lilybaggins FroPreg Challenge -- PART 11
Here’s Part 11 of my response to lilybaggins Frodo mpreg Challenge.
Either before or after reading this chapter, be sure to check out this amazing pic that Elwenlj found:
http://www.kind-vater.de/baby-hand01111.jpg
ancalime8301 kindly maintains a list of all the Mpregs she can get her hands on. The link to the list (which includes all my previous chapters) is:
http://www.livejournal.com/users/ancalime8301/71560.html
Now then. It’s important to remember that I’ve never given birth, I’ve never attended a birth, and I’ve certainly never imagined writing about a birth. Especially, well… this kind.
WARNING: Blood and squickiness.
FIRSTBORN
Part 11/?
Rated: PG-13
While Elrond was guiding a very lightly sedated Frodo into a relaxed state, Aragorn lifted Pippin up onto the bed, and positioned the young hobbit on his knees next to Frodo’s abdomen. Merry and Sam climbed up on small ladders that had been pulled over, one on each side of the bed, and, as instructed, they each took hold of one of Frodo’s legs and separated them. Aragorn pulled one of the clean shirts over his own clothing, and washed his hands thoroughly. He quietly told Sam and Merry that they would need to hold tightly to Frodo’s legs, and keep them as still as possible, “no matter what” -- then he spoke to Pippin at length. When he felt that the young hobbit understood everything that was about to happen, Aragorn waited for Elrond’s signal.
“Will he feel anything, Strider?” Sam whispered.
“I will be using an herb to numb the area where I’ll be cutting, Sam, and Elrond should be able to help Frodo to endure what he does feel,” Aragorn said just as quietly. “But since he will remain conscious and aware, we can’t stop the pain entirely. I’ll work as quickly as I can.”
“Aragorn,” Elrond murmured, “we’re ready.”
“Gandalf,” Aragorn said softly, “would you ask the two midwives to come in?” The wizard moved to a door and opened it, motioning in two of the women. They came to stand by Aragorn’s side, honored to assist the healer-King and Elf lord, and to be present at this most unique experience for the valiant little one to whom they all owed their lives.
Aragorn pushed up Frodo’s nightshirt, then reached into one of the nearby basins and pulled out a cloth that had been soaking in a specially prepared herbal solution. He laid it over the hobbit’s lower abdomen, and Frodo was vaguely aware of the wet, and intensely cold cloth touching him -- but almost immediately, the cold gave way to an odd tingling, and then he felt nothing.
Aragorn removed the cloth and dropped it back into the bowl. Not wasting any time, he picked up a small, sharp knife that had been soaking in a basin alongside several previously-threaded needles, and positioned it at the base of Frodo’s swollen abdomen.
Trying to gauge how much pressure to use, Aragorn pressed the tip of the knife into Frodo’s skin, then made the incision.
Frodo felt something shoot across his belly... not pain, exactly -- it burned, but at the same time was strangely cold. He whimpered with a sudden fear, and tried to squirm away, but Merry and Sam held his legs firmly, and he was unable to move them.
A midwife pressed astringent-rich, herb-soaked cloths around the incision to help control the bleeding, then Aragorn made another, deeper cut, separating layers of tissue.
Frodo gasped and gripped Sila’s hand tightly, but suddenly he was surrounded by brilliant sparks, like small explosions behind his eyes. On one level of consciousness he knew there was burning pain, but it was as if the stars were standing between him and the worst of it, shielding him… singing to him. And there was a voice…
“You are doing well, Frodo,” Elrond murmured. “You can bear this. Listen to my voice, little one. Let the stars lend you their light, and strength. You can bear this… you are doing well…”
A great gush of hot fluid poured out of the incision, soaking the towels and cloths. Pippin gulped and wanted to look away, but he forced himself to stay still. He couldn’t believe that Frodo wasn’t screaming his head off, and he turned for a moment to look at Merry, then Sam. Both hobbits were pale, and he wondered if he looked the same.
“Now, Pippin,” Aragorn said urgently. “Reach in and tell me what you feel.”
Pippin forced himself to stop thinking… stop feeling… he took a deep breath and slid one hand gently into the opening in Frodo’s abdomen.
Frodo moaned and squirmed, as he felt something… someone… This couldn’t be happening… no… he started to feel dizzy.
“Aragorn,” Elrond said quietly, “his pulse is less strong. You must hurry.”
“A head,” Pippin whispered. “Shoulders… I think I can just…” The young hobbit’s eyes grew wide as he gently eased a tiny baby out of the bloody opening. A midwife stepped forward with a soft cloth and let the child slide onto it, and exchanged a look of amazement with her colleague; neither had ever seen or imagined a full-term baby so tiny.
“Again, Pippin,” Aragorn urged. “We must hurry before he loses too much blood.”
Pippin inserted his hand once again, sliding it past the slippery cord, and felt another small arm and shoulder. As carefully as he could, he maneuvered the tiny form down, and out, only dimly aware that a wail was coming from the first child. The second midwife caught the twin in another soft cloth, and the ladies held the babies carefully while Aragorn severed the cords that connected them to Frodo’s body. The midwives immediately took the infants to a waiting table, where they proceeded to tie off the cords, and check them over before gently cleansing them. Two tiny voices now cried in unison, upset at being taken from their warm, dark cocoon.
“Once more,” Aragorn said, “quickly now. The sac holding the babies must be brought out.”
Pippin was starting to feel sick, and faint, but he reached into the moist cavity once again and gently detached the protective sac from the abdomen wall. As he eased it out, he began to have trouble breathing.
“Strider, I… I can’t…”
“Gandalf!”
As Aragorn bent to clean, then suture the incision, Gandalf quickly lifted Pippin off the bed and sat him on a nearby table, where the wizard murmured for the young hobbit to breathe deeply. Pippin had started to shake, and he jerked suddenly as Frodo cried out. Frodo felt the sickening twinges as the suturing needle pushed into his flesh, in and out, in and out.
“I’m nearly finished,” Aragorn said. “Keep him still for a moment longer… there!” He tied off the last suture, and sighed, wiping a sleeve across his damp brow. “You can let him go, Sam… Merry.”
“Strider, please!” Merry burst out, unable to keep silent any longer. “Boys or girls? Or both?”
“Frodo and Sila should see them first,” Aragorn smiled, as he straightened and stretched his aching back.
“Aragorn,” said Elrond softly, “I am keeping him conscious, but I do not wish to strain him thus for much longer.”
Aragorn nodded to the midwives, and they brought the tiny, wrapped bundles to the bed. One at a time, they lay their precious burdens down -- one infant next to Frodo’s head, and the other on his chest.
Half in a dream, Frodo looked from one tiny baby to the other, a joyous smile on his lips. He touched them both gently for a moment, in awe of the tiny forms, yawning and blinking at him. He could see that one of the infants had green eyes, and the other’s were a deep blue. Both had faint wisps of blond curls on their heads, and were utterly beautiful.
“You have two lovely, healthy daughters, Frodo,” Aragorn said softly.
“Daughters,” Frodo murmured.
“New cousins, Mer!” Pippin whispered in awe.
“Are all infants of your race so small?” asked one of the ladies.
“They look about right to me,” Sam said, suddenly grinning uncontrollably. “Mr. Merry? What do you think?”
“I agree,” Merry said with a relieved laugh. “In fact, I think Pip was smaller.”
“Nonsense,” the young hobbit snorted.
“Have you discussed names?” Elrond asked with a smile.
“Endlessly!” Sila laughed. He gently touched Frodo’s pale face, his own features showing concern and relief. “I believe we have chosen well, but it is for Frodo to tell these little ones their names, when he is ready.”
Aragorn touched a finger to Frodo’s throat and felt his pulse, frowning slightly. “Let him go, Elrond,” he urged. “This has been quite an ordeal for him.”
“It is time to sleep for a bit, Frodo,” Elrond murmured softly, as the ladies took up their precious burdens once more.
“No,” Frodo whispered. He reached out weakly for his babies, although he could barely lift his arms, and felt dizzy beyond belief -- and the pain that had been diverted for so long had begun to sear into him like a hot knife. “Let me… hold them…”
“You will, sir. You will,” Sam said quietly, his eyes brimming with tears.
Elrond neither moved nor spoke, but Frodo suddenly relaxed, his eyes fluttering closed. He drifted away, the stars blurred… fading… and he sighed and sank into oblivion.
“Is he all right?” Sam asked, concerned.
“He lost a lot of blood, Sam,” Aragorn said, checking Frodo’s pulse again, “although I did my best to prevent it. I see no reason why he should not recover fully, given time. We need to keep watch for any sign of fever, and give him teas for pain. He may need to remain abed for several weeks so that he may rebuild his strength and give the wound a chance to begin healing.” Aragorn looked at Pippin, still sitting on a nearby table. The young hobbit had stopped shaking, and was grinning as widely as Merry. “You did a wonderful job, Pippin.”
“Thank you.” Pippin dipped his still-bloody hands into a basin that Gandalf held out for him. “Is it morning yet?”
“Nearly,” Sila replied. “You must be weary.”
Pippin shook his head. “Just hungry,” he declared.
“Hobbits,” Gandalf chuckled. “They will never cease to amaze me.”
Either before or after reading this chapter, be sure to check out this amazing pic that Elwenlj found:
http://www.kind-vater.de/baby-hand01111.jpg
ancalime8301 kindly maintains a list of all the Mpregs she can get her hands on. The link to the list (which includes all my previous chapters) is:
http://www.livejournal.com/users/ancalime8301/71560.html
Now then. It’s important to remember that I’ve never given birth, I’ve never attended a birth, and I’ve certainly never imagined writing about a birth. Especially, well… this kind.
WARNING: Blood and squickiness.
FIRSTBORN
Part 11/?
Rated: PG-13
While Elrond was guiding a very lightly sedated Frodo into a relaxed state, Aragorn lifted Pippin up onto the bed, and positioned the young hobbit on his knees next to Frodo’s abdomen. Merry and Sam climbed up on small ladders that had been pulled over, one on each side of the bed, and, as instructed, they each took hold of one of Frodo’s legs and separated them. Aragorn pulled one of the clean shirts over his own clothing, and washed his hands thoroughly. He quietly told Sam and Merry that they would need to hold tightly to Frodo’s legs, and keep them as still as possible, “no matter what” -- then he spoke to Pippin at length. When he felt that the young hobbit understood everything that was about to happen, Aragorn waited for Elrond’s signal.
“Will he feel anything, Strider?” Sam whispered.
“I will be using an herb to numb the area where I’ll be cutting, Sam, and Elrond should be able to help Frodo to endure what he does feel,” Aragorn said just as quietly. “But since he will remain conscious and aware, we can’t stop the pain entirely. I’ll work as quickly as I can.”
“Aragorn,” Elrond murmured, “we’re ready.”
“Gandalf,” Aragorn said softly, “would you ask the two midwives to come in?” The wizard moved to a door and opened it, motioning in two of the women. They came to stand by Aragorn’s side, honored to assist the healer-King and Elf lord, and to be present at this most unique experience for the valiant little one to whom they all owed their lives.
Aragorn pushed up Frodo’s nightshirt, then reached into one of the nearby basins and pulled out a cloth that had been soaking in a specially prepared herbal solution. He laid it over the hobbit’s lower abdomen, and Frodo was vaguely aware of the wet, and intensely cold cloth touching him -- but almost immediately, the cold gave way to an odd tingling, and then he felt nothing.
Aragorn removed the cloth and dropped it back into the bowl. Not wasting any time, he picked up a small, sharp knife that had been soaking in a basin alongside several previously-threaded needles, and positioned it at the base of Frodo’s swollen abdomen.
Trying to gauge how much pressure to use, Aragorn pressed the tip of the knife into Frodo’s skin, then made the incision.
Frodo felt something shoot across his belly... not pain, exactly -- it burned, but at the same time was strangely cold. He whimpered with a sudden fear, and tried to squirm away, but Merry and Sam held his legs firmly, and he was unable to move them.
A midwife pressed astringent-rich, herb-soaked cloths around the incision to help control the bleeding, then Aragorn made another, deeper cut, separating layers of tissue.
Frodo gasped and gripped Sila’s hand tightly, but suddenly he was surrounded by brilliant sparks, like small explosions behind his eyes. On one level of consciousness he knew there was burning pain, but it was as if the stars were standing between him and the worst of it, shielding him… singing to him. And there was a voice…
“You are doing well, Frodo,” Elrond murmured. “You can bear this. Listen to my voice, little one. Let the stars lend you their light, and strength. You can bear this… you are doing well…”
A great gush of hot fluid poured out of the incision, soaking the towels and cloths. Pippin gulped and wanted to look away, but he forced himself to stay still. He couldn’t believe that Frodo wasn’t screaming his head off, and he turned for a moment to look at Merry, then Sam. Both hobbits were pale, and he wondered if he looked the same.
“Now, Pippin,” Aragorn said urgently. “Reach in and tell me what you feel.”
Pippin forced himself to stop thinking… stop feeling… he took a deep breath and slid one hand gently into the opening in Frodo’s abdomen.
Frodo moaned and squirmed, as he felt something… someone… This couldn’t be happening… no… he started to feel dizzy.
“Aragorn,” Elrond said quietly, “his pulse is less strong. You must hurry.”
“A head,” Pippin whispered. “Shoulders… I think I can just…” The young hobbit’s eyes grew wide as he gently eased a tiny baby out of the bloody opening. A midwife stepped forward with a soft cloth and let the child slide onto it, and exchanged a look of amazement with her colleague; neither had ever seen or imagined a full-term baby so tiny.
“Again, Pippin,” Aragorn urged. “We must hurry before he loses too much blood.”
Pippin inserted his hand once again, sliding it past the slippery cord, and felt another small arm and shoulder. As carefully as he could, he maneuvered the tiny form down, and out, only dimly aware that a wail was coming from the first child. The second midwife caught the twin in another soft cloth, and the ladies held the babies carefully while Aragorn severed the cords that connected them to Frodo’s body. The midwives immediately took the infants to a waiting table, where they proceeded to tie off the cords, and check them over before gently cleansing them. Two tiny voices now cried in unison, upset at being taken from their warm, dark cocoon.
“Once more,” Aragorn said, “quickly now. The sac holding the babies must be brought out.”
Pippin was starting to feel sick, and faint, but he reached into the moist cavity once again and gently detached the protective sac from the abdomen wall. As he eased it out, he began to have trouble breathing.
“Strider, I… I can’t…”
“Gandalf!”
As Aragorn bent to clean, then suture the incision, Gandalf quickly lifted Pippin off the bed and sat him on a nearby table, where the wizard murmured for the young hobbit to breathe deeply. Pippin had started to shake, and he jerked suddenly as Frodo cried out. Frodo felt the sickening twinges as the suturing needle pushed into his flesh, in and out, in and out.
“I’m nearly finished,” Aragorn said. “Keep him still for a moment longer… there!” He tied off the last suture, and sighed, wiping a sleeve across his damp brow. “You can let him go, Sam… Merry.”
“Strider, please!” Merry burst out, unable to keep silent any longer. “Boys or girls? Or both?”
“Frodo and Sila should see them first,” Aragorn smiled, as he straightened and stretched his aching back.
“Aragorn,” said Elrond softly, “I am keeping him conscious, but I do not wish to strain him thus for much longer.”
Aragorn nodded to the midwives, and they brought the tiny, wrapped bundles to the bed. One at a time, they lay their precious burdens down -- one infant next to Frodo’s head, and the other on his chest.
Half in a dream, Frodo looked from one tiny baby to the other, a joyous smile on his lips. He touched them both gently for a moment, in awe of the tiny forms, yawning and blinking at him. He could see that one of the infants had green eyes, and the other’s were a deep blue. Both had faint wisps of blond curls on their heads, and were utterly beautiful.
“You have two lovely, healthy daughters, Frodo,” Aragorn said softly.
“Daughters,” Frodo murmured.
“New cousins, Mer!” Pippin whispered in awe.
“Are all infants of your race so small?” asked one of the ladies.
“They look about right to me,” Sam said, suddenly grinning uncontrollably. “Mr. Merry? What do you think?”
“I agree,” Merry said with a relieved laugh. “In fact, I think Pip was smaller.”
“Nonsense,” the young hobbit snorted.
“Have you discussed names?” Elrond asked with a smile.
“Endlessly!” Sila laughed. He gently touched Frodo’s pale face, his own features showing concern and relief. “I believe we have chosen well, but it is for Frodo to tell these little ones their names, when he is ready.”
Aragorn touched a finger to Frodo’s throat and felt his pulse, frowning slightly. “Let him go, Elrond,” he urged. “This has been quite an ordeal for him.”
“It is time to sleep for a bit, Frodo,” Elrond murmured softly, as the ladies took up their precious burdens once more.
“No,” Frodo whispered. He reached out weakly for his babies, although he could barely lift his arms, and felt dizzy beyond belief -- and the pain that had been diverted for so long had begun to sear into him like a hot knife. “Let me… hold them…”
“You will, sir. You will,” Sam said quietly, his eyes brimming with tears.
Elrond neither moved nor spoke, but Frodo suddenly relaxed, his eyes fluttering closed. He drifted away, the stars blurred… fading… and he sighed and sank into oblivion.
“Is he all right?” Sam asked, concerned.
“He lost a lot of blood, Sam,” Aragorn said, checking Frodo’s pulse again, “although I did my best to prevent it. I see no reason why he should not recover fully, given time. We need to keep watch for any sign of fever, and give him teas for pain. He may need to remain abed for several weeks so that he may rebuild his strength and give the wound a chance to begin healing.” Aragorn looked at Pippin, still sitting on a nearby table. The young hobbit had stopped shaking, and was grinning as widely as Merry. “You did a wonderful job, Pippin.”
“Thank you.” Pippin dipped his still-bloody hands into a basin that Gandalf held out for him. “Is it morning yet?”
“Nearly,” Sila replied. “You must be weary.”
Pippin shook his head. “Just hungry,” he declared.
“Hobbits,” Gandalf chuckled. “They will never cease to amaze me.”