you to focus and to relax and breathe deeply. You must not bear down yet.”
“Why not?” Frodo demanded. “I thought we were trying to birth a baby.”
“We are,” Aragorn spoke softly. “But if you bear down before your baby is ready to come out you will just waste your strength. Hold on Frodo, when your babe is ready he will need all your help.”
Frodo tried to calm his breathing, looking up into the face of his lover and trying to draw strength from him. Eomer, too, looked concerned, his brows furrowed with distress. Frodo reached out and caressed the side of Eomer’s face as best he could with a shaking hand. “It will be well.”
Eomer turned his head to kiss Frodo’s fingers. “I know it will, my love, you are strong - and so is our child.”
“Have you seen many foals born?” Frodo asked, trying to distract himself.
Eomer grinned. “Nay, you will not trap me. I remember a threat you made should I compare you to a breeding mare.”
Frodo tried to smile back. “Tell me anyway?”
“My uncle promised me the first new foal to be born out of his favourite mare,” Eomer said, leaning in close to Frodo and supporting him through another contraction. “I all but took up residence in her stall after that. Whenever I was needed for lessons, meals, or punishment, they knew to find me there. At night I would sneak out with a rug and sleep in her stall.”
“Were you not frightened she would tread on you?”
“No, our horses are too well trained for that. Though when it came to her time she did nearly sit on me.”
“And did you get your foal?” Frodo grunted, trying not to bear down though he dearly longed to push.
“I did. She was born just before dawn, but it was a long night for the mare. The foal had one leg twisted and became stuck. It took two strong men to pull her out. I had the job of cleaning her up and she was a mess, but so beautiful to me. Since then I have aided in many foalings but each time is like a miracle to me.”
“I think I may be about to have a foal.” Frodo clenched Eomer’s hand, not noticing the wince of pain that crossed his lover’s face.
During this exchange Aragorn had been washing his hands and now he settled between Frodo’s legs again. “Frodo, I want to see how you are progressing. I need you to spread your legs as wide as you can.”
Frodo whimpered in distress but complied as best as he could. Aragorn’s fingers felt burning hot as they pushed into his body and almost at the same time Frodo felt another contraction hitting him at full force. He cried out trying to twist from the pain, wanting to leave the bed.
“No! It hurts too much!” he cried and then lost his words as the pain became more severe.
“Breath deeply,” Aragorn said, his fingers still probing within Frodo’s vagina.
“No!” I cannot!” Frodo wailed. “Let me be!” He tried to kick out at Aragorn but there was no strength left in his legs. Another healer was there then, holding his thighs apart. “Let me go!” Frodo’s words trailed off in to a scream of pure pain.
“Frodo love. Be strong,” Eomer murmured. Frodo could feel Eomer behind him, knowing the man must be terrified from the tremor in his voice, but unable to help even himself. He tossed his head back and forth on Eomer’s chest, his mouth open and gaping around his cries.
He felt fingers withdrawing but the pain did not cease.
“Frodo,” Aragorn interrupted, “it is nearly time for you to start pushing, but only when I say so.”
Frodo tried to nod. On instruction from Aragorn, Eomer moved around on the bed, coming up behind Frodo and supporting him. Frodo felt his fear easing a little at the reassurance of the strong body behind him. Eomer and Aragorn would let nothing happen to him or his baby. With them he was safe and could manage anything.
He would not think so later.
“Frodo, we are moving you into position.”
Frodo felt the covers being moved completely out of the way and his nightshirt lifted to bare his entire lover body. Around the room he was aware of other people moving, all of them silent.
At Aragorn’s instructions Eomer had reached round and grasped Frodo behind the knees, lifting his legs and bending them back so that Frodo’s thighs lay on either side of his abdomen. Frodo was grateful for the large hands supporting his thighs, for he did not think he could hold the position himself. Then again, his legs spread wide and his pelvis tilted upward made him feel dreadfully exposed. He knew it was silly to feel thus - he was about to give birth to a baby - and modesty did not really come into it.
Tbc - tomorrow