Frodo screwed his eyes shut and gathered his strength. It was time. Exhaling slowly, he began to push. He could feel the pulsing inside him and it felt like it was ripping his insides to shreds with its heat. His body complained under the strain. He clenched his eyes shut and focused all his energy on getting the baby out.
But his energy soon began to wane, and he clutched ever tighter at Aragorn’s proffered hand, hoping to draw some strength from him.
At last, pale and bleeding, he sagged. “Frodo!” Aragorn cried, extremely agitated. He had one hand between Frodo’s legs, and all his attention was focused there, until Frodo stopped. Then, he looked up. “Why have you stopped? Push, Frodo!”
Frodo gasped and gave a little sob. “I cannot!” He sobbed in pain and defeat, his body arching with agony as best it could.
Aragorn looked up. “Frodo, you must. Not only for the babe, but for you. It will kill you if you don’t do this!”
Frodo tried to roll away, but his body was too exhausted to cooperate, and his stomach too heavy. “Please, Aragorn, I can’t!”
Aragorn crawled up beside his head. “You WILL. PUSH, Frodo, PUSH.” He gripped Frodo’s hand with crushing force.
“I blame you for this, you foolish MAN!!!!” Frodo cried out, as another spasm wracked his tiny frame. “Damn you, it’s YOUR FAULT!!”
Aragorn said nothing, just squeezed Frodo’s hand harder.
Frodo clenched back with as much force. He grunted in pain and anger and pushed as hard as he could. He grasped Aragorn’s hand as much from a desire to punish as from pain. Aragorn allowed it for a moment, but then slipped from Frodo’s grasp to attend to the baby. His hands disappeared and Frodo felt something emerging from his body. “Come on Frodo, you’ve got the head, now PUSH!”
Frodo did not know how, and he did not know why, but somehow his body was doing it. His body was pushing the baby out. He clenched his jaw with as much force as he could. He imagined a thousand enraging things; filthy orcs, that enraging red eye, that man, that man, that MAN! He roared and pushed with all his effort, pushed with his thoughts, pushed with his life, and then fell into blackness.
***
An eternity later, Frodo woke to the sound of a baby crying. Aragorn was propped against a rock near his head, cuddling a swaddling of blanket. It was from there that the squalling emanated. Frodo almost did not dare to hope. A baby...
Weakly, he animated his arms, trying to reach for the baby. “Mine...” His voice was commanding, though still hoarse from the screaming. Aragorn looked up into his eyes, and the king’s gray eyes were shining with emotion and love.
“It’s a girl, Frodo. A girl...”
“Our girl,” Frodo corrected weakly. “We...we made her, Aragorn.” His head drooped and he struggled to keep himself awake.
“We did,” Aragorn repeated with a tone of awe. The baby looked up at her parents with sparkling blue eyes and let out a yell that turned her whole face red.
Aragorn reached out to touch her with a tentative hand. “She’s so small. I’m worried I might break her with my big hands.”
Frodo laughed at this. “Was that an insult to my people? You won’t hurt her, Aragorn. You have very gentle hands, when you want to.”
Aragorn looked at him from underneath his lashes. “Is that your way of apologizing for calling me a ‘foolish man’?” Frodo blushed.
“Here, take her. My arms are getting heavy.” Aragorn crouched to take her from Frodo, and before he could stop him, Frodo had stolen a quick kiss. “That is my way of apologizing for calling you a foolish man. Which you are. Very foolish, to let me live with you all this time.”
Aragorn chuckled and rested his hand on Frodo’s forehead. “Well, it does have its advantages, my sweet. For one thing, for someone so small, you are a ferocious lover.” He winked.
Frodo made as if to cover the baby’s ears. “Aragorn!” he said reprovingly, blushing as he did so.
“Ah, Frodo, the young one won’t care for many years yet.” Aragorn beamed, imagining the years to come.
“Yes, but I care,” Frodo pouted. He felt in playful good spirits, despite the total exhaustion that was currently numbing his entire body. He was a parent, and that is what mattered. No matter what the pain and cost, it was all over now, and he wouldn’t trade his newborn daughter for anything. He would go through it all again if he had to, because just looking at the tiny bundle brought him so much joy he thought his heart would burst.
It did not even matter that they were alone in the wild in a damp cave; they were a family, and they were together now. There was nothing that could bring Frodo down from this natural high.
“I love you, Aragorn,” he said dreamily. He wiped at the sweat on his brow, and shifted slightly. His muscles screamed in protest at the movement, but he gritted his teeth and kept the hurt inside.
Aragorn sat very close now, so that Frodo could gaze upon his tiny little child. Her two blue eyes were like chips of sapphire against her rosy, pudgy little face. Frodo lifted a hand to touch her. The effort was more trouble than he had imagined; his hand trembled and he felt the strain at having to move that limb.
Seeing his discomfort, Aragorn slouched down until he was laying beside Frodo. Now, it was not so much of a difficulty to reach out to the baby.
Frodo blinked his eyes. Was he crying? Why would he cry for such a miracle? This was the happiest moment of his life; tears shouldn’t be involved. Angrily, he wiped them away, and let his arms slump to the ground like leaden weights. He wanted to touch her face again, but he simply couldn’t seem to lift his arms.
He frowned. It shouldn’t be this difficult... He blinked his eyes. Sweat and tears were mingling and dripping down his cheeks. His eyes stung, but even more painful was the effort of focusing them on his baby girl. “Aragorn,” he slurred. “Think...something’s wrong...I can’t...”
He lost the battle and his eyes rolled up into his head.
***
Aragorn forced himself not to panic. It wasn’t uncommon for women just done with childbirth to have fainting spells and be weakened beyond belief. He’d seen it before; it shouldn’t worry him so.
But there was something different here; something wrong. Frodo hadn’t even been able to lift his arms. And he had gotten very pale. Aragorn decided he should check on him, just to make sure he hadn’t started bleeding again. He had to talk himself down from the panic that was threatening.
Their baby girl gurgled happily. Aragorn smiled weakly and laid her gently next to Frodo. He hated to leave her alone for even a second, but Frodo needed his attention. He sighed. Things were going to get very difficult very fast if Frodo did not get strong soon. It would be the hardest work of his lifetime to take care of both the child and Frodo. And he worried that Frodo would keep quiet and let himself be neglected, for the sake of Aragorn and the babe.
He thought theses things to himself as he pulled Frodo’s pants down for the umpteenth time. A pang of regret hit him as he realized that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d done this as foreplay instead of in concern.
Before he’d even gotten Frodo’s breeches down to his ankles, he could already see the red splotch of blood staining them. His inspection of Frodo merely confirmed his realization. The bleeding had begun again. Heavily. Already, it was seeping through the cloth of Frodo’s pants, soaking them through.
Aragorn touched him gently, and when he brought his hands back, they were covered in Frodo’s blood. He nearly wept in frustration. What was he to do! How could he stop the bleeding? He had precious little extra cloth, and the herbs were nearly all gone. He couldn’t leave to get more; Frodo needed him and so did the babe. He felt himself begin to hyperventilate. The panic was breaking around him like waves around a rock. He didn’t think he could hold strong for much longer...
He tried an old meditative technique the Elves had taught him to slow his breathing. He cleared his mind of all thoughts, even of the sticky, wet feel of blood on his hands. Slowly, his breath began to slow to normal, and come in the regular, even draughts he was used to.
He opened his eyes, much calmer. He knew what he had to do. He took his shirt off and used his hands to press together the tears on either side of Frodo’s birth canal. The shirt absorbed some of the blood, as he’d hoped it would. Now, all he could do was apply pressure and hope that Frodo’s miraculous healing ability would serve him here.
***
Almost an hour later, Aragorn woke with fierce cramps in his arms and hands, and dried blood crusting his hands and forearms. He lifted the bits of cloth away to check the bleeding. He sighed deeply in relief at what he saw. The bleeding had stopped; the blood had finally clotted and the wounds were on the right track to healing.
He looked up and froze. Frodo was staring at him in a very odd way. The baby girl was in his arms, cooing happily. “Aragorn, what in the hell are you doing down there?”