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Frodo's legs grew onerous, unbearably heavy, and he wished he hadn't wandered so far from his quarters. He always forgot how big and empty the castle was. He passed very few people as he trudged through the winding corridors. A few servants rushed past him, a guard or two. All of them bowed slightly to him, but none spoke. Frodo wondered if everyone knew of his condition, and if so, whether the bizarre nature of it made them uncomfortable to speak to him.
Every step grew more burdensome, and he saw that his ankles had swollen to nearly twice what they had been that morning. Though he had been restless to leave his room earlier, now he longed more than ever just to be in his bed, propped against soft pillows, reading a book. He reached a winding staircase that led up to the next level, where his quarters were, but they seemed steep and insurmountable. He could not imagine how his tired limbs could make it to the top. His brow broke into chilled sweat.
He sank down on the first step, resting his damp forehead against the wall. His stomach rolled ominously, and he strained for enough breath. He wished someone would come along since his condition was too fragile for him to be stubborn about asking for help as was his natural tendency. As if in answer, he heard the clinking of chain mail and heavy boots coming down the corridor. The guards could not see Frodo from their vantage, but he stayed seated, thinking he would only call out to them as they passed by.
"Aye," one of the guards said, his voice echoing all the way down the corridor. "I get my leave starting this eve. My wife is near her time, and the king has graciously given me what time I need to make sure all is well and spend time with the babe."
"That, the king certainly would…given his own circumstance."
The men chuckled quietly, and a coldness spread over Frodo's chest. He had just been wondering whether folk in Minas Tirith knew about his condition and what they thought. The guards' laughter seemed derisive, and it made Frodo feel small and foolish. He wrapped his arms around his knees, no longer wanting to call out to these guards for help.
"T'is a pity, truly," one of the guards continued. "There is no way the halfling will survive it, being as little as he is, bearing a child half of the king."
"Yes," the other guard said. "But t'would be more merciful perhaps if…it does not go well. I do not wish ill on the halfling, by any means. He's been kind to me in the past, and from what I hear tell, he did great deeds at the time of the war. But do we truly want a dwarf with hairy feet as the next ruler of Gondor?"
"Nay, far better we have no heir at all."
Frodo clutched his throat, his eyes blurring with wounded tears. Is that what everyone in Minas Tirith thought--that they would rather have no future ruler of Gondor than one that is half hobbit—a dwarf in their minds? Something shifted inside him, and Frodo's hands rushed to his belly as he felt a rush of fierce protectiveness that those ignorant guards would wish harm on the little one growing inside him.
The heavy fatigue that had forced him to sit was gone, replaced by a burning in his limbs. He now had no desire to go back to his quarters where he would fester over what these guards had said. He pictured Aragorn's kind face, and he now wanted nothing more than to see him, to be in his arms. He would cling to him and tell him how the people of his kingdom felt. He wished he could chase the guards and pound them with his fists. Or at the very least, he wished he could ask the one whose wife's time was near how he would feel if someone wished harm on his babe.
But Aragorn was to be in conference all afternoon. Earlier that morning he had told Frodo about a secret envoy from Umbar who did not want it common knowledge that he was bargaining with King Elessar.
The guard posted in front of the chamber where Aragorn was in conference bowed when Frodo approached him. "He's not to be disturbed, though I think he'd make an exception for you. Shall I interrupt?"
"Yes, I do wish to see him," Frodo said. Normally he would not dream of interrupting Aragorn while he was in the middle of duties. If the burning inside him did not feel so urgent, he would thank the guard and trudge the long distance back to his quarters to wait patiently for Aragorn. He could not be considerate today. He had to see Aragorn, to be reassured by him, before he went back to his quarters alone.
When Aragorn stepped out of the chamber, he looked hassled -- and very surprised to see Frodo. "What is it? Is something wrong?"
"I am sorry for bothering you now, but I must talk to you. It will only take a few moments." He needed only a few soft words to counter the hurt. He shivered for Aragorn's arms around him.
Aragorn sighed and glanced back inside the chamber. "Can it wait a few hours, Frodo? If what you have come to tell me is not an immediate crisis, then this is not a good time to break off the bargaining."
Frodo's throat clenched. He felt suddenly bone weary again. The energy that had fired him up enough to allow him to walk so rapidly to Aragorn's chamber seeped out of him, leaving him deflated. He did not even know how he would make it back to his quarters.
"No, it is not a crisis," he said quietly. He realized how foolish he was, interrupting Aragorn just because his feelings had been hurt by ignorant guards.
"Go back to the quarters," Aragorn said with a strained smile, putting a gentle hand on Frodo's shoulder. "I will be there in a few hours. We will order a fine meal and we can talk all night."
Frodo looked to the end of the corridor through eyes blurred with fatigue, and the distance seemed impossible.
"Do you need the guard?" he asked softly, hoping Aragorn might spare him in order so that he might help Frodo back to his room.
"Yes, I need him," Aragorn said curtly. "My guests are serious about not wishing their presence known so it is vital that nobody trespasses. Go on, Frodo. I will be there soon. Get some rest. You look worn out."
Frodo turned away in bitter disappointment and trudged down the corridor with heavy steps. It was going to be a long, wretched walk back to the quarters. He approached the stone steps at the end of the corridor with dread. He could barely lift his feet to walk, much less high enough to tackle steps. He clung to the banister, using it to pull himself up each step.
His heart quickened at an alarming rate, and a black haze fell before his vision. His limbs felt useless and clumsy, separate from him. He paused, suddenly not sure whether he was facing downward or upward. He clung desperately to the banister, waiting for the dizzy spell to pass. He could not call out to the guard because Aragorn needed him. A dim roaring filled his ears.
He could not faint now. If he fell down the stairs, it might kill the baby. But the faster he tried to climb, the dimmer the world around him became. The black haze deepened as he plunged with sudden dizzying speed down an abyss. Something hit his back hard, knocking the breath from him, before everything went completely black.
***
Aragorn thought he would see red when the guard came into the chamber yet again. He was just beginning to feel a slight rapport between him and the envoy from Umbar. Another interruption he did not need.
"No," he said firmly, waving the guard out.
"I think you'll want to come," the guard said. He was a young man, clearly terrified of evoking his king's rare wrath. "Frodo—"
"No," Aragorn repeated. His chest heated in sudden fury at the hobbit. It was not like Frodo to be this discourteous. "Leave us now." His voice, he knew, was cold and steely, and the envoy from Umbar nodded in approval. The guard flinched and stepped out of the chamber.
***
The guard, cringing from being dismissed with such brusqueness, trotted back to where a servant was kneeling beside the limp halfling.
"Does the king come?" the servant asked.
The young guard shook his head, glancing toward his post which he had been forced to abandon. "He will not be interrupted long enough for me to explain what has happened." He looked at the servant. "Send for the healer Koslorn. I cannot leave my post."
The servant nodded and left.
The guard patted Frodo's cheeks, trying to get him to regain consciousness. At least he was still breathing. He had not broken his neck, nor were any of his limbs at unnatural angles, which were blessings in such a fall. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at a small cut on Frodo's face. His eyes roved to the bulge that was the halfling's belly.
Like many in the king's service, he had been curious about the unnatural condition of the halfling for a long time and now he could look in person. How fascinating! T'was wonderful that the king could have an heir, despite his choice of marriage, if marriage you could call it. He wondered if the baby would be closer to halfling or man. Of course, it would be easier to rule a kingdom of Men as a Man, but a halfling would be smaller and therefore easier for Frodo to bear when the time came. He frowned, feeling sick at the idea of how this halfling was going to bear the child, halfling or man. He hoped no ill would come of it, as Frodo seemed like a nice enough fellow.
Frodo groaned and opened his eyes. "Aragorn?"
"He cannot come yet," the guard said. "We are waiting for Koslorn. He will look you over before we try to move you. Are you in pain?"
"Aragorn," Frodo whispered, and closed his eyes again. He was clearly in pain, and he clutched at his belly. "It hurts," he gasped. "You cannot let it come yet…too early…put my feet up." Frodo waved at the first step, and the guard understood what Frodo wanted. The guard lifted Frodo's feet, huge and hairy, utterly foreign to him, and placed them on the first step so that Frodo's stomach was tilted upward.
"Thank you," Frodo whispered, and clutched at his stomach again. His breath came out in jagged gasps, but he kept his eyes closed. Soon his breathing evened and it seemed that he had fallen into unconsciousness again.
Koslorn came at last, and his face fell in dismay when he saw Frodo. "What has happened?" He fell on his knees beside Frodo, immediately feeling for a pulse.
"He fell down the stairs," the guard said. "I did not see it happen, only heard it."
"Where is the king?"
"He will not be interrupted. He grew angry."
"Go try again. In this case, I think he will be much angrier at you if you do not interrupt him."
The guard nodded. Outside the door to the conference chamber, he gathered all his courage, took a breath, and entered the chamber. "I am very sorry, my lord, but you must come at once."
This time, Aragorn stood without a word, his eyes cold and frighteningly calm, making the guard shiver inside. "Pardon me," he said to the envoy from Umbar.
***
"Where is he?" Aragorn asked once outside the chamber, trembling with suppressed fury. He had never lost his temper with Frodo, never spoken to him in harsh anger, but he would do so now. He could not imagine what had gotten into the hobbit, other than perhaps his condition. Pregnancy made women behave in strange ways sometimes, and perhaps the same thing was happening to Frodo. Whatever the case, Aragorn simply could not be interrupted during a meeting this vital, and Frodo was going to be made to understand that.
The guard, pale and shaken, pointed down the corridor. "Frodo is badly injured. He's had a fall."
Aragorn's heart plunged and turned cold and still, so much so that he wondered if it would beat again. His skin chilled as he ran to the limp figure on the ground at the foot of the steps. His anger deflated, leaving him shaky inside. He had been a fool.
"He has a strong pulse," Koslorn said, looking up as Aragorn knelt beside him. "But I do not know if his pains have started."
A small trickle of blood oozed down his forehead. Tasting bile, Aragorn first felt all over Frodo's head for further injuries. He was relieved when he found only the small cut on the hobbit's brow. He then felt over Frodo's bulge and slipped his hand inside Frodo's breeches for any sign of bleeding. Finding none, he lifted Frodo.
"Guard, inform the envoy that I will be with him soon."
The guard nodded and went to do as he was told.
"I will train that guard for better duties," Aragorn said to Koslorn as they rushed down the corridors. "He showed courage and compassion today, as well as good judgment, far beyond what I displayed today."
Once in their quarters, Aragorn set Frodo gently on the bed. The hobbit groaned, returning to consciousness. Blue eyes opened and focused on him.
"In bed?" he whispered. "Or just a dream?"
"Please," Aragorn said. "Tell us if you are in any pain, aside from your head."
"My back," Frodo said. "What happened?"
"You fell on the steps."
Frodo's hands rushed to hold his belly. He relaxed when he felt the bulge still there. "I was cramping, but it seems to have stopped."
Aragorn said to Koslorn, "He seems not to have sustained harm. Just bruising on his back and a small bump on the brow. All the same, we must keep a close watch on him that his pains don't start again."
"Frodo," Koslorn said. "Do you feel cramping still—any at all?"
"No…" Frodo frowned. "I haven't for awhile."
"Can you tell us what happened?" Koslorn asked. "Did you faint or did you trip on something?"
Aragorn sat on the bed beside him, taking Frodo's hand and rubbing it vigorously between his two.
Frodo smiled faintly at him. "I was so tired. I couldn't even walk up the steps. My heart just started going fast and … I blacked out."
"Why did you not call for help?" Aragorn asked.
"I wanted to ask the guard outside the conference chamber, but you said you needed him."
"Oh, Frodo," Aragorn closed his eyes, now remembering Frodo's quiet question about whether he needed the guard. "I would have called for someone to help you back. You should have insisted. You must not allow this to happen again. This could have ended much worse…"
Koslorn nodded. "This is the last time we can risk something like this. My liege, I am concerned with the heavy fatigue and rapid heartbeat whenever he exerts. I think it is time to confine him to full bed rest."
"I can't leave the room?" Frodo asked in alarm.
Aragorn shook his head. "No." When he saw Frodo's crestfallen face, he slipped his hand under his chin. "But come…I will make certain someone is always within calling range to take care of all of your wants. And I will spend more time here with you. That I promise. Koslorn, you may go. I will stay here with him"
Aragorn took Frodo in his arms, holding him close, rubbing his arms and massaging his stomach. He kept seeing Frodo lying limp at the bottom of the steps. He could have seriously injured his head in the fall…or broken his neck… or he could have immediately gone into labor and died from the stress to his body. Nothing else seemed important. He felt sick when he thought about how angry he had become when he believed Frodo was interrupting his dialogue with the envoy.
The envoy! Aragorn had forgotten all about him! He released a slight chuckle.
"What?" Frodo asked sleepily.
"Well, let him wait," Aragorn said, kissing the back of Frodo's neck. "The envoy, Frodo. I forgot about him."
Frodo's eyes opened in alarm. "Then you must go back."
"He can wait." Aragorn looked down at Frodo in sudden concern. "What did you wish to talk to me about, by the way?"
Frodo's face became shadowed, and he looked away, as if trying to decide something. Then he turned back to Aragorn, lifting his chin. His hand strayed to his belly, and he gave it a slight pat. "It does not seem important right now."