Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: Frodo and all recognisable characters are the property of the Estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. No offence is intended, nor profit made.
Warnings: M-preg
Summary: Life begins again in Gondor

"No."

Aragorn sighed, and sat down on the edge of my bed. Not a good idea: at once I felt the room spinning, and seized the pail left by my bed. Not that there was much left to come up besides bile...the bitter taste in my mouth only made me feel worse, and I must admit I was relieved to feel hands beneath my forehead and at my back.

"There, Frodo, there. It will be all right."

Easy for you to say, I wanted to retort, but my stomach was still too busy working in reverse to permit conversation. I could feel my cheeks going scarlet as the fit continued. Really, how long was I to endure this?

At last it ended, and Aragorn gave me water to rinse my mouth. I closed my eyes to avoid seeing the resulting nauseous mess, allowing him to remove the pail and settle me back onto my pillows.

"There is no need to be embarrassed, Frodo."

"You can say that. You aren't the one in this condition." I gestured irritably to my far-too-round, far-too-large, still-expanding belly. "I can't even get out of bed."

"Little one, you know it is for your own good; else I would not keep you in bed." His voice was gentle though stern, and for half a moment I felt more kindly disposed towards him.

For half a moment.

"Now...I hate to ask this, but...is there truly nothing you feel you could try for supper, nothing light? I know the sickness has grown worse, but you must eat and drink."

I couldn't help it. It started again, and this time I found myself unable to scramble for the pail in time. I threw up into the top coverlet, all over the White Tree. Again Aragorn held my head and rubbed my back, which was almost enough for me to forgive his causing it.

Almost.

"Why do they call it 'morning sickness?'" I grumbled as Aragorn wiped my face with a damp cloth. "It's more like 'all-day sickness' for me! I could bear it if it were only in the mornings..."

"It is a common expression, Little One, because the sickness is most common in the mornings. I fear that your case is very unusual; most...women...who bear children have had done with being ill long before now. I suspect that it is for two reasons: as I have said, I believe you are carrying twins; also, you were not very well when you were discovered to be with child, and if one is not well when one becomes so, one is not likely to have as hale a term."

"Bother." I made a face. "I didn't choose it, you know."

"Ai, tithen min, I know. Let's get you into fresh covers and a clean gown." Ah, bliss! More welcome words were never heard...but dreaded were those which came as Aragorn rolled down the soiled covers. "And let's get you bathed while we're changing you."

No. Even in my bed-bound state I had insisted on continuing to do as much of my bath as possible in private, permitting assistance only for my back, which I could not reach, and then only Sam. But Sam was away: there was call for the Ringbearer to meet with some of the Galadhrim soon to sail West, and I had begged Sam to take my place in light of my...condition. At roughly six to seven months with child, I could hardly waddle as it was, and Aragorn had confined me to bed weeks earlier. The waddling feeling I knew from attempting to sneak an excursion to the window only days before...not my brightest of ideas. I nearly fainted and ended up sitting on the floor, shaking, waiting until my attendant returned with my luncheon-tray and promptly retrieved me.

Not, however, without a report to Aragorn, which had resulted in his postponing every possible council and meeting to care for me full-time.

But Aragorn was already removing the pail and exchanging it for a fresh one, fetching towels and setting them to warm on the rack by the fire, bringing water and pouring it into the wash-basin, mixing the contents and testing the warmth with his wrist.

"Aragorn, I can do it myself... ." I tried to sound steadier than I felt: still sick and lightheaded, though I didn't want him to guess that.

He shook his head. "There is nothing to be ashamed of in feeling ill, Frodo. And I am here to look after you."

I sighed. "And I am perfectly capable of doing for myself, thank you very much! Spare me some dignity, at least!"

"I will spare as much of your dignity as possible, I assure you." Gently he laid a blanket over me - that much I will credit - before beginning to ease off my night-shirt. None of my old ones fit any longer; I had had to have these specially made to fit my growing stomach.

It was irritating.

Almost as irritating as being naked beneath nothing but a light blanket with one of your friends about to put his hands beneath it and wash you.

Aragorn laid a warm compress over my ribcage and a cool lavender-scented compress over my brow...which did, admittedly, help. "Try to think of something else, if it disturbs you so, Frodo."

I did.

I tried to think of ways to torment Aragorn.

Much later, clean and dressed and tucked back into bed, I found myself still contemplating ways to make Aragorn half as miserable as I felt. It would have been impossible to make him feel as miserable as I felt, and I wasn't certain I would wish it even on him.

My feet and hands were swollen so badly that I could hardly waddle and had to be fed like an infant, as my fingers were too awkward with fork, spoon, and especially knife.

My back ached.

My bottom hurt.

I felt exhausted.

I couldn't sleep.

I felt sick constantly and vomited nearly as constantly.

My legs cramped.

And I felt as if I had an everlasting cold, which Aragorn assured me was another common symptom in carrying children. There were teas he tried to give me for it, but I couldn't keep them down.

And I hurt all over.

"Frodo?"

I looked up to see Aragorn kneeling at my bedside, a little dish of something in his hand and a spoon in the other. At once I pulled the covers over my head.

"Oh, no, you don't! You know the rule today. No bringing food in here."

"Frodo..." Aragorn sighed, but there was an underpinning of sternness in his voice. "Give it a try. It is a surprise; I think you will like it. You must take some liquids, and I do not think this will make you ill."

Reluctantly - against my better judgment, I should note - I peeked over the top of the blankets. Aragorn held out not food, but a half-teaspoonful of crushed ice.

I felt foolish.

At once I opened my mouth for the treat, allowing him to spoon it to me in tiny amounts. Ah, but it was paradise - I was thirsty, and the ice felt so good melting in my mouth and trickling down my throat... .

"Is that better, Little One?"

I nodded, my mouth full of melting ice chips.

"Good. Now..."

Here it comes.

"Sometimes women with child crave particular tastes rather than specific foods. Is there any sort of taste you feel you would like...any you think you might be able to bear?"

Hmm. I considered this for a moment, though not without another mouthful of the blessed crushed ice. "Fruity."

"Fruity?"

I nodded. "Fruity. Sweet or sharp. Like...strawberries. And that soft crispy stuff, what's it called? Melon? And sweets, something else sweet...maybe some gingerbread."

Aragorn smiled. "That can be arranged easily, tithen min."

"Good." For the first time that day, something sounded appetizing, and I felt a sudden realization. "I'm hungry."

"Frodo?"

I started - I had been staring wistfully out of the window while impatiently awaiting supper. Aragorn was pushing a tea-cart from the kitchens, though he stopped it some respectful distance from the bed and began removing covers before pushing it over to the bed and displaying the results.

"There now...do you see anything you might like?"

I immediately wondered how any fruit could be left in the citadel.

There was a lovely orange and mint salad...melon with mint and lime...gingerbread on a little porcelain dish...creamy blueberry fool...strawberries and peaches with mint...pears poached in ginger honey syrup...bread pudding with peaches...strawberries with mint and citrus juice...a basket of assorted muffins which seemed to be in peach and berry varieties...fresh fruit cut up into crystal dishes: melons, berries, and grapes...and, most stunningly to the eye, a colourful host of fruit purees: banana and blueberry...plum and pear...peach, apple, and strawberry...peach and banana...apple, pear, blueberry, and strawberry...even apple and pear with raisins and cinnamon. A tiny note-card indicated each dish by name, and Aragorn held one up somewhat anxiously.

"If you find something you particularly like, we have only to set its name-card aside and the cooks will gladly prepare more as you wish. If you like, I can have some single-fruit purees made up at once, but I thought these might appeal more to your tastes."

"No, it's fine... ." Indeed, it was: everything looked...well, delicious, and my stomach was by now complaining about its empty state. At once I indicated the banana and blueberry puree. "Some of that, please, first."

Taking up the spoon, Aragorn offered me a taste.

It was delectable.

Lying back, I continued to point out what I wanted, from the various purees to the tiny bites of freshly cut fruit to the muffins, which I could manage to hold even with my swollen fingers. And it was then, as Aragorn was popping another tidbit of water-melon into my mouth, that an idea occurred to me.

Perhaps this helplessness wasn't so bad after all. It's not every day you get to lie in bed and be fed by a king, is it?

"Frodo."

"Mmmblghphh." Aragorn's voice woke me from a light drowse, much to my annoyance. I had drifted quite comfortably into a doze after supper, and now the light had faded into starlit darkness. Immediately I wondered why he had not just let me sleep on.

"Frodo, I have a treat for you."

"Unless it's more sleep, which I was enjoying, I don't want it."

"Take a look first."

Out of curiosity I opened my eyes...to discover a tray set on the little serving-table by my bed, a tray filled with tiny dishes containing...could it be?

"It took some time to freeze the sherbets, but they are ready now, and I thought you might like some. The night is warm, and I know it can be uncomfortable."

Understatement. Delighted, though, I nodded. There was blueberry sherbet...raspberry sherbet...peach sherbet...strawberry sherbet with chopped fresh mint leaves...and a strange pale one I did not recognise. Aragorn smiled.

"White raspberry. There is a part of the gardens where white raspberries grow. The bushes have been raided for this treat."

"I could start with that, then." Something cold did sound good. Anything to take my mind off my aching back, now that I was awake.

We settled into our too-familiar routine of feeding and being fed. But as Aragorn moved from white raspberry to blueberry to peach, I could not help gazing out at the stars and wondering: Why this? Why me?

"Is it still sweets and fruit you crave this morning, Frodo?"

I nearly had to make a grab for the pail, and glared at Aragorn as a result, shaking my head. "No...something...something...I don't know, earthy-tasting. Like mushrooms."

"You do not think you could manage jam on toast?"

I curled over, barely managing a darker glare at him first. "Yesterday, yes. Today, NO."

"Very well, then." And with that, he was gone, slipping out into the hallway. Some time passed before he returned, carrying a large tray. Again he paused some distance from my bed to remove covers before pushing the little table - a clever little device on wheels - to my bedside.

"I spoke with one of the healers about some foods that might settle well with such a craving besides mushrooms. They suggested these."

There was a selection indeed: toast with nut butter instead of jam...a bowl of mushroom soup, made exactly as I liked it...a cup of mushroom broth...creamed mushrooms on toast...a dish of sautéed mushrooms...and a cup of ginger tea.

"The ginger may help settle your stomach," coaxed Aragorn. "Would you like to begin with that?"

"I don't need it to settle my stomach. I need that to settle my stomach." At once I pointed to the mushroom broth, eager to drink it before taking on anything more substantial.

That was when I felt it.

The kick.

Now, I had been feeling movement for some while...but this was an honest to goodness, I could almost feel the toes kick.

"Aragorn!"

The cup of broth immediately found its place back on the tray. "What is it? Are you about to be sick again?"

I shook my head. "It...it's kicking me."

Swiftly Aragorn pulled back the layers of covers and unfastened my night-shirt over my tummy, laying his hand there. His eyes narrowed slightly with concentration.

I'm sure I went bright red, because I felt my cheeks flush. Suddenly - unaccountably, to my mind - I began to cry.

"Frodo!" At once Aragorn reached up to stroke my hair, though he kept one hand on my belly, much to my humiliation. "What is the matter?"

"Everything!" I retorted, beginning to sob. "I-I-I'm tired of having to stay in bed...and not being able to walk...and hurting everywhere...and feeling sick and sniffly all the time...and having people see parts of me I don't want anyone looking at...and-and-and touching parts of me that I don't want touched!"

Immediately the hand came off my tummy. "Tithen min, I had no idea that this was upsetting you so."

I sniffled. "I don't understand why this had to happen to me."

Aragorn sighed, and within a minute I found myself lifted, gathered into his lap and cradled close. "Little one, do you remember how you awoke to springtime - to a world full of new life, and what joy and comfort it brought you?"

I nodded. I did: it had been such a relief to awaken to spring, real spring after the barren landscape of Mordor. Springtime in Ithilien had been beautiful beyond compare, and even war-ravaged Minas Tirith had blossomed in the warmth of April and May. It had made me feel alive again, as if perhaps all the Quest had not gone in vain... .

"These children you carry are the same. It may feel miserable now, but after you give birth, it will be like a new springtime for you. I do not know exactly why it happened to you, Frodo, but I cannot help thinking that you, more than anyone else I know, need the blessing of new life. Children, I am told, bring such a sense of purpose to the life of their parents, such joy, that one cannot even imagine it until one has experienced it."

He reached up to stroke my curls.

I had never felt so empty in my life as I had since the Ring was destroyed. Despite my joy in the renewal of Gondor, I had felt only a shell of myself throughout the celebrations, and ever since...as if my life had lost all its purpose, all its meaning.

Could this, then, be a blessing unlooked-for? The purpose I had longed to rediscover?

"All that I do may seem a curse, Little One. But I do it only for your own good, with the thought of your welfare - and that of your children - in mind." Aragorn eased me back into bed as I began to calm, his hands sure and steady as he arranged pillows and covers. "Will you obey me now, and try to rest, and take a little nourishment?"

I nodded, feeling strangely better.

"Provided we start with that mushroom soup, yes. Of course."

The End