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Frodo stared at his reflection in the mirror and wondered, not for the first time, how he had got himself into this mess. It wasn't unusual for a hobbit not to be able to see their own feet, but this was ridiculous. He looked like a large fish, his belly sticking out in front of him in a way he was most definitely not used to.
Sam was hovering outside, wanting to know, no doubt, whether or not the ceremonial robes Frodo was trying on actually fit over his pregnant body.
He sighed. He couldn't believe that he'd allowed himself to get talked into this, but he was the Ring Bearer, and Aragorn and Gandalf were going to be there, as well as Arwen and Eowyn and Faramir, and all the other friends he'd made on his travels. He couldn't let them down, though no doubt his current condition was going to stir up some comment, if only by the humans.
Sam knocked finally and Frodo knew that he had no choice but to open the door.
“Come in, Sam!”
Sam peered around the door and then came in. He was dressed up in brand new clothes and even his buttons were shining brightly, which made Frodo smile, imagining the care Rosie had taken over them.
“Frodo, you look...”
“Fat?”
“Very smart, I was going to say. Very smart indeed.” Sam followed up his words by helping Frodo to straighten down his waistcoat and straighten his cravat. “Aragorn has just arrived, and Pippin's already started in on the drink.” He gave very good impression of a drunken Pippin and Frodo had to hold his sides to keep the laughter in.
“Oh, Sam.” He sighed and tried to put a brave smile on his face. “I suppose we have no choice but to go out there?”
Sam frowned. “I could tell them all you're sick, if you like?”
“No,” Frodo replied. “That’ll only worry Gandalf and Aragorn. Best to get out there and get it out of the way. Have the Elves arrived?”
“Not yet, but Gandalf said they like to make an entrance, so they'll probably be late.”
“All right then. Let's go.”
* * * * * *
Frodo was relieved. The meal had not been as taxing as he had thought it would be and in fact had hardly been an ordeal at all. The elves had turned up with due fanfare, and Gandalf had relented to Merry and Pippin's pleas and released some beautiful fireworks in the garden that had the child within Frodo twisting and turning in delight.
And now he was able to hide away in a corner, watching everyone but not being watched in turn.
There were more fireworks and lots of food, but Frodo was paying more attention to the dancing. He wished he was in a fit enough state to join in, but the truth was he was very tired, his back and feet were aching, and all he wanted to do was slink off to bed. But unfortunately Aragorn was standing between him and his escape route, and he knew that Aragorn would want to ask him all sorts of questions if he admitted how bad he was really feeling. Indeed, he'd even started having twinges in his stomach area which didn't bode well for a good night’s sleep.
He was still debating whether he could get Sam to create a distraction in order for him to slip past Aragorn when he felt a wetness between his legs.
“Oh,” he murmured, “oh no.” He hadn't spoken very loudly, but Aragorn was at his side immediately.
“It's started?”
Frodo dumbly nodded. No amount of knowing that this moment was approaching was able to make it any less terrifying. Aragorn placed a gentle hand on Frodo's back and steered him towards one of the house's spare rooms. Frodo went on automatically, not even looking around to see if anyone had noticed that he was leaving. Now all his thoughts were on the baby, and what was about to happen.
* * ** *
Frodo soon found himself sweaty and panting on a strange bed with none of his own belongings around him. Aragorn was pushing and prodding at his newly acquired vagina (a symptom of the magic that was allowing him to carry his precious child in the first place). He got Frodo to pull up his knees and spread his legs apart, his face burning with the humiliation of it all.
Aragorn rubbed his fingers together to make sure that his hands were warm and then disappeared in between Frodo's legs.
“Aragorn?” Frodo asked, his voice trembling. “Aragorn? Is the baby...is the baby all right?”
“Don't worry, Frodo,” Aragorn said, patting absently at one of Frodo's legs. “The baby looks fine. Now, I'm going to need you to push...”
“Okay,” Frodo said in a small voice. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, then pushed for all he was worth. He could feel Aragorn's fingers and then something cold and metallic touching him, brushing inside of him as well as out, but he scrunched up his eyes and tried not to think about it. Instead he concentrated on the pain and the breathing exercises Gandalf had told him about.
“Come on, Frodo, just a little more,” Aragorn said.
Frodo nodded, but his mouth was too dry for him to actually speak. Instead he pushed with all his might and then pushed some more, his whole body a mass of pain. Sweat was pouring down his forehead and his fingers were cramping where he'd been squeezing them around the sheets on the bed, grasping on for a purchase.
“Aragorn! I don't think, I don't think I can...”
“Yes you can Frodo. You are the Ring Bearer. You can do this.”
Frodo opened his eyes then and stared at his friend. Aragorn had always been there for him, and now was no exception. He nodded and gave his final push.
* * * * * *
It was a baby boy. He was perfectly formed with just the right number of fingers and toes and a beautiful mop of brown hair. Frodo fell in love immediately.
“You did a good job,” Aragorn told him. He looked down at the baby in Frodo's arms and gently pressed a finger to the baby's forehead. “He will make his father proud.”
Frodo flushed in pleasure. “I hope so. Thank you. For everything.”
“Always, Frodo,” Aragorn said. “Always. Now sleep and I will look after the child for a while.”
Frodo nodded. Sleep was already tugging at him and he knew that if he was going to look after his son well, he needed as much rest as possible. So he let Aragorn take the baby and settled down to a fortifying sleep, knowing he had plenty of good things awaiting him when he awoke.