On a rainy fall day I arrived home from my duties, tired and hungry and ready to settle in with Frodo in front of the hearth. I removed my dripping wet cloak and pulled off my muddy boots, puzzled that I did not smell freshly baked bread or stew. In fact, the cottage was quite dark and chilly. A miserable groan sent me running to the sitting room, my heart pounding in fear, and there I found Frodo curled on the couch, a blanket pulled tightly up to his chin. I rushed to him, dropping to my knees in front of the sofa. His face was pale and beaded with sweat and he looked utterly miserable.
I smoothed back his sweaty curls from his chilled brow. "When did you fall ill?"
The fire had burned out, and so I started a new fire. I wondered how long Frodo had lain here, ill and unable even to warm the cottage.
Frodo opened his eyes a crack, and he groaned again, pressing his sleeve to his mouth. I stroked his damp curls, feeling heartsick. I had been gone since dawn, and when I had left, he had seemed a little pale and quiet, but not ill. At last he managed to speak in a weak, halting voice. "It's been like this all day. Normally it passes by second breakfast but today it's gone on all day. I am sorry, Faramir; I haven't gathered anything together for supper."
"Of course not." I cared not for supper when my darling was so ill, but whatever did he mean by "normally?" Come to think of it, he had been pale and quiet all week. If he had kept his illness a secret from me, I would be irked at him.
Frodo let out a frustrated sigh. "Oh, it's been like this all week. I didn't want to worry you, but I thought I'd caught a bug from Allin's little ones. They were all sick last week when I stopped by with the apple sauce."
"And you've not seen the healer about this?" I touched his brow again, alarmed by how clammy it was. "I shall send for him at once."
"No, no," Frodo said, grabbing my arm with a surprisingly strong grip. "Please don't. I am not that sick. But I promise you, I shall see him in the morning. At any rate, I must stop by Mr. Barly's and apologize for not showing up to his shop today. I had promised him I would help him take inventory of his items." During the past year, Frodo had taken to helping villagers with an array of odd jobs. He was so well loved by the Breefolk, Big and Little, that his cheery energy and willingness to do just about any job, was in high demand. It was not that we needed the coins – Bilbo sent him plenty, but he abhorred spending day after day in our cottage alone.
I kissed his cheek. "I am certain he will understand. You rest now, and I shall fix you some broth and toast."
Frodo slept on the sofa in front of the hearth all that night. I went to bed as usual, but I did not sleep well. I woke on and off throughout the night. Sometimes I wandered into the sitting room to check on him, making certain he was not in pain or in need of anything. He seemed to sleep peacefully.
But the next morning, I heard violent retching, and I rushed to him, whereupon I found him heaving over a bucket. When he was done, he collapsed back on the sofa, utterly spent and so pale that his blue eyes looked nearly black in contrast. My stomach turned. I had only once seen him this ill, when he had come down with the fever, and he had nearly perished.
"I will bring back the healer," I said, not waiting for Frodo's protest, as I threw on my cloak and tore out the door.
The healer did not answer my knocking, and when I peered in his window, I found it dark and apparently uninhabited. My shoulders slumped in frustration. I would leave a note for him to come as soon as he could. I did not want to leave Frodo alone for long.
"He's not there. I understand that Mrs. Rushlight is birthing twins today."
I started at the voice, and then I saw the cloaked stranger. I had not heard him approach. Strider the Ranger. I nodded courteously. Frodo occasionally spoke well of him, so he must be good folk.
"Is there anything I can do to help?" Strider asked. I could see why many of the Breefolk felt repelled by him. He had a rascally look, his hair looked filthy and stringy, and his clothes looked as though they had seen far too many days in the wild. There was a dangerous gleam to his eyes that I envied, especially after enduring Frodo's teasing time and time again about how gentle my eyes were.
I shook my head. "I think not. My hobbit friend Frodo – you know him – is very ill, and I had hoped the healer could attend to him this morning. I fear for him. I've not seen him this ill in a long time."
"Frodo?" Strider's voice colored with concern. "He's the only hobbit that will even speak to me. He is ill then?"
"He has emptied his stomach nearly every morning this week, so he says. And yesterday he was ill all day and into this morning. He cannot hold down even a small amount of water."
Strider glanced at the healer's cottage. "The healer will not be back for quite some time, but if you will allow me, I will look at him. I have skills as a healer."
By the time we arrived back at the cottage, Frodo had managed to dress, and he was sitting on the edge of the sofa, eating burnt toast. He startled when he saw the Ranger.
"Strider!" he cried in surprise. "What are you doing here?"
"Faramir says you've been ill."
Frodo glared at me, his cheeks reddening. "Faramir...This is completely unnecessary..."
"You need to be looked at. No arguments."
Frodo crossed his arms, and I could tell he wished to parley with me over it, but was shy to display his usual stubborn streak in front of Strider.
Strider pulled a stool in front of Frodo. "How long have you been ill?"
"About a week," Frodo said quietly, glancing at me. "On and off."
Strider peered into each of Frodo's eyes. "It starts in the morning?"
"Yes...But by afternoon, usually I'm ravenous and I've nearly forgotten I've been ill. Not yesterday, though. I was ill all day. And this morning it began so early."
"Hmmm... Will you take off your shirt please?"
Frodo looked at him, suspicious. "Why?"
"There is something I must check."
Frodo unbuttoned his shirt and took it off, flinging it carelessly aside. He met my gaze and managed a shy smile, and I was newly struck awe by his beauty, and gratitude flowed through me that I was the one he had chosen, that I was the one he loved.
Strider prodded at the skin just under Frodo's chin, checking for life pulse. Then his hand moved down to Frodo's nipples and paused, tweaking and stroking several times. I swallowed against a growing irritation. Aragorn's hand had lingered there for far too long, but I relaxed when I saw nothing but concern in his eyes. As his hands roamed down to Frodo's belly, stroking and prodding, Frodo smiled at me again.
"Have you felt any tingling here?" Strider tapped Frodo's nipple again.
Frodo blushed and glanced at me again before whispering, "Yes."
"Well, Faramir and Frodo," Strider said, standing with a nearly dazed expression. "I've not seen such a thing in a long, long time. Only once before in Breeland."
I demanded, "What is it? Is he very ill?"
"Faramir," Frodo whispered in embarrassment. "Let him speak."
"I suggest you have a seat, Faramir."
I obeyed, sitting beside Frodo on the sofa, feeling a little dizzy and confused. If Strider was ready to give bad news, he certainly had a twinkle to his eye.
"I do not quite know how to say this," and now Strider's lip curled up in amusement. "So I will be frank and let you later make of it what you will. Frodo...you are with child."
Frodo stared at him, half-smiling, as if waiting for the jest.
"Pardon?" I finally managed. Surely Strider knew better than to joke at such a time.
"It has happened in Breeland before. In rare alliances between men and male hobbits—"
"With...child..." Frodo muttered, standing. "You're ... this is a jest --"
"No. No jest."
What little color in Frodo's face drained and he swayed. A dart of fury pierced my chest as I helped him to sit again.
I spoke furiously. "Frodo is ill and you come to us with falsehoods! I had considered you a friend, but please go now and leave us in peace until such a time as a real healer can come."
"I understand your bewilderment, but I am afraid I do not waste breath on jests," Strider said.
Frodo looked at me, utterly bewildered, and I was encouraged by the new color in his cheeks. "But I can't...I don't understand!" He laughed a little and leaned into my embrace. He sat up suddenly and met Strider's gaze. "And you say this has happened before?" He stroked his slightly rounded belly.
"With a male hobbit, yes," Strider said. "And after he spent only one night with a man. And among the Elves--"
Frodo's hand flew to his mouth. "But...but what's to be done? I cannot birth a child. I'm not...I do not have...I am not..." He giggled a little. I could not see the humor in it because a horrible fear had curled in my belly.
I took Frodo's hands in mine, kissing them several times, and cleared my throat. "But can it...can the babe survive? And..." A more alarming thought twisted my stomach. "What of Frodo? Is there danger for him?"
Strider's eyes darkened and he paused a moment before answering. "I must be forthright and say that yes, there is." I held Frodo in a close embrace as Strider continued. "The babe will be large for him, being only half hobbit." Frodo flushed terribly at this, but he held his hand over his belly. "He...well, he should be able to birth it. Nature has a way of working wonders in these cases –"
"You said it's only happened once before," I broke in.
"Here in Bree," Strider said. "I have lived among the Elves for years."
My voice came out rough and loud. "The Elves are immortal, with healing powers beyond any that we have here in Bree. What about the other male hobbit? Did he survive?"
There was an awkward silence.
Strider let out a rough sigh. "No. Regretfully, neither of them survived. But..." He held his hand up before I could say anything more. "This hobbit tried to birth it alone, with no help, so ashamed he was about it. Had he had help, he would have had a good chance of surviving."
"I shall have to leave Bree," Frodo said suddenly, flushing. "What in the world will everyone say to this?"
"No, Frodo, no. That will not be necessary," I said, kissing his head. "Already the folk of Bree think we are queer, taking up with one another. But you are so loved here in Bree, Frodo, and they will come to accept it. Soon enough you will be sitting with Viola, begging her advice —"
Frodo stood and pushed me away. "Do not jest right now." He clutched his arms in front of him. "I cannot do this, Strider. Is there a...is there some way to get rid of it? An herb I can swallow?"
I stared at Strider, dry-mouthed. I would not dare say so in front of Frodo, but I hoped there was a way to rid Frodo of this strange phenomenon. Even for a healthy lady, there was always a risk that she would not survive, and for Frodo, this risk would be tripled or worse.
Strider paused. "Yes..." He swallowed. "There is such an herb."
"Then let us have it," I said. I gestured to Frodo's belly. "This is not natural."
"This herb is guaranteed to work," Strider said, his voice low and grim. "But there would it come as an enormous risk to Frodo, more so than if he went through the birth. Many times this herb causes far too much bleeding. And I would not know how much to give a hobbit. I will do much for you, Frodo, but I will not be responsible for your death."
"Then somehow we must bear this," Frodo said. I took his hand.
Site Info
We are the home of 1292 authors from among our 2552 members. There have been 2904 reviews written about our 3820 stories consisting of 10734 chapters and 29400445 words. A special welcome to our newest member, Rosamundeb.Categories
Skin Change
Donate
Help us keep one of the oldest running LotR archives available to all. Even the smallest donation helps!
Many thanks to our previous donors!
Many thanks to our previous donors!
The Library, elsewhere
Other projects
A Different Gift by Claudia
Story notes: Written for aprilkat!! I dont' even remember why or how I promised this, but I did...and here is part 1 (of 3). The rest of it is written, but I still need to tweak Part 3 a little before posting it.
