lilybaggins FroPreg Challenge -- PART 13
Here’s Part 13 of my response to lilybaggins Frodo mpreg Challenge.
ancalime8301 has kindly compiled a list of all the Mpregs she can get her hands on. The link to the list (which includes my previous chapters) is:
http://www.livejournal.com/users/ancalime8301/71560.html
FIRSTBORN
Part 13/?
Rated: PG-13
March 13
The day after the birth began with a soothing routine. Every few hours the babies needed to be fed, but when they were returned, Frodo spent every waking moment talking with them, cuddling them, and getting to know his new daughters. To him, they already had separate personalities. Blue-eyed Míriel was already more alert and expressive than her sister Glóriel, who was quieter. Frodo delighted in their every change of expression, every grasping finger, every shift in position or tiniest movement. He would never have imagined that someone could spend so many hours simply gazing rapturously at infants and not tire of it.
As the day progressed, however, he began to grow restless and uneasy, which worsened after awakening from a late-afternoon nap and a disturbing dream. In his dream, he had been back in the hands of the Men who had held him captive -- the ones who had thought of hobbits as “pets” -- and now they were after his little ones… searching the City for them…
He had just finished picking at an early dinner that Sam had brought him when Aragorn and Sila came in to check on him and the babies. Sam looked up from his chair and smiled at the visitors, but a strange panic came over Frodo when he saw Aragorn walk towards the cradle. The images from his nightmare seemed to flood his mind, crowding out all other, more reasonable thoughts.
“Are you well, Frodo?” Sila asked. He pushed aside a table, now piled with books and papers that Frodo had requested, and sat down on the bed. Another table nearby still held a variety of powders, and packets of herbs, that Aragorn and Elrond had assembled for any emergency needs.
“He’s not eatin’ too much,” Sam told the Elf worriedly, “and he’s a bit too warm for my likin’.”
Sila frowned and touched a cool hand to Frodo’s brow. Frodo said nothing -- he was watching every move Aragorn made, and his eyes narrowed suspiciously as the Man picked up the babies.
“I think his neck is botherin’ him too,” Sam said. “Isn’t it, Mr. Frodo?”
“Aragorn,” Sila said, concerned, “I believe---”
“You can’t have them!” Frodo cried out suddenly, staring at Aragorn.
“Mr. Frodo!” Sam gasped in astonishment.
Aragorn turned toward the bed, holding both infants in his arms. “Frodo, what is wrong?” he asked in amazement.
“Give them back!” Without warning, Frodo started to lunge toward Aragorn, and only Sila’s quick action kept the distraught hobbit from falling off the bed.
“Frodo, calm yourself,” Sila said soothingly, but Frodo yelled and struggled to escape as strong arms encircled him, then pressed him down onto his back and restrained him. Sila looked up in alarm. “Aragorn, the fever has definitely risen.”
“Keep him still, Sila,” Aragorn said urgently, hastily returning the infants to their cradle. “His fever was nearly gone; I need to check the incision.”
“Give them back, you thief!” Frodo cried again. He twisted frantically in an attempt to escape, then gasped as a sudden pain seared across his abdomen. He writhed in agony as the Orc’s whip cut into him.
Sam could hardly believe what he was hearing. The last time he had heard Frodo use the word ‘thief’ had been…
“That’s what he said in that Tower!” Sam cried, leaping to his feet. “He wasn’t thinkin’ clear, and he thought I’d stolen the Ring from him. He thinks he’s back there, for some reason.” Suddenly he gasped. “It’s March 13! It was a year ago today, Strider!”
Aragorn was alarmed to see a spreading red stain on Frodo’s nightshirt. Realizing that the hobbit’s frenzied movements must be pulling apart the sutures of his incision, he made a swift decision and quickly poured a quantity of a herbal powder into a cup, and added water. Once mixed, he started to move towards the bed.
“Sam,” whispered Frodo desperately, “where are you?” He suddenly realized that one of his captors was approaching him. “No!” he yelled. “Stay away from me! Don’t you dare take them!”
“Sam,” Aragorn said softly, “I don’t want to come closer and upset him further. See if you can get him to drink this.” Sam nodded and climbed up on the bed, then took the cup.
“Sam,” Frodo gasped, hope surging in his heart, “you found me! We need to get out of here!”
“Let him go, Sila,” the gardener said quietly. Sila slowly released Frodo’s arms, and Frodo threw himself at Sam, desperately clutching at him.
“Sam,” he moaned weakly, gazing glassily at his friend’s face, “it’s so dark. We must leave before they come back.”
“Here now, sir,” Sam murmured, wrapping a comforting arm around his friend, “have a drink, then we’ll leave.”
Frodo looked at the water bottle that Sam held for him, and took a sip. It tasted strange, but then, he and Sam had to drink whatever they could, wherever they could find it. He gulped the liquid thirstily.
“You need to drink, too, Sam,” Frodo insisted.
“I’ve had my fill, Mr. Frodo, don’t you worry about that,” Sam said soothingly. “You finish this, now.” Frodo nodded, and drained the cup.
“Good,” Sam said, handing the empty cup to Sila. “That’s good, sir.”
“Sam,” Aragorn said quietly, “just keep him still. That’s a strong dose, and he should be deeply asleep in just a few minutes.”
“Oh Sam,” Frodo sighed, “I’m so tired. It… hurts so much…” He clutched at Sam harder as a wave of dizziness struck him. “We have to… go…”
With tears in his eyes, Sam wrapped both arms around Frodo and held him. “You just rest for a minute, Mr. Frodo. That’s it. You rest, sir, and we’ll be goin’ soon.”
“All right,” Frodo murmured. Lulled by his dear Sam’s voice and a gentle, deepening drowsiness, he sank into his friend’s protective embrace.
“Sila,” Aragorn said urgently, “run back to the healing rooms and find suturing materials -- needle, fibers, a basin, and clean bandages.” The Elf raced to obey.
“Sam…” Frodo’s words were faint, slurred… “I’m so glad… you found me...” His eyelids fluttered and closed.
“I’m right here,” Sam whispered, rocking slightly back and forth. “Shhh, you just sleep, now.” He sighed with relief as Frodo’s fingers, clenched tightly around his arm, slowly loosened their grip as the delirious hobbit lost consciousness.
Aragorn waited until Frodo went completely limp. “Good work,” he said to Sam. He came forward quickly and slid his arms around Frodo, then lay him on his back and slid up the bloodied nightshirt, inspecting the incision. As he had feared, several of the sutures had opened, and begun to bleed.
“Are you goin’ to sew him back up here?” Sam asked fearfully.
“Yes,” Aragorn said, carefully pressing a clean cloth to the incision. “He won’t feel it this time, Sam -- I promise.” He sighed. “He’s developed a rather high fever, but it’s not from any infection that I can see or feel.”
“It’s because of that horrible day,” Sam muttered, taking one of Frodo’s limp hands in his own. “It was terrible dark there, Strider, and we were both so exhausted. Then poor Mr. Frodo was poisoned by that… thing, taken prisoner, and woke up to find the Ring gone. Everything he had was taken away, then he was left all alone in that cold, damp…” He shook his head grimly. “I can’t even imagine what that day was like for him.”
“Nor I,” Aragorn said. “If we’re lucky, he will sleep for many hours, until this cursed day is over once again -- and he may not remember that any of this happened.”
“I hope not,” Sam said fervently.
“Did I hear you say that his neck was bothering him?”
“Yes,” Sam replied. “Mr. Frodo thought he had slept wrong, or…” His eyes grew wide. “Is it because of that creature? Because he was stung?”
“Perhaps,” Aragorn said thoughtfully. He was still keeping the cloth pressed to the incision. “Is the back of his neck hot, or swollen?”
Sam slid a hand along the back of Frodo’s neck, and nodded. “Both.”
“His body retains the memory of all that happened to him. The loss of the Ring on that day seems to have made him susceptible to re-experiencing all of the trauma that took place before you found him.”
Sam looked up, his eyes filled with anguish. “Will this happen to him every year, Strider? For the rest of his life?”
“I don’t know, Sam,” Aragorn sighed. “I truly don’t know.”
ancalime8301 has kindly compiled a list of all the Mpregs she can get her hands on. The link to the list (which includes my previous chapters) is:
http://www.livejournal.com/users/ancalime8301/71560.html
FIRSTBORN
Part 13/?
Rated: PG-13
March 13
The day after the birth began with a soothing routine. Every few hours the babies needed to be fed, but when they were returned, Frodo spent every waking moment talking with them, cuddling them, and getting to know his new daughters. To him, they already had separate personalities. Blue-eyed Míriel was already more alert and expressive than her sister Glóriel, who was quieter. Frodo delighted in their every change of expression, every grasping finger, every shift in position or tiniest movement. He would never have imagined that someone could spend so many hours simply gazing rapturously at infants and not tire of it.
As the day progressed, however, he began to grow restless and uneasy, which worsened after awakening from a late-afternoon nap and a disturbing dream. In his dream, he had been back in the hands of the Men who had held him captive -- the ones who had thought of hobbits as “pets” -- and now they were after his little ones… searching the City for them…
He had just finished picking at an early dinner that Sam had brought him when Aragorn and Sila came in to check on him and the babies. Sam looked up from his chair and smiled at the visitors, but a strange panic came over Frodo when he saw Aragorn walk towards the cradle. The images from his nightmare seemed to flood his mind, crowding out all other, more reasonable thoughts.
“Are you well, Frodo?” Sila asked. He pushed aside a table, now piled with books and papers that Frodo had requested, and sat down on the bed. Another table nearby still held a variety of powders, and packets of herbs, that Aragorn and Elrond had assembled for any emergency needs.
“He’s not eatin’ too much,” Sam told the Elf worriedly, “and he’s a bit too warm for my likin’.”
Sila frowned and touched a cool hand to Frodo’s brow. Frodo said nothing -- he was watching every move Aragorn made, and his eyes narrowed suspiciously as the Man picked up the babies.
“I think his neck is botherin’ him too,” Sam said. “Isn’t it, Mr. Frodo?”
“Aragorn,” Sila said, concerned, “I believe---”
“You can’t have them!” Frodo cried out suddenly, staring at Aragorn.
“Mr. Frodo!” Sam gasped in astonishment.
Aragorn turned toward the bed, holding both infants in his arms. “Frodo, what is wrong?” he asked in amazement.
“Give them back!” Without warning, Frodo started to lunge toward Aragorn, and only Sila’s quick action kept the distraught hobbit from falling off the bed.
“Frodo, calm yourself,” Sila said soothingly, but Frodo yelled and struggled to escape as strong arms encircled him, then pressed him down onto his back and restrained him. Sila looked up in alarm. “Aragorn, the fever has definitely risen.”
“Keep him still, Sila,” Aragorn said urgently, hastily returning the infants to their cradle. “His fever was nearly gone; I need to check the incision.”
“Give them back, you thief!” Frodo cried again. He twisted frantically in an attempt to escape, then gasped as a sudden pain seared across his abdomen. He writhed in agony as the Orc’s whip cut into him.
Sam could hardly believe what he was hearing. The last time he had heard Frodo use the word ‘thief’ had been…
“That’s what he said in that Tower!” Sam cried, leaping to his feet. “He wasn’t thinkin’ clear, and he thought I’d stolen the Ring from him. He thinks he’s back there, for some reason.” Suddenly he gasped. “It’s March 13! It was a year ago today, Strider!”
Aragorn was alarmed to see a spreading red stain on Frodo’s nightshirt. Realizing that the hobbit’s frenzied movements must be pulling apart the sutures of his incision, he made a swift decision and quickly poured a quantity of a herbal powder into a cup, and added water. Once mixed, he started to move towards the bed.
“Sam,” whispered Frodo desperately, “where are you?” He suddenly realized that one of his captors was approaching him. “No!” he yelled. “Stay away from me! Don’t you dare take them!”
“Sam,” Aragorn said softly, “I don’t want to come closer and upset him further. See if you can get him to drink this.” Sam nodded and climbed up on the bed, then took the cup.
“Sam,” Frodo gasped, hope surging in his heart, “you found me! We need to get out of here!”
“Let him go, Sila,” the gardener said quietly. Sila slowly released Frodo’s arms, and Frodo threw himself at Sam, desperately clutching at him.
“Sam,” he moaned weakly, gazing glassily at his friend’s face, “it’s so dark. We must leave before they come back.”
“Here now, sir,” Sam murmured, wrapping a comforting arm around his friend, “have a drink, then we’ll leave.”
Frodo looked at the water bottle that Sam held for him, and took a sip. It tasted strange, but then, he and Sam had to drink whatever they could, wherever they could find it. He gulped the liquid thirstily.
“You need to drink, too, Sam,” Frodo insisted.
“I’ve had my fill, Mr. Frodo, don’t you worry about that,” Sam said soothingly. “You finish this, now.” Frodo nodded, and drained the cup.
“Good,” Sam said, handing the empty cup to Sila. “That’s good, sir.”
“Sam,” Aragorn said quietly, “just keep him still. That’s a strong dose, and he should be deeply asleep in just a few minutes.”
“Oh Sam,” Frodo sighed, “I’m so tired. It… hurts so much…” He clutched at Sam harder as a wave of dizziness struck him. “We have to… go…”
With tears in his eyes, Sam wrapped both arms around Frodo and held him. “You just rest for a minute, Mr. Frodo. That’s it. You rest, sir, and we’ll be goin’ soon.”
“All right,” Frodo murmured. Lulled by his dear Sam’s voice and a gentle, deepening drowsiness, he sank into his friend’s protective embrace.
“Sila,” Aragorn said urgently, “run back to the healing rooms and find suturing materials -- needle, fibers, a basin, and clean bandages.” The Elf raced to obey.
“Sam…” Frodo’s words were faint, slurred… “I’m so glad… you found me...” His eyelids fluttered and closed.
“I’m right here,” Sam whispered, rocking slightly back and forth. “Shhh, you just sleep, now.” He sighed with relief as Frodo’s fingers, clenched tightly around his arm, slowly loosened their grip as the delirious hobbit lost consciousness.
Aragorn waited until Frodo went completely limp. “Good work,” he said to Sam. He came forward quickly and slid his arms around Frodo, then lay him on his back and slid up the bloodied nightshirt, inspecting the incision. As he had feared, several of the sutures had opened, and begun to bleed.
“Are you goin’ to sew him back up here?” Sam asked fearfully.
“Yes,” Aragorn said, carefully pressing a clean cloth to the incision. “He won’t feel it this time, Sam -- I promise.” He sighed. “He’s developed a rather high fever, but it’s not from any infection that I can see or feel.”
“It’s because of that horrible day,” Sam muttered, taking one of Frodo’s limp hands in his own. “It was terrible dark there, Strider, and we were both so exhausted. Then poor Mr. Frodo was poisoned by that… thing, taken prisoner, and woke up to find the Ring gone. Everything he had was taken away, then he was left all alone in that cold, damp…” He shook his head grimly. “I can’t even imagine what that day was like for him.”
“Nor I,” Aragorn said. “If we’re lucky, he will sleep for many hours, until this cursed day is over once again -- and he may not remember that any of this happened.”
“I hope not,” Sam said fervently.
“Did I hear you say that his neck was bothering him?”
“Yes,” Sam replied. “Mr. Frodo thought he had slept wrong, or…” His eyes grew wide. “Is it because of that creature? Because he was stung?”
“Perhaps,” Aragorn said thoughtfully. He was still keeping the cloth pressed to the incision. “Is the back of his neck hot, or swollen?”
Sam slid a hand along the back of Frodo’s neck, and nodded. “Both.”
“His body retains the memory of all that happened to him. The loss of the Ring on that day seems to have made him susceptible to re-experiencing all of the trauma that took place before you found him.”
Sam looked up, his eyes filled with anguish. “Will this happen to him every year, Strider? For the rest of his life?”
“I don’t know, Sam,” Aragorn sighed. “I truly don’t know.”