Too Long to Wait: The News
Frodo stood near the arched exit to Aragorn's hall, waiting
for the council to end. There had only been enough seats
for the guests, and Frodo had been on his feet for nearly
two hours. Aragorn's low but commanding voice went on and
on. Frodo barely heard what he said, though he heard the
hums of disapproval from the emissaries from Dunland. Frodo
shifted on his feet. He felt nauseated and dizzy. He had
wanted to stay in bed that morning, but he knew Aragorn
desperately needed his help. His stomach rolled ominously,
and he felt panicked dismay. Saliva filled his throat. He
was going to be sick. Not again. He had thrown up earlier in
the day, just as he had almost every day that week.
Just that morning, Aragorn had said, "You're looking very
pale. Are you certain you are well?"
"I'm fine," Frodo had answered, irritated. Aragorn had tried
to roll on him and kiss him tenderly on his mouth, but Frodo
had squirmed out of his embrace. He had just wanted to be
left alone.
"No, please not now."
Aragorn had pulled away. "You're obviously not fine."
"I just don't want your hands on me constantly."
"That is not your usual song."
Frodo managed a weak smile. "Maybe this evening."
Frodo felt another more insistent wave of dizziness.
Aragorn paced, thoughtfully considering the question of one
of the emissaries. There was an uncomfortable undertone of
hostility, as if the men longed to erupt into protests but
were polite enough to at least allow the king to speak.
Frodo could not imagine how miserable his job of
entertaining the men was going to be--especially when he was
feeling as rotten as he was. Frodo cringed at the idea that
he might have to dash from the room. Worse than that, he
might get sick in the corridor. He wished at least that he
had a chair to sit on. His back ached fiercely.
A black haze veiled his vision, and his limbs suddenly felt
heavy and unresponsive. He clutched the wall behind him, but
it tilted away. The ground rushed at him.
"Look to the halfling!" was the last thing he heard.
***
Frodo woke with Aragorn's anxious face above him. He had the
sensation of bobbing up and down, as if on a boat. Why would
he be on a boat? The last he remembered, he had been in the
hall listening to Aragorn's voice drone on and on.
"Aragorn," he said. He still felt dizzy, and every movement
made his stomach churn ominously.
"You should have told me you were ill," Aragorn said.
Frodo realized now that he was in Aragorn's arms being
carried rapidly down the corridor. He had ruined the
council. He cringed in embarrassment.
"I..." He tried to say that he was sorry, but he could
already tell that Aragorn wasn't listening.
"I will take you to the healer's chamber. I will need to
return to the council."
Though Aragorn was the most skilled healer in the kingdom,
he did not have the time to practice it as a full time job.
He had hired only the best, a man named Koslorn, who had
been trained by elves long before the War of the Ring.
***
Frodo fidgeted in the big bed.
Koslorn had examined him several hours earlier. He had given
him an herb to curb the nausea and had bid Frodo sleep until
Aragorn returned. Now that Aragorn had arrived, Koslorn
looked disturbed and pale. He looked out the window, at the
ceiling, into his medical bag. Anything to keep from looking
at Frodo or Aragorn. Frodo found it puzzling. Koslorn
checked on him whenever he suffered from his anniversary
illnesses, and during these times he was usually jovial and
friendly. He often chatted with Frodo about the Shire, since
he had spent time as a healer on the border. Today he barely
smiled. Frodo's stomach sank. Perhaps it was bad news. He
could be dying. Yes, that was the only explanation. He
watched Koslorn's shaken demeanor, his skin turning cold.
"What is it?" Aragorn demanded, leaning against the wall.
"Is he very ill?"
"What's going on?" Frodo asked. "Please be frank."
"I cannot explain it," Koslorn said in a trembling voice.
"I've never seen anything like it. Though I've heard tales
of such things among the elves."
"You had best explain it," Aragorn said sternly. He placed
his hand over Frodo's clammy forehead. "I have employed you
because you are the best. Is this related to his Ring
illnesses?"
Koslorn shook his head. He looked helpless, as if someone
had dealt him a stunning blow across the face. "I-I'm not
sure-"
"Do you or do you not know what ails Frodo?"
The healer swallowed and looked into Frodo's eyes. "You are
with child."
Frodo stared at him. What an odd time to joke. Nobody was in
the mood to laugh. Koslorn did not smile. He maintained
grave eye contact with Frodo. No. He couldn't be serious. It
was impossible.
"What?" Frodo paled. "How...but how can...I don't
understand."
A coldness filled his chest. His hands sought his belly. It
had felt bloated and unstable for days, but he had thought
it was from the rich food he had been eating.
The healer sighed. He clutched his hands together. "It is
common knowledge...As you know..." He looked at Frodo. "You
share the king's bed."
Aragorn turned to the healer, his eyes glinting dangerously.
Frodo had rarely seen Aragorn lose his temper, but he looked
as though he might at any moment.
"You have exchanged fluids, am I correct?" Koslorn found it
difficult to look at either Aragorn or Frodo.
"Yes." Frodo clenched his hands together.
"This is not possible," Aragorn said.
"I am guessing that because you and-the king are two
different species, that somehow--"
Frodo shook his head. He let his hand drift over his belly
again. It couldn't be. It was a mistake. Koslorn was
speaking about something impossible.
"Do you mean that because I am a hobbit and he is a man that
it makes the impossible happen? But where is it? I do not
have, I mean where would it be in me?"
Aragorn had turned away. He leaned his head against the
wall. Frodo wished Aragorn would come to the bed and sit
beside him. He longed for his strong hand over his.
"I do not know," Koslorn said. "I will not be able to tell
for a few more months. By more likely than that, your body
will probably reject it in the next few weeks."
"And how would I.." Frodo cast a bewildered look to Aragorn.
"How would I give birth? I don't have...I don't have, you
know..."
The healer continued. "I have a few concerns. I know this is
a terrible shock--"
"Is there danger to his health?" Aragorn asked sharply,
turning around again. Frodo had not seen such tension in his
face since before the fall of the Dark Lord.
The healer sighed deeply. "In the best of circumstances
childbirth is risky. And in Frodo's case...He is a hobbit
almost half the size of his...partner. The baby will
certainly hold the sum of the two of you, which will make it
unusually big for his body. The hole that I referred to on
his body is not very large, certainly not large enough even
to make the birth of a hobbit-sized baby easy."
Frodo was filled with a mixture of dread and excitement. He
glanced at Aragorn, but Aragorn did not smile.
The healer continued. "I normally have the ladies come every
month for a checkup until their time. For you, I want to
start at once a month until the fifth. Then I'd like to see
you every week. And then the closer to the end and depending
on your health, I may very well recommend complete bed rest
for you."
"How will he bear it?" Aragorn sounded angry, as if he
blamed Koslorn. "How can he possibly bear a child half
human? I have delivered enough high-risk children to know
that this does not bode well. I won't have his life at risk.
There must be something you can do now to prevent this!"
Frodo watched the exchange with alarm. His lips still felt
cold. Though now that the initial shock had worn off, he was
beginning to feel a keen fascination. This was something he
should have never had the right to experience. And Aragorn
could have an heir!
"There is nothing I can do, my King, besides cutting into
him. And you know the risk of taking any of those herbs
meant to expel what is inside them. Half the time, the
ladies who try that bleed to death."
"You may go now," Aragorn said in a tired voice. Koslorn
left with a backward glance at Frodo.
"I don't want to be rid of it," Frodo said, his face filled
with sudden wonder. "Aragorn, imagine! You had to give up
an heir to be with me. Now you will have him. Or her. Can
you imagine? What do you suppose he will look like? Would he
be tall--with furry feet? What will Sam say? I must write to
him at once!"
"Quiet!" Aragorn said fiercely. Frodo watched Aragorn's
pained expression.
"Aragorn," Frodo said in a quieter voice. "If you don't have
an heir, the kingship will disappear again and Faramir's
heirs will have to take over again as stewards. Now you
could have an heir! He will be dark and handsome like you--a
little on the short side, perhaps with curly hair--"
Aragorn left the room abruptly, letting the door slam behind
him.
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