FIC: "Labour"
First time in three days I got to computer.
If I keep editing and editing and editing this I will probably delete the whole story because god I don't like it. But as I never like anything I write... Here.
TITLE: Labour (2/3)
AUTHOR: Frisky
PAIRING: Frodo/Aragorn
RATING: PG
WARNINGS: Slash. Little bits of angst and fluff. Attempts at humour.
SUMMARY: Giving birth is not easy if you're a male hobbit. Delivering is no less difficult if it's a grumbling hobbit who is in labour.
DISCLAIMER: Don't own them. Don't want to hear anything about copyrights.
A/N - Hello, my dear!
Ahem. Yes. I know, this was supposed to be the last chap. I just don't feel like adding anything at the moment so it seems there will be not two but three short chapters.
I promise the next part will be out soon.
Great thanks to all who reviewed and urged me to write more :) For you, Mpreg-lovers and other normal people.
---
Pippin gave a jump in his bed and sat up half-awake. He heard a muffled thump and sleepy mutters beyond the thin wall of their house and guessed that Merry was awake as well. Before he could even climb out of the bed the door opened with the bang that sent the whole house to tremor and certainly woke up all those who were still somehow asleep.
"Mr. Peregrin!" Sam cried, his eyes round and lips trembling. "You heard that, didn't you?"
"I'm not sure what it was, but I heard something," Pippin agreed and shook his head to wake up completely. "What was it, after all?"
"It sounded like Mr. Frodo to me," Sam replied firmly. They both shuddered when another spine-tingling wail floated over the City. It was born somewhere above and growing louder, it seemed material: flooding over them, surrounding them and then rolling away like water breaking free from the destroyed dam. It was certain that the one who uttered this sound wanted to put some meaning into it, but almost all words merged into one sound. Yet few words were comprehensible and Pippin felt his mouth opening when he was able to understand them.
"This is NOT Frodo," he said dumbly. "Frodo would never say such words."
"You haven't seen him when I'd accidentally pushed him from the tree-branch so he's fallen down and broken his arm," Merry muttered as he appeared on the threshold, already clothed yet looking sleepy. "It's our dear subtle cousin screeching like a dragon who got a splinter in his paw."
"Merry, and what does that word mean?" Pippin asked, still dumbly. "That one, starting with "m" and in the middle there's that awful word that starts with "f" for which dad would certainly wash my mouth with soap. I mean I think I know what this combination means, but..."
"Pippin!" Merry bawled suddenly, finally wide-awake and scandalized by Peregrin's silly chatter. "Not now! You will later ask Frodo if you're really interested!"
"You think he will explain?" Pippin wondered with the same dumb expression and Sam decided it was time to interrupt.
"For Shire's sake," he screamed, grabbing Merry's sleeve, "It's time for the baby!"
Hearing about the baby Pippin gave another jump.
"Merry, we have to find Frodo!" he yelled, crawling out of his bed and getting hold on Merry's other sleeve.
"I don't think we have to find him, Peregrin, for you perfectly know where he is staying," Merry retorted pushing him away. "We will come to see what's happening, but not till you're clothed properly."
"You're crazy?" Pippin wailed in despair. "It will take me eternity to get dressed!"
"Well Sam is clothed and I'm clothed. I don't think your nightshirt will look appropriate."
"Sam's clothed because he's been sleeping in his clothes for the last two weeks," Pippin rejoined angrily and Merry gave Sam a surprised look. Sam's face reddened a bit and he nodded acknowledging that Pippin told the truth. Merry wondered if he should ask and after a moment of pondering decided that he knew the answer already.
"Beggin' your pardon, sir, he's right," Sam said quietly, "Mr. Peregirn dresses up too slowly, you know."
"We're not in a hurry," Merry replied patiently and Pippin groaned but yet started pulling away his nightshirt. "Frodo has a dozen of midwives and best Gondor's healers to help him. Not that I think Aragorn will leave him alone for a moment. And believe me, Gandalf will be there before they even have time to think 'where has that wizard gone?', and though I guess Legolas, Faramir and Gimli will not rush to help as you, my slapdash cousin did, they will be treading out near at hand with wine ready for toasts... Pippin what are you doing?"
"I hate to admit it, but I'm lost in here," the pensive voice replied from the interiors of the shirt and one arm pushed out through the collar while Pip's head tried to show in the sleeve. "Am so nervous that can't do anything right. Wouldn't mind help."
"Cease your wriggling," Merry ordered and started helping his younger cousin to climb out. Sam silenced an impatient growl and paced in circles, his brow wrinkled in worry.
---
"We will use forceps," almost black eyes stared.
"It is not necessary," blue eyes glared back.
"But advisable," thin lips tightened. "The muscles are not strong enough to push the baby out. We have to remember that our case is rather unnatural as it's not a woman's body."
"I disagree," full lips somewhat pouted. "It's just as natural as any other act of birth-giving. We have to trust nature. If the body of a male was able to conceive, it will be able to give birth as well."
"Excuse me," piped in a high voice, already hoarse from screaming, "but maybe you will do something because I'm feeling rather damn uncomfortable about lying with your cursed tongs inside me?"
"Don't worry, dearest," a tall woman sang in a sugar-like voice, her blue eyes softening to a level of feather pillow. She leaned to the table and smiled so sweetly that it gave Frodo the shivers. "We will have this thing out as soon as master Keeve (she loured at the healer furiously and her voice lowered while calling the name) admits that there's no need in forceps."
"I just can't understand, Your Majesty," master Keeve announced icily as he turned to Aragorn who was sitting in a chair and clasping his somewhat forgotten pipe that he'd tried to light several minutes ago. The King looked rather miserable, rocking back and forward slightly, eyes glassily fixed on the table where Frodo was trying to wriggle (a man and a woman were holding him tightly to prevent him from falling or injuring the baby). "Why do you need these women here? Their ways of delivering are certainly reliable (he loured back over his shoulder and dropped his voice to make the word sound as a sneer), but have healers proved to be unworthy of your trust? Why would you invite midwives while having us hardly a furlong away?"
"We are flattered to be invited," the woman interrupted hastily, pushing the healer away and stepping in front of her King's unseeing eyes, "and we don't cast doubt on the Healers' wonderful skills. While not trying to dispute master Keeve's sedative potions and cleaning of the room, we still insist on having the deciding vote in anything concerning giving birth for our knack of delivering is well-known."
"Your knack of delivering doesn't matter now because the case is unusual, miss Irida," master Keeve snarled. "No matter if we call it natural or unnatural, it's still unusual. And while the patient is lying inside this room, I demand..."
"No, I insist..."
The King continued rocking quite absent-mindedly. It looked like the whole matter of birth-giving puzzled and distressed him awfully.
"Good heavens!" Frodo groaned. The baby was now pushing so steadily that Frodo had a feeling of his bowels bursting under such pressure. The young woman who was wiping his face and chest with a wet cloth pressed the cloth against his brow. "Do something! We're not in the inn and I'm here not for ordering myself a room! We don't have time for your idiotic disputes!"
His phrase obviously urged the argument to develop:
"Forceps!" almost black eyes stared.
"Over my dead body!" blue eyes glared back.
Every muscle in the lower part of Frodo's belly contracted against his own will. His back arched in convulsion and the hobbit moaned. His body seemed to be trying to get rid of the troublesome and painful burden that it had been carrying for long eight months. Now Frodo guessed it was not the baby pushing that hurt so (he wasn't even sure the baby could push so painfully while being so small) but his own muscles straining, trying to cope with task they were not adjusted to. Through the haze of pain he heard Irida and Keeve arguing again and yelled: "Aragorn! Get them out of here! I can't bear this!"
That made the King startle and brought him back to chaotic reality. He met Frodo's pained eyes and straightened his back understanding that no matter how nervous and confused he was, he had to be the support for someone who was certainly much more nervous and far more confused. As if deriving his strength from this quick exchange of glances, Aragorn looked round with grave expression that made all talks and arguments die at once.
"First," he said softly and firmly. "Stop stressing my hobbit."
"Mister Baggins for you," Frodo rejoined between two loud moans - he couldn't stand being called Aragorn's hobbit in public. "But the point itself makes sense."
"Second," Aragorn continued in the same soft voice that somehow made everyone look at him in intent attention. "You all were invited to help Mister Baggins and if anyone doesn't want to assist because being here hurts his or her pride they're free to leave at once."
Irida and Keeve dropped their eyes in sign of meek if not blind submission. Aragorn could swear he heard Frodo mumbling something that sounded strangely like "oh my hero"
"Third," the King said standing up and approaching the table to put his hand at Frodo's shoulder. "You will use your instruments... (triumph on Keeve's face, horror on Frodo's and Irida's faces)... but for stretching the way for baby and not for clasping him... or her... (triumph on Irida's and Keeve's faces, horror on Frodo's face)... because the new-born will be probably so little and fragile that no one can really know how much pressure his head can take."
"How wise! Your Majesty!" everyone broke out saying at once but all voices were silenced by a high-pitched scream from the young woman who was wiping Frodo's brow with a wet cloth.
"Miss Irida, he's bleeding!" she squealed pointing at the tiny puddle of blood gathering on the table between the hobbit's spread legs. Both Keeve and Irida rushed to her. Aragorn saw Frodo's face twitching and kneeled to the table so their eyes would be on the same level. His hand found the hobbit's smaller one and clasped it firmly.
Without another word Keeve pulled out bloody forceps, soaped his hands and washed them in a basin with hot water. Irida's careful long fingers started feeling Frodo's stomach trying to know the baby's exact location.
"Stone-hard," she informed about the strained muscles under her finger-tips. "Exerting in birth throes like a woman would do."
Keeve slipped a tip of his clean finger into the opening. That very moment Frodo gave another moan through the clenched teeth and the healer felt his finger clamped by spasmodically straining muscles.
"Muscles torn," the healer said intently and pulled out his finger to find it wetted with blood. "Bowels can't adjust, the baby is moving too quickly. Muscles can't relax enough to give way yet they contract in pain and get torn. There will be more blood."
"Let's hope you're wrong," the midwife replied softly. She bit her lips as she brushed her fingers across the hobbit's stomach. "Wipe," she ordered to the young woman and slipping her hand under the hobbit's bottom lifted it in the air for a second so the blood could be wiped away.
"Leave," Frodo said distinctly as his eyes bored into Aragorn's. "Please."
Aragorn leaned forward in surprise and shook his head. The hobbit moaned again and muttered gritting his teeth: "I don't want you to see this. Blood and all. Disgusting. I know you don't like it. Saw you," as the pang left for a moment he was able to utter a more reasonable phrase: "I know I look loathsome now spread on the table bleeding and screaming. I saw how miserable and absent-minded you looked. You don't have to see this. Please, leave."
"My silly hobbit," the King whispered. "I looked absent-minded, you say? I was thinking how we're going to name our baby if it's a girl."
"What's wrong with Anna? Though you're right, it sounds trite," Frodo muttered. "And I still hope we'll have a boy. Anyway, I think he or she is quite a fighter, no matter how small he or she seems to be."
"You Bagginses are like that," Aragorn said placing few soft kisses on Frodo's cheeks and forehead.
---
TBC
A/N - "Anna" is "Gift" in Elvish. But you knew that.
If I keep editing and editing and editing this I will probably delete the whole story because god I don't like it. But as I never like anything I write... Here.
TITLE: Labour (2/3)
AUTHOR: Frisky
PAIRING: Frodo/Aragorn
RATING: PG
WARNINGS: Slash. Little bits of angst and fluff. Attempts at humour.
SUMMARY: Giving birth is not easy if you're a male hobbit. Delivering is no less difficult if it's a grumbling hobbit who is in labour.
DISCLAIMER: Don't own them. Don't want to hear anything about copyrights.
A/N - Hello, my dear!
Ahem. Yes. I know, this was supposed to be the last chap. I just don't feel like adding anything at the moment so it seems there will be not two but three short chapters.
I promise the next part will be out soon.
Great thanks to all who reviewed and urged me to write more :) For you, Mpreg-lovers and other normal people.
---
Pippin gave a jump in his bed and sat up half-awake. He heard a muffled thump and sleepy mutters beyond the thin wall of their house and guessed that Merry was awake as well. Before he could even climb out of the bed the door opened with the bang that sent the whole house to tremor and certainly woke up all those who were still somehow asleep.
"Mr. Peregrin!" Sam cried, his eyes round and lips trembling. "You heard that, didn't you?"
"I'm not sure what it was, but I heard something," Pippin agreed and shook his head to wake up completely. "What was it, after all?"
"It sounded like Mr. Frodo to me," Sam replied firmly. They both shuddered when another spine-tingling wail floated over the City. It was born somewhere above and growing louder, it seemed material: flooding over them, surrounding them and then rolling away like water breaking free from the destroyed dam. It was certain that the one who uttered this sound wanted to put some meaning into it, but almost all words merged into one sound. Yet few words were comprehensible and Pippin felt his mouth opening when he was able to understand them.
"This is NOT Frodo," he said dumbly. "Frodo would never say such words."
"You haven't seen him when I'd accidentally pushed him from the tree-branch so he's fallen down and broken his arm," Merry muttered as he appeared on the threshold, already clothed yet looking sleepy. "It's our dear subtle cousin screeching like a dragon who got a splinter in his paw."
"Merry, and what does that word mean?" Pippin asked, still dumbly. "That one, starting with "m" and in the middle there's that awful word that starts with "f" for which dad would certainly wash my mouth with soap. I mean I think I know what this combination means, but..."
"Pippin!" Merry bawled suddenly, finally wide-awake and scandalized by Peregrin's silly chatter. "Not now! You will later ask Frodo if you're really interested!"
"You think he will explain?" Pippin wondered with the same dumb expression and Sam decided it was time to interrupt.
"For Shire's sake," he screamed, grabbing Merry's sleeve, "It's time for the baby!"
Hearing about the baby Pippin gave another jump.
"Merry, we have to find Frodo!" he yelled, crawling out of his bed and getting hold on Merry's other sleeve.
"I don't think we have to find him, Peregrin, for you perfectly know where he is staying," Merry retorted pushing him away. "We will come to see what's happening, but not till you're clothed properly."
"You're crazy?" Pippin wailed in despair. "It will take me eternity to get dressed!"
"Well Sam is clothed and I'm clothed. I don't think your nightshirt will look appropriate."
"Sam's clothed because he's been sleeping in his clothes for the last two weeks," Pippin rejoined angrily and Merry gave Sam a surprised look. Sam's face reddened a bit and he nodded acknowledging that Pippin told the truth. Merry wondered if he should ask and after a moment of pondering decided that he knew the answer already.
"Beggin' your pardon, sir, he's right," Sam said quietly, "Mr. Peregirn dresses up too slowly, you know."
"We're not in a hurry," Merry replied patiently and Pippin groaned but yet started pulling away his nightshirt. "Frodo has a dozen of midwives and best Gondor's healers to help him. Not that I think Aragorn will leave him alone for a moment. And believe me, Gandalf will be there before they even have time to think 'where has that wizard gone?', and though I guess Legolas, Faramir and Gimli will not rush to help as you, my slapdash cousin did, they will be treading out near at hand with wine ready for toasts... Pippin what are you doing?"
"I hate to admit it, but I'm lost in here," the pensive voice replied from the interiors of the shirt and one arm pushed out through the collar while Pip's head tried to show in the sleeve. "Am so nervous that can't do anything right. Wouldn't mind help."
"Cease your wriggling," Merry ordered and started helping his younger cousin to climb out. Sam silenced an impatient growl and paced in circles, his brow wrinkled in worry.
---
"We will use forceps," almost black eyes stared.
"It is not necessary," blue eyes glared back.
"But advisable," thin lips tightened. "The muscles are not strong enough to push the baby out. We have to remember that our case is rather unnatural as it's not a woman's body."
"I disagree," full lips somewhat pouted. "It's just as natural as any other act of birth-giving. We have to trust nature. If the body of a male was able to conceive, it will be able to give birth as well."
"Excuse me," piped in a high voice, already hoarse from screaming, "but maybe you will do something because I'm feeling rather damn uncomfortable about lying with your cursed tongs inside me?"
"Don't worry, dearest," a tall woman sang in a sugar-like voice, her blue eyes softening to a level of feather pillow. She leaned to the table and smiled so sweetly that it gave Frodo the shivers. "We will have this thing out as soon as master Keeve (she loured at the healer furiously and her voice lowered while calling the name) admits that there's no need in forceps."
"I just can't understand, Your Majesty," master Keeve announced icily as he turned to Aragorn who was sitting in a chair and clasping his somewhat forgotten pipe that he'd tried to light several minutes ago. The King looked rather miserable, rocking back and forward slightly, eyes glassily fixed on the table where Frodo was trying to wriggle (a man and a woman were holding him tightly to prevent him from falling or injuring the baby). "Why do you need these women here? Their ways of delivering are certainly reliable (he loured back over his shoulder and dropped his voice to make the word sound as a sneer), but have healers proved to be unworthy of your trust? Why would you invite midwives while having us hardly a furlong away?"
"We are flattered to be invited," the woman interrupted hastily, pushing the healer away and stepping in front of her King's unseeing eyes, "and we don't cast doubt on the Healers' wonderful skills. While not trying to dispute master Keeve's sedative potions and cleaning of the room, we still insist on having the deciding vote in anything concerning giving birth for our knack of delivering is well-known."
"Your knack of delivering doesn't matter now because the case is unusual, miss Irida," master Keeve snarled. "No matter if we call it natural or unnatural, it's still unusual. And while the patient is lying inside this room, I demand..."
"No, I insist..."
The King continued rocking quite absent-mindedly. It looked like the whole matter of birth-giving puzzled and distressed him awfully.
"Good heavens!" Frodo groaned. The baby was now pushing so steadily that Frodo had a feeling of his bowels bursting under such pressure. The young woman who was wiping his face and chest with a wet cloth pressed the cloth against his brow. "Do something! We're not in the inn and I'm here not for ordering myself a room! We don't have time for your idiotic disputes!"
His phrase obviously urged the argument to develop:
"Forceps!" almost black eyes stared.
"Over my dead body!" blue eyes glared back.
Every muscle in the lower part of Frodo's belly contracted against his own will. His back arched in convulsion and the hobbit moaned. His body seemed to be trying to get rid of the troublesome and painful burden that it had been carrying for long eight months. Now Frodo guessed it was not the baby pushing that hurt so (he wasn't even sure the baby could push so painfully while being so small) but his own muscles straining, trying to cope with task they were not adjusted to. Through the haze of pain he heard Irida and Keeve arguing again and yelled: "Aragorn! Get them out of here! I can't bear this!"
That made the King startle and brought him back to chaotic reality. He met Frodo's pained eyes and straightened his back understanding that no matter how nervous and confused he was, he had to be the support for someone who was certainly much more nervous and far more confused. As if deriving his strength from this quick exchange of glances, Aragorn looked round with grave expression that made all talks and arguments die at once.
"First," he said softly and firmly. "Stop stressing my hobbit."
"Mister Baggins for you," Frodo rejoined between two loud moans - he couldn't stand being called Aragorn's hobbit in public. "But the point itself makes sense."
"Second," Aragorn continued in the same soft voice that somehow made everyone look at him in intent attention. "You all were invited to help Mister Baggins and if anyone doesn't want to assist because being here hurts his or her pride they're free to leave at once."
Irida and Keeve dropped their eyes in sign of meek if not blind submission. Aragorn could swear he heard Frodo mumbling something that sounded strangely like "oh my hero"
"Third," the King said standing up and approaching the table to put his hand at Frodo's shoulder. "You will use your instruments... (triumph on Keeve's face, horror on Frodo's and Irida's faces)... but for stretching the way for baby and not for clasping him... or her... (triumph on Irida's and Keeve's faces, horror on Frodo's face)... because the new-born will be probably so little and fragile that no one can really know how much pressure his head can take."
"How wise! Your Majesty!" everyone broke out saying at once but all voices were silenced by a high-pitched scream from the young woman who was wiping Frodo's brow with a wet cloth.
"Miss Irida, he's bleeding!" she squealed pointing at the tiny puddle of blood gathering on the table between the hobbit's spread legs. Both Keeve and Irida rushed to her. Aragorn saw Frodo's face twitching and kneeled to the table so their eyes would be on the same level. His hand found the hobbit's smaller one and clasped it firmly.
Without another word Keeve pulled out bloody forceps, soaped his hands and washed them in a basin with hot water. Irida's careful long fingers started feeling Frodo's stomach trying to know the baby's exact location.
"Stone-hard," she informed about the strained muscles under her finger-tips. "Exerting in birth throes like a woman would do."
Keeve slipped a tip of his clean finger into the opening. That very moment Frodo gave another moan through the clenched teeth and the healer felt his finger clamped by spasmodically straining muscles.
"Muscles torn," the healer said intently and pulled out his finger to find it wetted with blood. "Bowels can't adjust, the baby is moving too quickly. Muscles can't relax enough to give way yet they contract in pain and get torn. There will be more blood."
"Let's hope you're wrong," the midwife replied softly. She bit her lips as she brushed her fingers across the hobbit's stomach. "Wipe," she ordered to the young woman and slipping her hand under the hobbit's bottom lifted it in the air for a second so the blood could be wiped away.
"Leave," Frodo said distinctly as his eyes bored into Aragorn's. "Please."
Aragorn leaned forward in surprise and shook his head. The hobbit moaned again and muttered gritting his teeth: "I don't want you to see this. Blood and all. Disgusting. I know you don't like it. Saw you," as the pang left for a moment he was able to utter a more reasonable phrase: "I know I look loathsome now spread on the table bleeding and screaming. I saw how miserable and absent-minded you looked. You don't have to see this. Please, leave."
"My silly hobbit," the King whispered. "I looked absent-minded, you say? I was thinking how we're going to name our baby if it's a girl."
"What's wrong with Anna? Though you're right, it sounds trite," Frodo muttered. "And I still hope we'll have a boy. Anyway, I think he or she is quite a fighter, no matter how small he or she seems to be."
"You Bagginses are like that," Aragorn said placing few soft kisses on Frodo's cheeks and forehead.
---
TBC
A/N - "Anna" is "Gift" in Elvish. But you knew that.