Repercussions
The LotR mpreg challenge saga continues. NC-17 this time around, F/A slash. Unbetaed and untitled, as always.
Apologies have been given and accepted, yet Wena bustles around Frodo's room in a decidedly disgruntled, ungraceful, un-elflike manner. The events last night have taken a toll on her patient. Frodo is weak, dangerously weak, though his spirits are the best she's seen.
He smiles up at her, radiant with happiness, but cannot lift his head to drink the cordial she has brought him, the last of what they carried here from Lothlorien. Yesterday she thought it little matter to be without the sustaining drink. Today she knows a messenger must be sent with a letter to the Lady, to ask for more of her assistance.
"Shall I sing today, my soulsister?" Denier is there, as always, sensing her distress and ready to give his own energies to alleviating it.
"Please. He's so fragile."
The song is one she has not heard since the time of her youth, an Age ago. He is singing for Frodo, but also for her, and she smiles ruefully at him as she settles Frodo back for more sleep. She is remembering forests that have long-since failed, elves who have passed into the West, and a time when Hope was an easily-found friend.
Wena wants to cry with the emotions Denier pulls from her, but instead she join her voice with his, singing to bind up Frodo's oft-wounded body until it can support the mighty soul within, and the child that drains its resources.
***
When Frodo wakes in the afternoon, Sam is there beside him. Merry and Pippin are reclining on the man-sized chaise together, sound asleep.
"Too much of that cake Strider sent down from the banquet last night." Sam smiles at him and Frodo beams back, almost too happy to speak. "Don't you look like a new hobbit today."
"Sam, this baby... it's mine and Aragorn's. Did you know?" Sam blushes and nods.
"I thought you were finally putting on some weight, like a proper hobbit, but then Gandalf told us about that Took and I knew. Before you did, I think."
"The other hobbit that loved a man was a Took?" Frodo laughs a little in delight, and crows "Gandalf didn't tell me that part."
Merry starts awake, knocking Pippin off him, but the chaise is big enough that he doesn't fall to the floor. Merry hops down while Pip rubs his eyes and scowls, looking like he needs a longer nap.
"Cousin Frodo. How well you look today." Frodo smiles at him, still on the verge of laughter, but he also feels dizzy enough to lay back on the bed. Sam is right there to prop his pillow the way he prefers, and give him a sip of water before he can ask. Merry climbs on the bed to lie beside him, holding his hand.
"Oh, Merry, the baby is kicking. Would you like to feel it? Sam?"
They both place gentle hands on the round belly, smiling softly. Only yesterday Frodo denied his condition, pretended there was nothing amiss, forcing his dear friends to behave as though he was merely slow in recovering from the fever. Today he smiles as they do when they feel the miracle of life inside him. And when Pippin climbs up on the foot of the bed and works his way up, Frodo does laugh again.
"Me, too. I want to feel it. Do you think it's a boy or a girl, Frodo? Does Aragorn care? What will you name it?"
"Give him a second to answer your chatter, Pip, and take a breath yourself."
"A healthy child is all I want, Pippin, and I need to discuss your name question with Aragorn. Though I can assure you if it's a boy he won't be named Peregrin!" Pippin pretends to pout but cannot help smiling when the baby enthusiastically kicks at his hand.
"Oh, that's the baby -- doesn't that hurt you? Those are hobbit feet all right."
"I'm so glad you're happy about the babe, Frodo. And I don't suppose I'll be hearing any more that you want to come back to the Shire with me," Sam says.
"No, no. Minas Tirith is going to be my home. I wonder if I'll ever learn my way around this place? But we'll visit, or at least I will if the King cannot travel so far. I'll bring the baby to see you all, and to learn about hobbits firsthand."
"You'll have to," Pippin agrees with a yawn. "Otherwise, living here, he'll think you're the only hobbits in the world."
"Hey, don't fall asleep there," Merry says, pushing at him, but Pippin indeed is settling in to continue his nap at Frodo's knees. The bed is large enough for all of them. And Merry's own eyes are kind of droopy now, and Sam looks ready to drop.
"Sam, come lie down with us. I'm going back to sleep, but I don't want you to leave yet." Frodo snuggles into Sam's warmth, feeling Merry hugging him from behind, and Pippin is like a very big, warm cat on his knees. The baby seems to understand it's time to sleep, settling down too.
Frodo isn't tired, truly he isn't. It doesn't matter, once the room is quiet he is asleep in moments.
***
Aragorn finds he is delaying joining Frodo in their bed this evening, instead moving around the room, rearranging things and chatting about his day. When Frodo interrupts to ask if he is ever coming to bed, he drops a plaster statuette on the hearth.
How ridiculous. He's been sleeping with the hobbit since he was rescued, but tonight it is somehow different. Frodo seems almost seductive, blushing and smiling at him. And Aragorn feels like it is their first time together, and he is almost shy about approaching the bed.
Not that there will be any lovemaking. Wena has been quite explicit about that, telling him that Frodo is not well enough for strenuous activities and may not be until after their child is born.
Still, tonight Aragorn will sleep unclothed, under the covers next to Frodo, not clothed atop his blankets. Tonight when they cuddle together, there is no reason to hold back the kisses and endearments that used to wait until Frodo slept.
Aragorn shakes himself and impatiently begins pulling off his garments. Frodo watches, eyes wide, until Aragorn is nude and moves to lower the flame in the lamp. Then Frodo smiles, no, grins, as Aragorn lifts the covers and joins him. And his love, not shy at all, moves into his arms and kisses him.
The kiss is Aragorn's undoing. It has the passion he remembers, the sweetness that has always been Frodo. But it is so weak compared to the kisses he remembers. Aragorn feels tears fall as he devours Frodo's mouth, as he supports the weak frame and tries to pleasure him, just a little.
"I love you," Frodo gasps as soon as he is released for a breath. "So much, Aragorn, since I met you, though I could never tell you." His hands wander gently, unable to grasp and pull as they used to, but still stroking fire into Aragorn's veins.
"You are my life," he replies, diving back for another taste of the mouth he has missed so long.
"Don't cry," Frodo says, tasting the salt tears. "Not now that we're together again."
But Aragorn cannot stop the tears, nor his body's reaction to having Frodo in his arms again. And of course Frodo feels his arousal, and breaks away from their kiss with a gasp.
"Oh, please -- I want to give you pleasure."
"No, Frodo, Wena has forbidden it... for the baby's sake. And you are too tired for anything else, I fear." For it is obvious that Frodo is not aroused, despite the kissing and touching.
"We can still... between my thighs, Aragorn, if not inside my body. There is oil..." He nods toward the side table, and Aragorn rises to get the vial of vanilla oil. He is so aroused it is almost painful, and he does not want to rush this night. So he takes deep breaths, then looks back to the hobbit waiting in their bed, his face serious with arousal.
"Oil? Frodo Baggins, have you been enjoying someone else's attentions all these months while I've been waiting for you?"
It works, for Frodo laughs and Aragorn runs to jump back beside him. This is the way he remembers their lovemaking, laughter and tenderness and deep passion all combined. The best of all worlds, and they still share that despite what Fate has done to them.
He has to hold Frodo's thighs together as he pumps between them, for Frodo is too weak to provide resistance. But it is still so very sweet, with stolen kisses grabbed between mouthfuls of Frodo's chest and neck, and words of passion in his ear, whispered in a breathy voice.
Aragorn knows the elves hear his cry of completion -- half the city might hear it, and he would not care. Frodo is his again, reclaimed.
Frodo is only half aroused, and even when Aragorn takes his member in his mouth he does not reach a climax. But he is contented, very tired and contented as they snuggle together before drifting into sleep.
***
When the moon sets Wena enters Frodo's room to check on him, feeling his brow and then his heartbeat. Despite his activities with the King tonight, he feels cool and the beat is steady and strong. Perhaps stronger than it was this morning.
Wena sits beside the bed for a time, watching them sleep. She loses all track of time until Denier comes in to bring her back to their bed. Once they are behind their own door, she speaks.
"I am at a loss with these mortals. How can what exhausts him strengthen him?"
"How can such a fragile shell hold so much love and spirit? We have not understood Frodo from the first, but we have kept him alive when all others despaired."
She nods but her agitation is clear. Denier takes her into his arms, stroking her hair and humming softly.
"I do not see how he can continue to bear the child. Three more months of this strain on his body? It will be the death of him, of them both."
"Frodo will not sacrifice the child to save himself, not now. Nor would King Elessar not allow it, unless Frodo were dying. And in such a situation, both would be lost no matter what we did."
"This is the Gift of the One to mortals? This fear, watching pain and illness lead to death despite all struggle. Being forced to let them leave us, no matter how precious the life. How do they bear it -- how can it be borne?"
"Because it must, by them and now by you. It is dangerous to give your heart to a mortal, Wenathen, and you knew this before we set foot in Minas Tirith."
She sobs in his arms, wondering if loving Frodo has somehow made her mortal. Surely no proper elf behaves in such a manner.
Apologies have been given and accepted, yet Wena bustles around Frodo's room in a decidedly disgruntled, ungraceful, un-elflike manner. The events last night have taken a toll on her patient. Frodo is weak, dangerously weak, though his spirits are the best she's seen.
He smiles up at her, radiant with happiness, but cannot lift his head to drink the cordial she has brought him, the last of what they carried here from Lothlorien. Yesterday she thought it little matter to be without the sustaining drink. Today she knows a messenger must be sent with a letter to the Lady, to ask for more of her assistance.
"Shall I sing today, my soulsister?" Denier is there, as always, sensing her distress and ready to give his own energies to alleviating it.
"Please. He's so fragile."
The song is one she has not heard since the time of her youth, an Age ago. He is singing for Frodo, but also for her, and she smiles ruefully at him as she settles Frodo back for more sleep. She is remembering forests that have long-since failed, elves who have passed into the West, and a time when Hope was an easily-found friend.
Wena wants to cry with the emotions Denier pulls from her, but instead she join her voice with his, singing to bind up Frodo's oft-wounded body until it can support the mighty soul within, and the child that drains its resources.
***
When Frodo wakes in the afternoon, Sam is there beside him. Merry and Pippin are reclining on the man-sized chaise together, sound asleep.
"Too much of that cake Strider sent down from the banquet last night." Sam smiles at him and Frodo beams back, almost too happy to speak. "Don't you look like a new hobbit today."
"Sam, this baby... it's mine and Aragorn's. Did you know?" Sam blushes and nods.
"I thought you were finally putting on some weight, like a proper hobbit, but then Gandalf told us about that Took and I knew. Before you did, I think."
"The other hobbit that loved a man was a Took?" Frodo laughs a little in delight, and crows "Gandalf didn't tell me that part."
Merry starts awake, knocking Pippin off him, but the chaise is big enough that he doesn't fall to the floor. Merry hops down while Pip rubs his eyes and scowls, looking like he needs a longer nap.
"Cousin Frodo. How well you look today." Frodo smiles at him, still on the verge of laughter, but he also feels dizzy enough to lay back on the bed. Sam is right there to prop his pillow the way he prefers, and give him a sip of water before he can ask. Merry climbs on the bed to lie beside him, holding his hand.
"Oh, Merry, the baby is kicking. Would you like to feel it? Sam?"
They both place gentle hands on the round belly, smiling softly. Only yesterday Frodo denied his condition, pretended there was nothing amiss, forcing his dear friends to behave as though he was merely slow in recovering from the fever. Today he smiles as they do when they feel the miracle of life inside him. And when Pippin climbs up on the foot of the bed and works his way up, Frodo does laugh again.
"Me, too. I want to feel it. Do you think it's a boy or a girl, Frodo? Does Aragorn care? What will you name it?"
"Give him a second to answer your chatter, Pip, and take a breath yourself."
"A healthy child is all I want, Pippin, and I need to discuss your name question with Aragorn. Though I can assure you if it's a boy he won't be named Peregrin!" Pippin pretends to pout but cannot help smiling when the baby enthusiastically kicks at his hand.
"Oh, that's the baby -- doesn't that hurt you? Those are hobbit feet all right."
"I'm so glad you're happy about the babe, Frodo. And I don't suppose I'll be hearing any more that you want to come back to the Shire with me," Sam says.
"No, no. Minas Tirith is going to be my home. I wonder if I'll ever learn my way around this place? But we'll visit, or at least I will if the King cannot travel so far. I'll bring the baby to see you all, and to learn about hobbits firsthand."
"You'll have to," Pippin agrees with a yawn. "Otherwise, living here, he'll think you're the only hobbits in the world."
"Hey, don't fall asleep there," Merry says, pushing at him, but Pippin indeed is settling in to continue his nap at Frodo's knees. The bed is large enough for all of them. And Merry's own eyes are kind of droopy now, and Sam looks ready to drop.
"Sam, come lie down with us. I'm going back to sleep, but I don't want you to leave yet." Frodo snuggles into Sam's warmth, feeling Merry hugging him from behind, and Pippin is like a very big, warm cat on his knees. The baby seems to understand it's time to sleep, settling down too.
Frodo isn't tired, truly he isn't. It doesn't matter, once the room is quiet he is asleep in moments.
***
Aragorn finds he is delaying joining Frodo in their bed this evening, instead moving around the room, rearranging things and chatting about his day. When Frodo interrupts to ask if he is ever coming to bed, he drops a plaster statuette on the hearth.
How ridiculous. He's been sleeping with the hobbit since he was rescued, but tonight it is somehow different. Frodo seems almost seductive, blushing and smiling at him. And Aragorn feels like it is their first time together, and he is almost shy about approaching the bed.
Not that there will be any lovemaking. Wena has been quite explicit about that, telling him that Frodo is not well enough for strenuous activities and may not be until after their child is born.
Still, tonight Aragorn will sleep unclothed, under the covers next to Frodo, not clothed atop his blankets. Tonight when they cuddle together, there is no reason to hold back the kisses and endearments that used to wait until Frodo slept.
Aragorn shakes himself and impatiently begins pulling off his garments. Frodo watches, eyes wide, until Aragorn is nude and moves to lower the flame in the lamp. Then Frodo smiles, no, grins, as Aragorn lifts the covers and joins him. And his love, not shy at all, moves into his arms and kisses him.
The kiss is Aragorn's undoing. It has the passion he remembers, the sweetness that has always been Frodo. But it is so weak compared to the kisses he remembers. Aragorn feels tears fall as he devours Frodo's mouth, as he supports the weak frame and tries to pleasure him, just a little.
"I love you," Frodo gasps as soon as he is released for a breath. "So much, Aragorn, since I met you, though I could never tell you." His hands wander gently, unable to grasp and pull as they used to, but still stroking fire into Aragorn's veins.
"You are my life," he replies, diving back for another taste of the mouth he has missed so long.
"Don't cry," Frodo says, tasting the salt tears. "Not now that we're together again."
But Aragorn cannot stop the tears, nor his body's reaction to having Frodo in his arms again. And of course Frodo feels his arousal, and breaks away from their kiss with a gasp.
"Oh, please -- I want to give you pleasure."
"No, Frodo, Wena has forbidden it... for the baby's sake. And you are too tired for anything else, I fear." For it is obvious that Frodo is not aroused, despite the kissing and touching.
"We can still... between my thighs, Aragorn, if not inside my body. There is oil..." He nods toward the side table, and Aragorn rises to get the vial of vanilla oil. He is so aroused it is almost painful, and he does not want to rush this night. So he takes deep breaths, then looks back to the hobbit waiting in their bed, his face serious with arousal.
"Oil? Frodo Baggins, have you been enjoying someone else's attentions all these months while I've been waiting for you?"
It works, for Frodo laughs and Aragorn runs to jump back beside him. This is the way he remembers their lovemaking, laughter and tenderness and deep passion all combined. The best of all worlds, and they still share that despite what Fate has done to them.
He has to hold Frodo's thighs together as he pumps between them, for Frodo is too weak to provide resistance. But it is still so very sweet, with stolen kisses grabbed between mouthfuls of Frodo's chest and neck, and words of passion in his ear, whispered in a breathy voice.
Aragorn knows the elves hear his cry of completion -- half the city might hear it, and he would not care. Frodo is his again, reclaimed.
Frodo is only half aroused, and even when Aragorn takes his member in his mouth he does not reach a climax. But he is contented, very tired and contented as they snuggle together before drifting into sleep.
***
When the moon sets Wena enters Frodo's room to check on him, feeling his brow and then his heartbeat. Despite his activities with the King tonight, he feels cool and the beat is steady and strong. Perhaps stronger than it was this morning.
Wena sits beside the bed for a time, watching them sleep. She loses all track of time until Denier comes in to bring her back to their bed. Once they are behind their own door, she speaks.
"I am at a loss with these mortals. How can what exhausts him strengthen him?"
"How can such a fragile shell hold so much love and spirit? We have not understood Frodo from the first, but we have kept him alive when all others despaired."
She nods but her agitation is clear. Denier takes her into his arms, stroking her hair and humming softly.
"I do not see how he can continue to bear the child. Three more months of this strain on his body? It will be the death of him, of them both."
"Frodo will not sacrifice the child to save himself, not now. Nor would King Elessar not allow it, unless Frodo were dying. And in such a situation, both would be lost no matter what we did."
"This is the Gift of the One to mortals? This fear, watching pain and illness lead to death despite all struggle. Being forced to let them leave us, no matter how precious the life. How do they bear it -- how can it be borne?"
"Because it must, by them and now by you. It is dangerous to give your heart to a mortal, Wenathen, and you knew this before we set foot in Minas Tirith."
She sobs in his arms, wondering if loving Frodo has somehow made her mortal. Surely no proper elf behaves in such a manner.