Recovery
The story spawned by Lily's mpreg challenge continues to eat my brain. The initial snippet that started this whole thing falls somewhere in the middle of this installment, if anyone is trying to make sense of my mess. R-rated slash, warning: discussion of rape.
Sam is gently fussing over Frodo when Aragorn approaches.
"Good morning," he says with a smile as they both start up, then force themselves to remain seated. They agreed only yesterday to cease the bowing each feels the others are owed -- but it still bothers Frodo, who visibly twitches.
"Hullo, Strider," Sam barks in a most disrespectful manner, startling a laugh from Frodo, bless him. "Maybe you can tempt our Frodo to eat like a hobbit this fine morning?"
"I hope I can, Sam. Gandalf suggested Frodo's appetite might be improved by a picnic, away from the camp. Will you ride with me?"
The happy light in his eyes is answer enough, and soon Aragorn is galloping south with Frodo tucked safely before him. Faramir suggested their destination, a high meadow in South Ithilien that neither has seen before. Frodo never passed an afternoon in deadly danger here. Aragorn never stood on this ground dreaming of a future with Arwen.
It is a fine Spring day and the sun is high overhead when they reach the hillside. The river can be glimpsed below, but it looks nothing like the Anduin where they traveled it, swift and rocky. Here it winds between the trees and cuts across green meadows, meandering calmly south.
Wildflowers bloom, newly-budding trees shade them, and Aragorn finds it's easy to speak with Frodo, even if his fragile beauty takes Aragorn's breath away whenever the sunlight catches his eyes, or when he smiles in simple delight at a new discovery.
They explore on foot for a time, then spread a blanket beneath a tree and eat. Aragorn actually falls asleep briefly, his belly pleasantly full and the air hazy and warm. When he wakes, Frodo is watching him, his eyes old. The hobbit is even more breathtaking in his seriousness.
"She still loves you," he says, and Aragorn's throat fills.
"And I her, Frodo, though my love is now that of a brother for his sister. I wish her well -- happiness is all I ever wanted for her." He cannot stop the tear that escapes down his face, though he means every word. Frodo nods, but his face seems less calm now, closer to unhappiness.
"What do you wish for yourself, Aragorn? Now that you are King, what do you long for?"
"Peace for my people."
"No, for yourself, not Gondor."
They stare at each other for long moments. Aragorn knows what he wants -- it is beside him. Beauty, strength and fierce courage embodied. Can he admit this, and claim Frodo? Can he forsake the dream of his own dynasty, with the heirs of his body ruling Gondor for the next Age?
As he ponders these questions he has asked himself many times, Frodo breaks eye contact and rolls away, onto his back, with an attempt at a smile.
"It is too fine a day for such serious conversation, I think. I'm sorry, Aragorn."
Despite the light words, Aragorn feels Frodo's pain. He takes silence as rejection and accepts it without complaint, as if such a response could be right or fair. Aragorn owes his future to this hobbit who will not claim any reward. Frodo will love him but will not try to hold him.
"Conversation *is* tiring. Perhaps there is a better way to show you what I want." He moves to straddle Frodo, ignoring his startled look, and claims that sweet mouth with a loving kiss. Aragorn pours all his unspoken feelings into the caress, delighted when Frodo responds, his arms encircling Aragorn's neck, his body arching upwards into the embrace.
The next few hours are full of kisses, apologies, words of love and vows of devotion. When the sun is low in the West, Aragorn finally sees Frodo's nude body as a lover, not a healer, and they make love. Simple pleasure with hands and mouths becomes sacred pleasure as Frodo moans and calls his name. Every sound, every sensation is burned into Aragorn's memory, never to be forgotten.
This is their first time together.
Frodo has forgotten it all.
***
King Elessar strides into the Houses of Healing bearing Frodo, and the healers run to serve them both.
"When my lord Mithrandir arrives, send him to me immediately," he orders before entering the room that has been prepared to his command.
"Yes, your highness," says Amatine, who leaves only long enough to entrust the King's message to a boy who will wait outside for the wizard. When she returns with fresh linens, both the King and the halfling are in the still-steaming tub. The halfling lolls, unconscious, as the King gently cleanses bruised flesh.
"May I assist, highness?"
"No, thank you. But make sure the locksmith is sent in immediately."
His command is silently obeyed, and soon after Amatine brings in the elderly man who has served the House of the Steward for many years. He cannot control his gasp when he sees the halfling, but he swiftly removes the heavy cuff and chain from the left wrist. The right wrist proves more difficult, however, and the halfling moans and cries out as he works the tight metal.
"Be careful!"
"Yes, your majesty, I'm very sorry but this will hurt him."
"I can bring a sedative, my lord, to dull the pain," Amatine offers.
"No! He is too weak -- the child could be injured."
The locksmith and Amatine exchange shocked looks. Although both saw the swollen flesh, neither suspected that the halfling -- a male halfling -- is bearing a child.
At last the cuff opens and is gently pulled away from the torn flesh beneath by the King himself. The locksmith is dismissed, Amatine paying him from the King's own purse, then seeing him out. She returns to assist the King in drying the halfling and setting the bone.
By dawn, when Amatine leaves for home, the news of Frodo's condition is widely known throughout the House of Healing. By the time she returns to duty the next evening, it is gossip throughout the City. The hands of the King have great healing power, but no one believes the halfling will survive.
***
"Where am I?" Frodo whispers, and it is difficult to answer. Aragorn's mouth works, but he wants to say too much, so no words emerge.
"Safe," Gandalf replies. "Healing."
"The orcs..."
"Gone. Dead."
"The Ring..."
"Destroyed. You are in the keeping of the King, Frodo, and all is well." Although he relaxes back into sleep, it is clear Frodo does not remember who is King -- or what they have been to each other.
When Gandalf leaves, Aragorn weeps over his love's wasted body and their starved child.
***
"Gandalf, his memories are confused. I fear his mind has been disordered by his ordeal."
"He still burns with fever, Aragorn. His confusion is part of the delirium."
"I cannot heal him myself. The injuries are so great..." Aragorn strides around the room angrily, not used to feeling helpless.
"Elven healers, those with a true gift, may be able to help you," Legolas suggests softly from where he sits on the wide bed, combing what is left of Frodo's curls. They had to cut his hair short, for it was matted and tangled beyond repair. Combined with his emaciation, the change makes Frodo unrecognizable. Legolas, who saw Frodo the day he was pulled from Mount Doom, has to remind himself that this pain-wracked being is the hobbit he knows.
"Elrond cannot come quickly enough," Aragorn says.
"There are healers in Lothlorien," Gandalf replies. "If they could speed his healing..."
"Would they come?" Aragorn appears afraid to hope.
"All my people honor Frodo as Ringbearer and elf-friend."
"I will be back as soon as possible." Gandalf is out the door as he speaks, and Aragorn collapses into the chair at last
Legolas thinks that only when Frodo is briefly conscious does the recognizable spirit of his friend appear. He remembers nothing of his recent ordeal. But when he sleeps he screams of orcs, pleading that he no longer has the Ring. Awake and asleep he has begged them to kill the child inside him, not understanding how it was conceived.
Legolas hums a song, hoping to lull Frodo into a deeper sleep. He wishes he had true healing skills, for Frodo and for Aragorn, who badly needs rest. He has not left this room for three days. His official duties have been forgotten. All his energy is concentrated on the two beating hearts in Frodo's worn body.
***
Wenathen and Denier ride to the seventh level with Mithrandir, ignoring the stares from the people of Minas Tirith. The Ringbearer is dying, as all mortals die -- but Frodo is carrying a precious life, and Gandalf seems positive this is not his appointed time. The Lady Galadriel agrees, so they carry cordials and herbs Men do not know which may help with Frodo's unique condition.
At the House of Healing it is easy to brush aside the woman who tends Frodo, but only Mithrandir can remove the frantic King Elessar from the bedside and give them freedom to work.
"Thank the Valar you are here at last. He did not wake yestereve."
"Aragorn my friend, come with me and let Wenathen examine Frodo."
"No, I must stay. She may have questions..."
"You need a warm meal, sire, and your ministers are waiting to give their reports."
Mithrandir's words seem meaningless to Elessar for a moment. He stares stupidly, his bloodshot eyes flitting around the sick room in a panic.
"You have other duties, Aragorn. Frodo will be cared for. Now come, take some rest."
The cajoling and reasoning continue for a long time while Wena bathes Frodo and the child, and Denier sings a healing song. But Mithrandir persists, and by the time the song wakes the hobbit they are alone.
Frodo is able to drink water, then take a dose of Galadriel's cordial. He stares at the elves but does not speak.
"I am Wena, Frodo Baggins, and this is my partner Denier. We are here to help you heal, if you wish it." A weak nod is the only reply. "Very well. Rest now, Frodo, and let us care for you."
Hours later, after sunset, Elessar returns to lie on the bed and hold Frodo. Denier changes his song to include the king in the aura of healing and rest they weave.
***
The foreign healers -- elf folk, she supposes, and a queer lot they are -- stay with the halfling day and night, emerging only to ask for herbs, medicines, and more water. The sound of singing comes from the room at all hours, a mournful noise. It brings tears to the eyes of all who hear it, but the patients in the nearest rooms sleep soundly and improve more quickly than is normal.
The King is finally behaving as he should instead of acting like a madman. He still spends every night in this House where the halfling hovers between life and death, but he goes to the Hall in the morning to hear cases and rule his kingdom. Amatine wonders if the halfling and the wizard have somehow enchanted him, for why should a strong, fine man care so much for this frail, odd creature?
She asks Enid about it as they move the most seriously ill to the room next to the halfling, but they cannot agree on an answer.
***
"I want to speak to Gandalf. Alone." Frodo's stubbornness is the first thing to recover. He is still too weak to sit up, and sleeps most of the day, but the hobbit knows what he wants.
Legolas smiles at Gimli as they leave the room, leading Aragorn between them. The King of the West has been evicted from a room in his own city by one small, sick hobbit.
Of course, Gandalf knows that Aragorn would throw himself off the wall of the Citadel if Frodo wished it. The King performs his duties. The dark circles under his eyes are fading and the frantic, haunted expression has finally left his face. But Aragorn's life is still centered here with Frodo.
"Wena says I should not be told too much. She thinks it best if I remember on my own." Frodo shifts in the bed, wincing with pain. "But she said I could ask you about this thing I bear." He gestures at the child in his womb.
"What do you wish to know, Frodo?"
"Aragorn says you told him hobbits can bear man-children."
Gandalf remembers the day Frodo was kidnaped. How distant it seems, Aragorn's exultation when he found the tree and the wizard shared this story for the first time.
"I know of one hobbit who loved a man very much. He left the Shire to live with his love, and he carried the man's child."
Frodo nods, looking thoughtful. "So you believe, like Aragorn, that this is not some foul curse of the Enemy or Saruman?"
"There is no reason to believe it is so."
Frodo's eyes close and he asks no more questions, but now Gandalf feels a need for answers. He waits, exercising his patience, until Frodo gathers his strength and speaks again.
"I'd like to speak to Aragorn now. You may stay if you wish -- but not Legolas or Gimli, please." The hobbit has not spoken of his condition to the elf and dwarf, and Gandalf wonders if Frodo thinks they are unaware of the child.
Aragorn returns, looking incredibly happy when Frodo smiles at him.
"Aragorn, you saved this child when I wished to kill it. Thank you, for it is wrong of me to blame the babe for how it was conceived." Aragorn seems about to answer, but he catches Gandalf's eye and remains silent. Frodo continues softly, "I am glad that I do not remember being raped by those men. It may make these next months easier. But I will not keep this child with me, for I cannot love it."
"You may feel differently when the baby is born," Gandalf says, trying to distract him from Aragorn's stricken face.
"No." Frodo is losing strength quickly now, gasping out his request brokenly. "Will you find a home for the child? Someone who will love it despite being half-hobbit? There must be those who wish for children and cannot..."
Aragorn is pale but composed as he replies. "I promise you this child will be given a good home, Frodo, full of love and care."
"Thank you." He relaxes, whiter than the pillowcase, but looking relieved.
Aragorn sits next to Frodo as he falls back to sleep, stroking his hand and watching him until Wena re-enters the room.
"Out, both of you. Let Frodo rest now that his mind is at ease."
Before they can obey there is a clatter of noise in the hallway, and the door bursts open. Three frantic, joyous hobbits just arrived from the Shire rush in and run to Frodo's side.
Sam is gently fussing over Frodo when Aragorn approaches.
"Good morning," he says with a smile as they both start up, then force themselves to remain seated. They agreed only yesterday to cease the bowing each feels the others are owed -- but it still bothers Frodo, who visibly twitches.
"Hullo, Strider," Sam barks in a most disrespectful manner, startling a laugh from Frodo, bless him. "Maybe you can tempt our Frodo to eat like a hobbit this fine morning?"
"I hope I can, Sam. Gandalf suggested Frodo's appetite might be improved by a picnic, away from the camp. Will you ride with me?"
The happy light in his eyes is answer enough, and soon Aragorn is galloping south with Frodo tucked safely before him. Faramir suggested their destination, a high meadow in South Ithilien that neither has seen before. Frodo never passed an afternoon in deadly danger here. Aragorn never stood on this ground dreaming of a future with Arwen.
It is a fine Spring day and the sun is high overhead when they reach the hillside. The river can be glimpsed below, but it looks nothing like the Anduin where they traveled it, swift and rocky. Here it winds between the trees and cuts across green meadows, meandering calmly south.
Wildflowers bloom, newly-budding trees shade them, and Aragorn finds it's easy to speak with Frodo, even if his fragile beauty takes Aragorn's breath away whenever the sunlight catches his eyes, or when he smiles in simple delight at a new discovery.
They explore on foot for a time, then spread a blanket beneath a tree and eat. Aragorn actually falls asleep briefly, his belly pleasantly full and the air hazy and warm. When he wakes, Frodo is watching him, his eyes old. The hobbit is even more breathtaking in his seriousness.
"She still loves you," he says, and Aragorn's throat fills.
"And I her, Frodo, though my love is now that of a brother for his sister. I wish her well -- happiness is all I ever wanted for her." He cannot stop the tear that escapes down his face, though he means every word. Frodo nods, but his face seems less calm now, closer to unhappiness.
"What do you wish for yourself, Aragorn? Now that you are King, what do you long for?"
"Peace for my people."
"No, for yourself, not Gondor."
They stare at each other for long moments. Aragorn knows what he wants -- it is beside him. Beauty, strength and fierce courage embodied. Can he admit this, and claim Frodo? Can he forsake the dream of his own dynasty, with the heirs of his body ruling Gondor for the next Age?
As he ponders these questions he has asked himself many times, Frodo breaks eye contact and rolls away, onto his back, with an attempt at a smile.
"It is too fine a day for such serious conversation, I think. I'm sorry, Aragorn."
Despite the light words, Aragorn feels Frodo's pain. He takes silence as rejection and accepts it without complaint, as if such a response could be right or fair. Aragorn owes his future to this hobbit who will not claim any reward. Frodo will love him but will not try to hold him.
"Conversation *is* tiring. Perhaps there is a better way to show you what I want." He moves to straddle Frodo, ignoring his startled look, and claims that sweet mouth with a loving kiss. Aragorn pours all his unspoken feelings into the caress, delighted when Frodo responds, his arms encircling Aragorn's neck, his body arching upwards into the embrace.
The next few hours are full of kisses, apologies, words of love and vows of devotion. When the sun is low in the West, Aragorn finally sees Frodo's nude body as a lover, not a healer, and they make love. Simple pleasure with hands and mouths becomes sacred pleasure as Frodo moans and calls his name. Every sound, every sensation is burned into Aragorn's memory, never to be forgotten.
This is their first time together.
Frodo has forgotten it all.
***
King Elessar strides into the Houses of Healing bearing Frodo, and the healers run to serve them both.
"When my lord Mithrandir arrives, send him to me immediately," he orders before entering the room that has been prepared to his command.
"Yes, your highness," says Amatine, who leaves only long enough to entrust the King's message to a boy who will wait outside for the wizard. When she returns with fresh linens, both the King and the halfling are in the still-steaming tub. The halfling lolls, unconscious, as the King gently cleanses bruised flesh.
"May I assist, highness?"
"No, thank you. But make sure the locksmith is sent in immediately."
His command is silently obeyed, and soon after Amatine brings in the elderly man who has served the House of the Steward for many years. He cannot control his gasp when he sees the halfling, but he swiftly removes the heavy cuff and chain from the left wrist. The right wrist proves more difficult, however, and the halfling moans and cries out as he works the tight metal.
"Be careful!"
"Yes, your majesty, I'm very sorry but this will hurt him."
"I can bring a sedative, my lord, to dull the pain," Amatine offers.
"No! He is too weak -- the child could be injured."
The locksmith and Amatine exchange shocked looks. Although both saw the swollen flesh, neither suspected that the halfling -- a male halfling -- is bearing a child.
At last the cuff opens and is gently pulled away from the torn flesh beneath by the King himself. The locksmith is dismissed, Amatine paying him from the King's own purse, then seeing him out. She returns to assist the King in drying the halfling and setting the bone.
By dawn, when Amatine leaves for home, the news of Frodo's condition is widely known throughout the House of Healing. By the time she returns to duty the next evening, it is gossip throughout the City. The hands of the King have great healing power, but no one believes the halfling will survive.
***
"Where am I?" Frodo whispers, and it is difficult to answer. Aragorn's mouth works, but he wants to say too much, so no words emerge.
"Safe," Gandalf replies. "Healing."
"The orcs..."
"Gone. Dead."
"The Ring..."
"Destroyed. You are in the keeping of the King, Frodo, and all is well." Although he relaxes back into sleep, it is clear Frodo does not remember who is King -- or what they have been to each other.
When Gandalf leaves, Aragorn weeps over his love's wasted body and their starved child.
***
"Gandalf, his memories are confused. I fear his mind has been disordered by his ordeal."
"He still burns with fever, Aragorn. His confusion is part of the delirium."
"I cannot heal him myself. The injuries are so great..." Aragorn strides around the room angrily, not used to feeling helpless.
"Elven healers, those with a true gift, may be able to help you," Legolas suggests softly from where he sits on the wide bed, combing what is left of Frodo's curls. They had to cut his hair short, for it was matted and tangled beyond repair. Combined with his emaciation, the change makes Frodo unrecognizable. Legolas, who saw Frodo the day he was pulled from Mount Doom, has to remind himself that this pain-wracked being is the hobbit he knows.
"Elrond cannot come quickly enough," Aragorn says.
"There are healers in Lothlorien," Gandalf replies. "If they could speed his healing..."
"Would they come?" Aragorn appears afraid to hope.
"All my people honor Frodo as Ringbearer and elf-friend."
"I will be back as soon as possible." Gandalf is out the door as he speaks, and Aragorn collapses into the chair at last
Legolas thinks that only when Frodo is briefly conscious does the recognizable spirit of his friend appear. He remembers nothing of his recent ordeal. But when he sleeps he screams of orcs, pleading that he no longer has the Ring. Awake and asleep he has begged them to kill the child inside him, not understanding how it was conceived.
Legolas hums a song, hoping to lull Frodo into a deeper sleep. He wishes he had true healing skills, for Frodo and for Aragorn, who badly needs rest. He has not left this room for three days. His official duties have been forgotten. All his energy is concentrated on the two beating hearts in Frodo's worn body.
***
Wenathen and Denier ride to the seventh level with Mithrandir, ignoring the stares from the people of Minas Tirith. The Ringbearer is dying, as all mortals die -- but Frodo is carrying a precious life, and Gandalf seems positive this is not his appointed time. The Lady Galadriel agrees, so they carry cordials and herbs Men do not know which may help with Frodo's unique condition.
At the House of Healing it is easy to brush aside the woman who tends Frodo, but only Mithrandir can remove the frantic King Elessar from the bedside and give them freedom to work.
"Thank the Valar you are here at last. He did not wake yestereve."
"Aragorn my friend, come with me and let Wenathen examine Frodo."
"No, I must stay. She may have questions..."
"You need a warm meal, sire, and your ministers are waiting to give their reports."
Mithrandir's words seem meaningless to Elessar for a moment. He stares stupidly, his bloodshot eyes flitting around the sick room in a panic.
"You have other duties, Aragorn. Frodo will be cared for. Now come, take some rest."
The cajoling and reasoning continue for a long time while Wena bathes Frodo and the child, and Denier sings a healing song. But Mithrandir persists, and by the time the song wakes the hobbit they are alone.
Frodo is able to drink water, then take a dose of Galadriel's cordial. He stares at the elves but does not speak.
"I am Wena, Frodo Baggins, and this is my partner Denier. We are here to help you heal, if you wish it." A weak nod is the only reply. "Very well. Rest now, Frodo, and let us care for you."
Hours later, after sunset, Elessar returns to lie on the bed and hold Frodo. Denier changes his song to include the king in the aura of healing and rest they weave.
***
The foreign healers -- elf folk, she supposes, and a queer lot they are -- stay with the halfling day and night, emerging only to ask for herbs, medicines, and more water. The sound of singing comes from the room at all hours, a mournful noise. It brings tears to the eyes of all who hear it, but the patients in the nearest rooms sleep soundly and improve more quickly than is normal.
The King is finally behaving as he should instead of acting like a madman. He still spends every night in this House where the halfling hovers between life and death, but he goes to the Hall in the morning to hear cases and rule his kingdom. Amatine wonders if the halfling and the wizard have somehow enchanted him, for why should a strong, fine man care so much for this frail, odd creature?
She asks Enid about it as they move the most seriously ill to the room next to the halfling, but they cannot agree on an answer.
***
"I want to speak to Gandalf. Alone." Frodo's stubbornness is the first thing to recover. He is still too weak to sit up, and sleeps most of the day, but the hobbit knows what he wants.
Legolas smiles at Gimli as they leave the room, leading Aragorn between them. The King of the West has been evicted from a room in his own city by one small, sick hobbit.
Of course, Gandalf knows that Aragorn would throw himself off the wall of the Citadel if Frodo wished it. The King performs his duties. The dark circles under his eyes are fading and the frantic, haunted expression has finally left his face. But Aragorn's life is still centered here with Frodo.
"Wena says I should not be told too much. She thinks it best if I remember on my own." Frodo shifts in the bed, wincing with pain. "But she said I could ask you about this thing I bear." He gestures at the child in his womb.
"What do you wish to know, Frodo?"
"Aragorn says you told him hobbits can bear man-children."
Gandalf remembers the day Frodo was kidnaped. How distant it seems, Aragorn's exultation when he found the tree and the wizard shared this story for the first time.
"I know of one hobbit who loved a man very much. He left the Shire to live with his love, and he carried the man's child."
Frodo nods, looking thoughtful. "So you believe, like Aragorn, that this is not some foul curse of the Enemy or Saruman?"
"There is no reason to believe it is so."
Frodo's eyes close and he asks no more questions, but now Gandalf feels a need for answers. He waits, exercising his patience, until Frodo gathers his strength and speaks again.
"I'd like to speak to Aragorn now. You may stay if you wish -- but not Legolas or Gimli, please." The hobbit has not spoken of his condition to the elf and dwarf, and Gandalf wonders if Frodo thinks they are unaware of the child.
Aragorn returns, looking incredibly happy when Frodo smiles at him.
"Aragorn, you saved this child when I wished to kill it. Thank you, for it is wrong of me to blame the babe for how it was conceived." Aragorn seems about to answer, but he catches Gandalf's eye and remains silent. Frodo continues softly, "I am glad that I do not remember being raped by those men. It may make these next months easier. But I will not keep this child with me, for I cannot love it."
"You may feel differently when the baby is born," Gandalf says, trying to distract him from Aragorn's stricken face.
"No." Frodo is losing strength quickly now, gasping out his request brokenly. "Will you find a home for the child? Someone who will love it despite being half-hobbit? There must be those who wish for children and cannot..."
Aragorn is pale but composed as he replies. "I promise you this child will be given a good home, Frodo, full of love and care."
"Thank you." He relaxes, whiter than the pillowcase, but looking relieved.
Aragorn sits next to Frodo as he falls back to sleep, stroking his hand and watching him until Wena re-enters the room.
"Out, both of you. Let Frodo rest now that his mind is at ease."
Before they can obey there is a clatter of noise in the hallway, and the door bursts open. Three frantic, joyous hobbits just arrived from the Shire rush in and run to Frodo's side.