Frodo opened his eyes, feeling very dizzy and somewhat confused. He lay on the bed in his room. Gandalf sat by his side with one hand pressed to his abdomen beneath his untucked shirt, gazing down at him with a frown of concern.

"What happened?" Frodo asked. The last thing he remembered, he'd been on the terrace with the other hobbits, laughing and talking about their plans to return home after Aragorn's upcoming coronation. Frodo had said that, although Minas Tirith was a magnificent city, he looked forward to leaving it. He wanted nothing more than to see the Shire again. As he spoke, he'd gone to stand at the parapet--and as he'd looked out in the direction of Mordor, he'd begun to feel suddenly light-headed. And then... nothing but blackness. "I fainted?"

The wizard nodded. "I brought you inside, and sent Sam to the House of Healing. I want the Master Healer to examine you, and confirm my impressions."

"What impressions?" He placed his hand over Gandalf's, realizing that the wizard's touch was not simply an overly familiar caress. "Gandalf, what's the matter with me?"

Gandalf still looked deeply concerned, and yet somewhat perplexed, as if he didn't know how to answer this question. At last, he decided that the best course was to come out with it. "I believe you're carrying a child."

"I'm what-!" Frodo sat up. His head swam, and he lay down again and shut his eyes. "Gandalf, that impossible," he said once the dizziness had passed. "There must be some mistake. I can't- Boys don't have babies."

"Nevertheless, there is something alive and growing within you. I felt its presence the instant I touched you."

"It can't be," Frodo insisted, struggling between disbelief and his trust that Gandalf would never say such a thing unless he was absolutely certain it was so. "I don't see how..." How indeed? There was only one answer he could think of that made any sense at all. "It must have been Sam."

"Sam?" Gandalf's bushy eyebrows shot upwards.

"Who else could it be?" Frodo replied. "I haven't slept with anyone except Sam since we parted from the Fellowship at Rauros."

Gandalf regarded him in bemusement. "I didn't realize that the two of you were on such intimate terms."

"I didn't think it counted. It's not as if we were married." Then Frodo laughed as an absurd thought occurred to him. "But I suppose he'll have to marry me now!"

Sam returned with the Master Healer a few minutes later. While the healer examined Frodo within his room, Gandalf waited outside with Sam, who was pacing the hallway fretfully. Merry and Pippin, who had been on the terrace with Frodo when he collapsed, were also worried and would have liked to stay and wait too, but Gandalf sent them away; he wanted to speak privately with Sam before news of Frodo's remarkable condition became widely known.

"Is he going to be all right?" Sam asked anxiously. "Frodo's never been well since we came out of Mordor. He's been sick in the mornings lately, and now this. It's all that blasted Ring's doing!"

"We can't blame all of Frodo's recent illness on the Ring," Gandalf told him. "I don't see how it can be responsible for this."

"Why not?" asked Sam. "What's wrong with him?"

"Frodo is pregnant."

"Frodo's having a baby?" Sam sounded not so much shocked by this news as puzzled. "Now how'd a thing like that happen?"

"He seems to think that you had something to do with it."

"Me?" Sam's mouth dropped open. "But I can't have! Is that what he told you?"

"Frodo said that you and he had 'slept with' each other." Gandalf repeated the same euphemism that Frodo had used.

"And so we have," Sam responded frankly. "You know we did--you've seen us. Hardly a night passed since we left the Shire, until we came here, that I didn't sleep by his side."

The wizard was taken aback by this innocent answer. "Sam, I don't think that's what Frodo meant."

"What else then? Mr. Gandalf," Sam stepped closer and lowered his voice to a confidential murmur, "I know how babies are made, and I never did anything like that, not with Frodo and not with anybody else! Even if he was a girl, I couldn't've done what he says." He struggled with an uncomfortable fact that even the most stalwart loyalty couldn't deny. "Frodo's not telling you the truth."

Gandalf didn't know quite what to make of this peculiar turn of events in an already perplexing situation. He had barely adjusted to the idea that these young hobbits were more sophisticated than he'd previously realized--and now he had to wonder if they weren't still very childlike after all. Could one of them be deliberately lying? It was a possibility, but he'd never had any reason to doubt either Frodo's or Sam's honesty before. Or could it be that one or the other was so ignorant of the basic facts of life that he truly didn't understand how a child was conceived? Even if that were so, it did not address the more problematic question of how one young male could impregnate another.

"I think," he said, "that we had better have a talk with Frodo."

The door to Frodo's room opened and the Master Healer emerged, shaking his head. "A most unusual case," he murmured. "The oddest I've ever seen."

"You agree with my impressions then?" the wizard asked.

"I don't see how it can be true, but I cannot deny the facts before my eyes. Halflings are quite similar to Men in many respects, and yet the symptoms I've observed in this halfling indicate a physical impossibility among Men! Perhaps it is different for the little people." The healer gave Sam a speculative glance. "I will send a midwife to examine the patient, but I expect she'll find this case as baffling as I do."

Once the healer had departed, still shaking his head, Gandalf went into Frodo's room. Frodo lay on the bed, gazing out the windows at the dark line of mountains to the east, but at the sound of the door opening, he turned his head and gave the wizard a slight, odd smile. "It seems you were right, Gandalf. I didn't think this could ever happen to me, but it has." He caught sight of Sam lingering in the doorway behind Gandalf, and his smile broadened. "Sam! Has Gandalf told you? I know it sounds impossible, but we're going to have a baby."

Sam tried to answer; his mouth moved soundlessly, but he was unable to find the right words. At last, he turned to Gandalf in a silent appeal for help.

"We were just discussing the matter," the wizard said carefully. "And you and I need to discuss this as well. Frodo, you do know how children are conceived, don't you?"

"I thought I did, but I'm not so sure of it now," Frodo responded with a little laugh. "I thought that it happened only when two people got married and bedded together, but I must have missed some crucial part of the proceedings if Sam could have done this to me."

"Sam says otherwise," Gandalf told him.

"Otherwise?" Frodo echoed. "I don't understand." He looked from Sam to Gandalf and back again in confusion. "Sam, what does he mean?"

Sam stepped forward hesitantly. "I couldn't've done it, Frodo. I can't be that baby's father." Then he quickly added, "I'll stand by you, just the same. I'll care for you, and the baby too. You've only to ask for my help. You don't need to tell lies."

"I'm not lying!"

"Nor am I," Sam replied almost apologetically, reluctant to contradict Frodo. "But what you're saying isn't so. I know a bit more'n you do, and I know that we never did- well, what you have to do to get a baby."

Frodo stared at him in bewilderment. "Then what..?" Tears began to pool in his eyes and, as they overflowed to spill down his cheeks, he turned away and curled into a ball.

"Frodo!" Sam climbed up onto the bed. "Oh, please don't! I didn't mean to make you cry!" When he first reached out, Frodo shoved his hand away, but Sam persisted in spite of Frodo's sobbing insistence that he "go away and leave me alone!" until Frodo finally gave in and allowed Sam to touch him.

Gandalf stood quietly while Sam fussed over Frodo, patting his back and murmuring comforting nonsense. He waited out the burst of tears and, when Frodo's sobs had subsided, the wizard stepped closer to the bed. "If Sam has not fathered this child," he asked, "who has?"

"I don't know!" Frodo lifted his tear-streaked face from the crook of his arm. "I tell you--I don't know what's happened to me! Why don't you believe me?"

"It is not a question of belief, Frodo. I don't say you have been deliberately deceitful, merely mistaken." Gandalf sat down at the foot of the bed. "It seems to me that, whatever happened, it must have occurred after you parted from the rest of the Fellowship. We must consider those days and try to determine exactly when this could have come about. Then, we may be able to discover how and why."

Frodo sniffled and wiped his face with back of his hand. "Yes," he agreed. "All right."

"Both you and Sam have told me that you were always together as you went into Mordor. Was there any time when the two of you were separated?"

"Only once." Frodo looked at Sam, who nodded slowly. "At Cirith Ungol," he explained to Gandalf. "The orcs held me captive for two days before Sam rescued me. I was questioned, beaten."

"Were you raped?"

Frodo shook his head. "No. At least, I don't think so. I'd know, wouldn't I, even if I weren't awake when they did it? But-" He stopped suddenly. His face went pale and his eyes grew wide with horror. "More than a day passed between when I was taken and when I awoke in the tower. They might have done something... anything to me in that time." He began to look very sick. "Could they have, Gandalf?" he asked in a faint voice. "Is there some magic they might have used to do this to me?"

Gandalf had not heard of any such spell, but who could guess what unspeakable arts the Dark Powers held at their command? For Sauron and his minions, the corruption of the natural order of things was an old practice. Even something as essentially natural as the creation of a new life might be turned to an evil purpose--perhaps as a form of torture? An orcling planted within a tiny creature like a hobbit could easily tear its "mother" to pieces from the inside once it had grown large and strong enough. Gandalf felt sick himself at the thought.

"If it is so," he suggested gently, "then this must have occurred only a few weeks ago. The... child can't have quickened yet. The apothecary can give you a potion-"

"No!" Frodo cried out. Sam likewise looked shocked and drew protectively closer to him. Both regarded the wizard as if he had just threatened to run Frodo through with a sword. Horrific as the idea that Frodo had been impregnated by an orc was to them, the idea of ending the pregnancy was equally disturbing.

"No," Frodo repeated once he had calmed down. "I know you mean well, Gandalf, but I couldn't do that."

"If it is an orcling you bear, you may be in great danger," said Gandalf. "It may even kill you."

"Yes, but we don't know that's so. It may be harmless. We can't tell yet, and I can't destroy it unless I am sure." Laying a hand on his belly, Frodo announced bravely, "I don't know what this child is, nor how it came to be, but as long as it does not endanger my life, I will carry it."

That evening, Frodo sat before the fire in his room, curled in a chair with his arms around himself. He had been quiet and thoughtful all afternoon, had eaten little of his dinner, and had returned to his room soon after. Sam, who was sitting nearby to keep an eye on him, wondered what was going on in his mind. He knew that Frodo must be terrified--and yet to all outward appearances, he seemed remarkably calm.

For an instant, Frodo's eyes flickered to meet his, then quickly looked away again. This wasn't the first time Sam had caught those troubled blue eyes on him today.

"Are you all right, Frodo?" he asked. "Isn't there anything I can do?"

"I'm fine," Frodo answered; he sounded as if he were surprised to hear himself saying it. "I feel... fine." He lapsed into silence and turned to gaze into the fire. Sam waited patiently and, after awhile, Frodo went on, "I'm not ill, but I am very frightened, Sam. Orcs or otherwise, this must have begun in Mordor. I thought all that was finished. We were safely out of Mordor, and lucky to be alive. The Ring was destroyed, and Sauron with it. That should have been the end of it, once and for all... but it isn't over yet. They might be gone, but they aren't through with me. When I think of the possibilities, of what this child I'm carrying might be, I want to crawl into a corner and scream, or else do as Gandalf suggested and purge it from my body." He turned to Sam, eyes wide as if, knowing how abhorrent the idea was to him, Sam must realize how disturbed he must be to consider it.

"You'd do that?"

Frodo shook his head. "I've thought of it, but I can't, not until I know. All I can do is wait." He seemed ready to say something more, when there was a knock on the door.

Merry peeked in. "How're you feeling, Frodo? Any better?"

"A little better," Frodo replied with a falsely light tone. "I thought you and Pippin would be off to the pub by now." The two usually went out for a pint of ale after dinner; sometimes, Sam and Frodo went with them. "I'm sorry, but I'm not up to going out tonight."

"I didn't think you would be," Merry responded. "But Pip and I were talking, and we thought we might stay in and sit with you instead."

"If you'd care for the company," added Pippin, who had come in behind Merry.

"It's kind of you to offer, but you needn't sit here on my account," said Frodo. "I am rather tired, and I'm afraid I wouldn't be a very pleasant companion. I'll probably be off to bed soon. Go on and have your fun, and don't worry about me."

His cousins nodded sympathetically, and departed.

"Aren't you going to tell them?" Sam wondered after the pair had gone.

"Not yet," said Frodo. "They'll have questions, and I have no answers. There'll be plenty of time to explain things to them later, when I understand it myself."

"D'you want me to go too, if you're going to bed?"

"No, Sam. Stay, please." He glanced at his friend shyly. "It's been a horrible day, and I don't think I could bear to be alone tonight. You will stay, won't you?"

"Yes, of course," Sam answered, puzzled by this shyness. Did Frodo think he would refuse?

Apparently, the answer to that question was Yes, for Frodo sounded sincerely grateful as he said, "Thank you," and then confessed, "I was afraid you might be angry with me."

"Angry? Whatever for?"

"For telling Gandalf that the child was yours. I wasn't lying intentionally, Sam. I didn't mean to accuse you of something you didn't do."

"Have you been worrying yourself about that all this time?" Sam asked in surprise. Was this the reason for those quick, troubled glances? Had Frodo been feeling guilty all day, and was only now working himself up to an apology? "I know you didn't mean anything by it, Frodo. You only told Gandalf what you thought was true."

Frodo looked relieved. "Yes, that's so. I honestly thought you must be responsible. I didn't see how it could be anyone else. You'll say I'm ridiculously innocent, but I thought that what we'd done..." Color came into his pale cheeks. "I thought that was enough."

They rarely spoke of the nights they had spent in Ithilien on their way toward Mordor. They'd been afraid for the future then too, for they were heading into great danger, perhaps facing death. During those nights, they'd lain close together, clinging to each other tightly. Perhaps it was only natural that their feelings would take on a certain intensity. It had come to no more than a few kisses shared and some tender words whispered, but Frodo seemed embarrassed about it since the end of the quest and Sam, not wishing to push himself where he wasn't wanted, had tactfully not reminded him.

Frodo seemed reluctant to talk about it even now, for he dropped his gaze as he said, "I'm so glad you understand, Sam. I have been worried. I didn't know how much I could ask of you, and I need your help right now. I can't go through this alone."

"You'd never have to fear for that," Sam assured him. "D'you think I'd leave you by yourself at a time like this?" After all these months of care and devotion, Frodo's well-being had become more than a duty to him; it was the center of his life. That would not change now, not when Frodo so desperately needed his support. "I said I'd look after you and the baby, and that's just what I mean to do. Even if it's not my baby, it's the decent thing."

Frodo listened to this, and smiled. "Are you proposing to me, Sam?"

"Well... yes." Sam was beginning to feel somewhat shy himself. "That is, if you'll have me. I don't know as it'd be allowed for us to marry in the proper Shire way, but I'd consider us just the same as if we were."

"It's gallant of you to offer."

"It's more'n that. You know how I feel." Then, lest Frodo misunderstand his motives, he added, "But I wouldn't get above myself with it. I wouldn't ask anything of you. I'll do just as you like, Frodo. Whatever'll help. I'll be a husband to you, if that's what you want. I'll be a father to this baby as if it were my own, no matter what it turns out to be."

"You really are the dearest, most wonderful creature!" Frodo said in amazement. He was still smiling, but tears sparkled in his eyes as he regarded his friend. When he spoke again, he was solemn. "Yes, I think I'd like that. I never imagined I would need a husband, but since it seems that I do, I'd be honored to call you mine." He rose and tentatively crossed the space between his chair and Sam's. "And, Sam, you can ask anything of me. That's what I want, too."

He stood over Sam's chair, unsure of what to do next, until Sam took one of his hands and placed a light kiss on the palm. Frodo leaned down to kiss him and, since there wasn't enough room on the chair for him to squeeze in beside Sam, he sat on Sam's knee. Sam's arms went around his waist, and they clung to each other as they had on those nights in Ithilien.

"I didn't think I had the right to ask you," Frodo said against Sam's shoulder. "We haven't been as close as we were. You haven't slept with me in weeks, not since we came to Minas Tirith, and I've missed having you nearby. But you'll be with me tonight..." He lifted his head and sat back to look into Sam's eyes as he asked, "and you'll show me?"

"Show you?"

"How babies are made."

"But you've already got one on the way!" Sam blurted out the first thing that came into his head; the moment he'd spoken, he could have bitten his tongue off in mortification, if Frodo hadn't laughed.

"I'm very much aware of that, Sam! But if I'm going to be in this condition, I think I ought to do something to warrant it. You said you knew, and if there's more to bedding together than what we've done already, then I'd like to know too. Besides, I'd prefer to be carrying your child than... something else." A shudder rippled through him, and he snuggled close again. "Perhaps if we do this, then it will seem as if it is. And, if we're going to consider ourselves married hereafter, then we should have a proper wedding night."

He kissed Sam again, and they went on kissing. Sam was amazed by how this evening had turned out. Like Frodo, he'd thought that this part of their closeness had ended weeks ago. How could he have foreseen this morning that he'd be asking for Frodo's hand, and that Frodo would accept him? But then it had been a most unusual day. He slipped his arm under Frodo's knees and, as gently as he could, picked him up and carried him to the bed.

"It won't harm the baby, will it?" asked Frodo between kisses as Sam set him down.

Sam didn't know. "We'll be careful," he promised. "Careful as we can be."

---

Frodo dreamt that night of the tower at Cirith Ungol. He lay shivering on the cold wooden floor, unable to move. The red light from the single lantern suspended from a beam overhead pierced the ever-present Mordor gloom and cast deep and ominous shadows in the corners of the chamber. Several orcs were gathered beneath the circle of red light in the center of the room, pawing through his belongings and examining each article from his pack before tossing it into a pile on the floor. One enormous orc turned and came toward him.

There was a flash of metal as a blade was drawn--a long knife with a wicked-looking spike jutting from the tip. The orc used this spike to catch the front of Frodo's shirt and sliced it open from waist to collar with one swift jerk, then grabbed the shredded rags to tear them away from his body. He struggled to get away, but the orc pinned him easily. With a meaningful leer, the creature ran one clawed hand down his bare chest until it reached the waistband of his trousers, then cut them open too. In an instant, Frodo lay naked, screaming, and helpless. The other orcs crowded around to watch their captain at his sport...

---

He woke with a gasp. It was the middle of the night; the fire had died down to a few glowing embers on the grate, and Sam lay sleeping beside him.

He had had dreams like this before, mixing his most terrifying memories with his worst fears, but never one so vivid. It hadn't happened quite that way when he'd actually been captive: He had not been awake when the orcs had cut away his clothing. Nor had he been raped--because of what he and Sam had done tonight, he knew that certainly now. No orc had ever done that with him. They would never have taken him with the gentleness that Sam had, but would have torn into him brutally and left him bleeding and in no doubt about what had been done to him even if he'd been unconscious at the time.

What had they done to him?

He moved closer to Sam, seeking comfort against the warmth of his lover's body, but it was a long while before he slept again.

The hobbits had intended to return home after Aragorn's coronation, but their plans were now delayed. Even if Frodo were fit to travel so far, Gandalf had insisted that he remain in Minas Tirith, where he could be taken care of immediately at the first sign of danger.

And yet, once the morning sickness and dizzy spells abated, Frodo felt quite normal. Physically, he felt so little changed by this unexplained pregnancy that he could almost forget about it from day to day, if it were not for his increasingly odd and disturbing dreams.

---

He dreamt again of the tower. He had been stripped and bound to a table, and the orcs were interrogating him. They asked him the same questions over and over: What was he doing sneaking into Mordor? Where had he come from? Had he brought others with him, Elves, Men, or more little rats like himself? There was some great prize the Big Bosses were searching for--did he have it? Did he know where it was?

Frodo refused to answer, no matter what horrible things were done to him. At last, the orc chief called for a halt to the torture.

The creature leaned down over the table, foul breath blasting in Frodo's face as he said, "Won't talk, will you? Well, we've got something that'll make you squeak right enough!"

He held up a small, black-smeared orb, like a soft-shelled egg. It was glowing warmly red, as if there were fire within it, and at the heart of it, Frodo could see a tiny, curled thing like a hairless newborn mouse. The orc pressed this orb to Frodo's belly; he felt it burn on his skin, and he screamed and fought against the bonds that held him as the object sank into his flesh. Once the orb had made its way into his body, it left no mark on his skin.

"There!" the orc chief slavered with satisfaction. "Just wait `til that hatches out! Oh, you'll beg to tell us everything you know!"

---

The first little bulge appeared at the beginning of June.

"So you've got a bit of a tum," Sam said when he noticed it. "That's not so odd on a hobbit, only you've never had one before."

"But it's too soon for me to be showing, isn't it?" Frodo responded. "It's barely been three months. If go on at this rate, I'll be as fat as the Mayor of Michel Delving by the end of summer."

Knowing that it would be impossible to keep his secret for much longer, he decided to tell his cousins and the rest of the household. Merry and Pippin were astounded when they heard his news.

"I knew you were keeping something from us," Merry said after letting out a low, surprised whistle. "With the healer coming to see you so often, and Gandalf saying you shouldn't travel, I was afraid you must be seriously ill. But I never guessed this."

"Uh- how...?" Pippin eyed Sam curiously.

"That's rather difficult to explain," Frodo told them. He'd hoped to avoid such questions until he understood what was happening himself, but he still had no better idea of how or why than he had that first day. He simply told his cousins as much as he and Gandalf had guessed; that was enough to put a stop to any jokes they might make at Sam's expense, and their offers of support and protection were as heart-felt and nearly as touching to him as Sam's had been.

---

He dreamt that he and Sam were running on the road that led down from the pass at Cirith Ungol into Mordor. They had just escaped the tower, when they heard a furious shriek overhead. They looked up to see a huge black beast in flight above them. It landed atop the tower, its wings spread like a vast bat's against the murky sky. A Black Rider in armor was seated upon it.

"Run!" Sam shouted, and grabbed Frodo by the arm to pull him along.

There was a bridge over a ravine just ahead of them; if they could reach it before they were noticed, they would be able to get off the road and out of sight. They ran as fast as they could, and were within a dozen yards of the bridge when they were spotted. The winged beast--or its Rider?--let out a second ear-splitting screech and dove down from its place on the tower. In another second, it had reached them, swooping so low over them that they flung themselves to the soot-covered surface of the road to avoid its claws.

Sam drew Sting from his belt and rolled to regain his feet. "Frodo, run!" he hissed, and stood ready to fight and give Frodo time to escape. "Go!"

Frodo turned to run, but the battle was over before he had gone very far. Sam fought valiantly, but the creature dodged each feint of the shining elvish blade. Suddenly, it snapped forward, catching Sam in its jaws. It shook him like a dog playing with a child's rag doll, and tossed what was left of his body aside.

Frodo stood frozen in horror as the beast then turned and advanced toward him. But it didn't kill him too. Instead, it swept past him, its hideous head and the scaled skin of its long neck brushing so close that he could have put out a hand to touch it. The Rider reached down to seize the hobbit with a mailed fist and hauled him up to throw him across the beast's neck before the saddle.

With a last triumphant shriek, the Nazgul spurred its mount to flight and carried its prey off into the skies, and headed toward the Dark Tower in the distance.

---

When Lord Elrond arrived in the city at Midsummer with a retinue of Elves from Rivendell for his daughter's marriage to Aragorn, Gandalf consulted with both Elrond and Aragorn about Frodo's condition. There was another examination, which Frodo found more embarrassing than the Master Healer's proddings and palpitations. They asked more personal questions than the healer had, and he confessed that he had been a virgin at the time he was impregnated; thankfully, they did not question his private life beyond that, and he was spared the explanation of why he was not a virgin now.

He and Sam had agreed not to make their new arrangement public. Some of their friends were certainly aware of the relationship, while the others probably assumed that Sam slept in his room every night to keep watch over him.

And Sam did watch over him. True to his word, Sam looked after him, not only loving him tenderly, but giving him the most solicitous attention. Sam saw that he rested and ate enough, took his arm to escort him up and down stairs, and fussed over him even more than usual. Except for their bedding together, this 'marriage' was really not very different from what their friendship had been before. While he was gloriously happy at finding love, and learning how to make love was a more fascinating and exciting part of his education than he had imagined it could be, Frodo took the greatest comfort in knowing that he was not alone during this difficult time.

Sam was not the only one to watch him. Gandalf, too, observed him closely and constantly. The Master Healer made regular visits, as did the midwife, even though she had first suspected a joke was being played on her when she saw that her patient was male. And once news of his strange condition spread, Frodo felt as if everyone was staring at him. When he was presented to Queen Arwen just after the wedding, she seemed puzzled as she took his hand, as if, like Gandalf, she sensed the life growing within him but could not define nor explain it. He sometimes caught Legolas's eyes on him with the same curious expression, and the eyes of other Elves often followed him as well. He felt their gaze whenever he ventured into the citadel. Perhaps it was his imagination, but he thought they were whispering behind his back.

"I know they're worried," he confided to Sam one evening in July after they returned from a celebratory dinner for the King and Queen, "but I wish everyone wouldn't be so alarmed at my every ache and pain. If I have a hiccup, they look at me as if they think I'm about to explode!"

"I expect they're afraid that's just what'll happen," Sam answered reluctantly. "That is, meaning, we don't know what that baby is inside you, do we? We don't know what it'll do."

"No," Frodo had to admit, "we don't."

---

That night, he dreamt that he stood at the Crack of Doom. At the very brink of the chasm, he held the Ring out to drop it into the stream of molten fire below. Then, with the golden circle dangling before his eyes, he hesitated. His will faltered. After so many weeks of struggling against it, he succumbed to the insidious spell. The Ring had taken him at last.

He turned to Sam, who had come into the cavern after him. "I have come," Frodo told him, "but I do not choose to do what I came to do. I will not cast it away. The Ring is mine!" And he placed it on his finger.

Once he had claimed the Ring for his own, he had the power to see far beyond the walls of the cavern, outside the mountain. Mordor lay vast and black before him. He saw the armies of orcs and Men assembled for battle, and the Nazgul whirling on their winged mounts overhead. He saw the Dark Tower of Barad Dur rising into the red sky like a great, horned head. Atop it blazed the Eye of Sauron. As he stared at it, the Eye turned toward him, as if sensing the Ring's presence. It found him. He stood transfixed, pierced by that terrible gaze and unable to move or to turn away, until Gollum sprang upon him.

They struggled madly at the very edge of the chasm, each determined to have the Ring at all costs--but Gollum, who had been its slave for so much longer, was more determined and madder than he. A swift bite to sever the finger he wore the Ring upon, and the Ring was in Gollum's possession again. And yet, in spite of his injury, Frodo went on fighting to reclaim what he'd lost, but in the end, Gollum and the Ring tumbled into the fire together, and he nearly followed them. He hung onto the tip of the rocky outcropping that jutted over the fiery pit and might have let himself fall in, if it were not for Sam, who refused to let him go.

The mountain shook as if it were falling down around them and liquid fire spewed up from the depths. Frodo felt that Eye upon him for one last instant then, as Sam hauled him up from the chasm, there was a huge explosion. The force of the blast knocked him off his feet as soon as he regained them; he felt it pulse through him like a sudden blow so powerful that he cried out as he awoke.

---

Frodo sat up, panting for breath. His hands went to his abdomen; he could still feel the memory of that blow from his dream resonating within him... and something else stirred that was no dream.

Sam had awakened at his cry. "What is it, Frodo? What's wrong?"

"I felt it move." He took Sam's hand and brought it to the bulge of his belly, which moved again under the touch; Sam quickly drew his hand away and they stared at each other. "It's quickened. Whatever it is, it's alive."

Summer passed into autumn. Frodo calculated that if he had been impregnated in March, according to natural hobbit processes, he ought to give birth around Yule--but he was growing so big so quickly that he was certain the child would arrive much sooner. He could not rely on what was normal for an ordinary hobbit pregnancy in his case, for he was not carrying an ordinary hobbit-child. Who knew how long an orcling needed to gestate?

By his birthday in September, he had grown conspicuously large and, in Sam's words, "helpless as a pumpkin." It was a struggle for him to rise from his bed every morning, as well as get up from chairs, and he had no hope of getting into or out of a bath without Sam's assistance. Thrown off-balance by his increased weight, he was grateful to take Sam's arm whenever it was offered. His back ached and his ankles were swollen--and Sam rubbed them for him in the evenings--but he supposed that, in these respects, his condition was no worse than anyone's in the late stages of pregnancy. The worst of it was that their lovemaking, which he had enjoyed all summer, was severely curtailed; he tired easily and was so unwieldy that finding a comfortable position was becoming impossible. More nights than not, he and Sam slept spooned together as innocently as they had before they'd become lovers.

Elrond and the other Elves who had come to attend Arwen's wedding to Aragorn stayed on in Minas Tirith; Frodo knew that they remained because they were waiting to see what sort of child he delivered. By September, the whispers around him had increased until he could no longer believe he was imagining things. He was a focus of attention, and there was a great deal of discussion going on around him, about him.

He did not discover the extent of these discussions until the Elf who served as an aide-de-camp to Elrond came to the house to request that Frodo accompany him to the citadel. "There is a council," the aide explained. "King Elessar and My Lord Elrond wish you to attend."

Sam went with them, helping Frodo up the steeply inclined street to the gate, and up to the vast courtyard at the city's crest. But when they came to the great doors of the citadel, the Elf stopped and said, "Lord Elrond has asked for the Ringbearer alone."

Sam was about to argue, when Frodo forestalled him by laying a hand on his arm and saying, "It's all right, Sam. Wait for me here, and please don't worry. I won't be gone long."

Reluctantly, Sam consented, and Frodo followed his escort into the citadel. They crossed the great hall, and entered the council chamber beside the throne room; there was a huge table, and Aragorn, Faramir and the Men of the King's Council, Gandalf, Elrond and other Elves were seated or standing around it. They were already in the midst of an argument, which stopped abruptly when the aide held the door open for the hobbit to enter.

Frodo hesitated at the doorway as all eyes turned to him. "You wished to see me?"

Aragorn came forward to him. "Frodo, welcome. I thought it was best that you join us. Will you have a seat, please?"

All the chairs in the room were built for Men and were too tall for a hobbit, and the table even taller. At a nod from the King, Faramir pulled one chair some distance from the table, far enough so that Frodo could see over the table's top, and Aragorn lifted him up to sit down. Feet dangling far from the floor and faced with so many Big Folk, all so great and powerful, Frodo felt very small and vulnerable. He wished he had insisted that Sam be allowed to come in with him after all; he wouldn't feel quite so apprehensive if he had a hand to hold.

Aragorn must have seen how nervous he was, for he crouched down before the chair so that they were nearly at eye-level. "Frodo," he began gently, choosing his words with great care, "you know that your situation has been of concern to us."

Frodo nodded.

"Have you found no explanation for how this impregnation could have come about?" asked Elrond.

"No, My Lord."

"We can only guess that it must be some dark work of Mordor," Gandalf added.

"That is your answer, Mithrandir," Elrohir, Elrond's son, spoke. "We have heard it before. I would like to hear the halfling's. Surely that is why he's been brought here?"

"I don't know what was done to me," Frodo answered, "but I believe Gandalf is right. It must have happened while I was in Mordor." He had turned the question over many times before, with Gandalf or Sam or in his own mind, and there was no other reasonable solution.

Elrohir turned to him. "You remember nothing?"

This sounded almost like an accusation, as if the Elvish princeling thought he was keeping something back; Frodo bristled defensively as he replied, "Nothing that explains how this child was conceived."

"I had hoped that some other answer to this mystery might be discovered," Elrond admitted. "Now, there is no other choice. I must agree with your conclusions. You must understand, Frodo, how deeply we are disturbed by anything that bears the taint of Mordor."

Frodo understood, but he didn't like what had been suggested. "Do you say I am tainted?" He looked to Gandalf, then to Aragorn with the question. "Do you?"

"No, Frodo," the wizard assured him. "Not you."

"It is the creature unborn that worries us," said Elrond. "We have discussed this matter at length these past months. The time draws near, and we must determine what to do about it."

"You've discussed this for months?" asked Frodo. "This is not your first council?"

"No," Aragorn told him. "We've spoken of it often, since we first learned of your condition."

Frodo had been aware of the whispered conversations, but hadn't realized that formal meetings had been convened about him. Had Gandalf attended them? Yes, he must have, and had never said a word. None of them had. "Why didn't you consult me before?"

"We wished to spare you the countless rounds of debate before we came to a decision," said Aragorn. "I thought it was time that you heard what has been said."

"Our deliberations did not concern you until now," added Elrond.

"I beg your pardon!" Frodo cried. "I am very much concerned in whatever plans you're making for my baby."

"Your baby?" one of the Men repeated incredulously. "Do you claim it as yours?"

"Yes. Yes, I do." This came as something of a surprise to Frodo, but after all these months of carrying this child, he did think of it as his. And now that it was being threatened, he found he had grown protective of it. Perhaps this council had every right to be worried; he was. Perhaps he was about to birth something monstrous; he had thought it himself often enough. But he had been aware of this possibility from the beginning, and had made his own choice to bear this baby regardless. He would fight for it, and fight for his right to choose even more than he would for the unborn child itself. "What have you decided?" he asked, voice quavering with emotion. In spite of his resolve not to be intimidated, he was growing frightened.

"All we would ask is that you come to live within the citadel." Aragorn had risen from his crouched position beside Frodo's seat, but he continued to speak in that gentle, reassuring voice. "A room has been made ready for you. You will be cared for, and watched over until it is time for the child to be born."

"Thank you, but I prefer to stay in my own house." Frodo didn't think of the house they shared as his "home" in the same way that Bag End was, but he had been living there for nearly six months and was as comfortable with it as he could be with such large, squared-off rooms and outsized furniture. "Why can't I have the baby there?"

"If there are any... difficulties, we can attend to them more readily here," the King explained.

"This is meant for your safety as well, Frodo," said Gandalf. "Surely you must see that this child may be dangerous?"

"Yes, of course I see that. I accepted that risk when I decided to carry it. But there is no proof that it is a danger to me. This pregnancy, odd as it is, has not harmed me. I've suffered no pain. I haven't been troubled, except, well-" he hesitated.

"Except-?" Elrond prompted.

"I've had very strange dreams," Frodo said reluctantly; he felt rather silly speaking of them. "Well, nightmares, actually. I dream that orcs are tormenting me, or else Nazgul on flying beasts take me up and carry me off. Sometimes, I dream that Sauron's Eye is fixed upon me and I cannot hide." Gandalf looked particularly intrigued at this last, and an excited murmur passed among the Elves and Men. "They are all terrible, but they are only dreams," he concluded, "not the truth. They have nothing to do with the baby."

"How do you know?" asked one of the Elves. "Dreams are often portents. These visions may not tell us how you fell under the sorcery of Mordor, but they suggest that you are still within its spell."

"You do think I'm tainted!"

"No, Frodo-" said Aragorn.

But Elrohir asked, "Would you fight to protect this creature so desperately, if you were not under some influence?"

"I fight for it because it is mine!" In his fear, Frodo's voice rose higher, growing shrill. "My child! I have chosen to bear it, and if it is dangerous, then I will also bear the responsibility for it. I will be the one to pay if I've made a mistake."

"You may not be the only one that pays, Frodo," Gandalf told him. "This situation affects more than yourself alone."

"If there are dangers, will you be able to face them?" asked Elrond. "Are you prepared for what might come?"

"We must prepare ourselves for whatever may come," his son said grimly. "We must prevent it, if we are able."

In spite of their efforts not to distress him, they could not conceal their purpose. Frodo saw it clearly now: they were planning to take the child from him. He drew in a sharp breath and looked up at the faces around him, stunned. How could they do this to him? He had trusted Gandalf implicitly from his boyhood. Aragorn, too, had sworn to protect him and Frodo had believed that he always would. Elrond was not so dear a friend as the other two, but Frodo had considered him fair and just. Even Faramir, who had not spoken during this council, but stood behind his chair waiting at the King's command, had once befriended him in a time of need. And yet they had all conspired against him, betrayed him, decided his fate--and the fate of his child!--without consulting him. What would they do if he refused to comply with their decision?

He suddenly felt more vulnerable than ever sitting here--small, helpless, heavily pregnant, and surrounded by people he could no longer trust. "Wh- What will you do?" he asked. "Do you mean to kill it?"

"I hope that will not be necessary," said Elrond. "Some here have said that, if this is a child of Mordor, then it must be destroyed immediately, before it grows into its powers and we are too late to defend ourselves against it. However-" he went on as Frodo let out a shocked cry of protest, "the council has agreed to act only if the threat the child represents requires it. We will abide until is born, to wait and see what it is before we decide further."

"Then wait you must," Frodo answered him. "If there are dangers once the child is born, then you may do what is necessary to guard yourselves. I will consent to nothing more than that now. I will not live at the citadel. I don't want to stay here." He squirmed to climb down from his chair. "I would like to go home. I have nothing more to say."

He wanted to run from the chamber, but his position made it impossible. Even when he had balanced himself precariously at the edge of the seat, his toes did not touch the floor. Frodo was afraid he was about to topple over, when Faramir reached out to catch him; in his present frame of mind, that large hand closing on his upper arm sent the hobbit into a panic. He twisted in Faramir's grip, shrieking, "No! Let me go! Let me go!"

Faramir let go, setting Frodo on the floor. "I did not mean to frighten you, Frodo," he said, and sounded ashamed of himself for his part in this.

"No one wants to frighten you," Aragorn insisted. "No harm will come to you--I swear it!"

"I won't stay! Will you keep me here against my will?" Frodo shot back at him, then turned to the others around him; he knew they could stop him easily. But no one moved to detain him, and he ran from the chamber.

Frodo fled the citadel, so angry and panic-stricken that he was shaking. Sam, who was waiting on the steps down to the courtyard, looked up as Frodo emerged through the great doors and saw immediately how upset he was.

"Frodo, are you all right?" he asked anxiously as he came up to take Frodo's arm. "What did that council say to you?"

As Sam helped him down the steps, Frodo leaned closer to murmur, "Not here." There were guards all around who might overhear them and carry tales--and, for all he knew, they might still be within the range of Elvish ears. "Sam, please take me back to the house."

"Yes, of course." Sam slipped an arm around his back and, supporting Frodo as best he could, escorted him down through the gate to the level of the city below. It was evening now, and the shadows were long in the street. Their house was only a few yards beyond the gate, but to Frodo it seemed as if they would never reach it; his legs felt weak beneath him and Sam was half-carrying him by the time they finally reached the door.

They went in through the kitchen. Merry and Pippin were sitting at the table, but they were on their feet the minute Sam brought Frodo in.

"What is it?" Pippin asked as he took Frodo's elbow and helped Sam see him to the nearest chair. "Not the baby already?"

Frodo shook his head. "They're having a council at the citadel," he explained once he was calm enough to speak. "Elves and Men, and Gandalf was there too! They want to keep me at the citadel to have the baby, and they mean to take it from me! They're so afraid of what it might be--I think they would kill it, born or unborn, if they could." The eyes of the other hobbits widened with horror. "They said it was for my good. My safety!"

"They wouldn't do that," said Pippin. "Not Strider. Not Gandalf!"

"Are you sure that's what they meant?" Merry asked.

"Yes, I'm sure of it! Don't you believe me?" Frodo looked up at the others gathered around him.

"Of course we do." Merry glanced at Pippin, who nodded in agreement.

"We believe you," Sam said more decisively, and took Frodo's hand. "What're we going to do?"

"We must leave Minas Tirith," Frodo decided. "I won't stay here and let them do this!"

"But where can we go?" asked Merry. "There's no way to reach the Shire before your time. None of us knows a thing about delivering babies, especially if something goes wrong."

"That doesn't matter," Frodo insisted. "I trust you'll do whatever you can for me, if we are without aid when the time comes. I would rather that than be left at their mercy."

"If that's what you want, Frodo," Sam said, and gave Frodo's hand a comforting squeeze. "I'll go pack our things."

Merry turned to his cousin, "Pip, why don't you get our packs together, and some food for the journey?"

"And what about you?" Pippin asked back.

"I'm going to the stable to steal us some ponies. If we must fly from the city, we'd best get as far as we can tonight. We'll do that more quickly if we ride." And Merry dashed out the kitchen door.

While the other hobbits scattered on their errands, Frodo remained seated at the kitchen table until he had caught his breath and calmed down. When he was no longer trembling, he put both hands on the table to push himself up and went his bedroom, where Sam was throwing clothes and personal articles into a pack. "Can I help?"

"No, love. I'm nearly finished here." Sam buckled the straps on Frodo's pack and set it down on the chest at the foot of the bed. "I'll just be a minute getting my things ready."

Frodo watched him with a burst of affection. After the betrayals he had suffered at the citadel, how wonderful it was to know that there were people he could depend on! Sam would always stand by him, and his cousins would help him when he was most in trouble. They needed only to hear his wishes, and they would do as he asked.

"I love you," he told Sam impulsively. "I'm very glad I married you."

Sam beamed at him, and paused before heading out the door to give Frodo a kiss and quick hug. "I'm awfully glad you did too." He took Frodo by the shoulders and guided him toward one of the chairs by the hearth. "Now don't you fret. We'll see you safely away before anyone knows we're gone. Why don't you sit and rest while you can? I'll be right back."

Frodo sank into the chair while Sam went to his own nominal room down the hall. Sitting here before the fire, he remembered that first night after he'd learned he was pregnant. How fearful for the future he'd been! He'd wondered how this would all come out in the end. Whatever he'd imagined then, he had not anticipated that he'd be fleeing Minas Tirith to protect the child's life.

He shut his eyes and listened to Sam opening and slamming drawers in his room, and Pippin farther down the hall, making a clatter in the kitchen. Then, at the other end of the corridor, he heard the front door open and footsteps came down the hall--not the bare patter of hobbit-feet, but boots, softly and swiftly treading on the wooden floor. Frodo struggled to get up from his chair as Gandalf came into the room.

"I'm relieved to see you here safely," the wizard said. "I was worried for you--in the state you were in, I should not have let you go from the citadel unattended."

"I wasn't alone," Frodo retorted. "Sam brought me home. I can rely on Sam to look after me."

Gandalf sighed at this pointed rebuff. "I understand that you are very distressed by what occurred today, Frodo, and I do not blame you. It was a mistake to call you before the council, but you must see that we were acting in your best interests-"

It was then that Sam returned with his own pack. When he saw the wizard, he stopped in the doorway and stared; the pack he held in his hands dropped to the floor.

Pippin came up beside him. "Merry hasn't come back with the ponies yet-" He stopped too, gaping silently up at Gandalf.

"Are you planning to go somewhere?" Gandalf asked them.

They had been caught; there was nothing to do now but tell the truth. "Yes," Frodo answered boldly. "We are leaving Minas Tirith tonight. You can't stop me from going, Gandalf. I'm not a prisoner, am I?"

"You are not a prisoner," said Gandalf, "but you are not a fool either. You know it isn't safe for you to travel."

"It isn't safe for me to stay here--and I won't, not a minute longer than I have to!"

"Nonsense. You've been badly frightened, but that's no reason to fly off in a blind panic and expose yourself to greater dangers than anything you might face here." The wizard turned to Sam and Pippin. "And if you truly want to help Frodo, you won't assist him in this folly."

"Now wait!" said Sam. "Frodo told us you meant to shut him up at the castle and take the baby from him. Isn't that so?"

"I won't go back to the citadel!" Frodo insisted; his voice was rising shrilly again.

"That is the decision of the council--but you needn't go if you feel that strongly against it," Gandalf answered them both. "It was not my choice to send you there. I thought I could keep an eye on you sufficiently here, as I have been doing, but others wished to observe you more closely themselves."

"You mean the Elves," said Frodo.

"And Aragorn. He wanted to watch over you personally during these final weeks before the child's birth. Elrond was also particularly concerned."

"His son too, I'm certain. You don't think as they do, that I'm under some dark influence, do you?"

"No, I don't believe you are," Gandalf replied, "only excited and afraid. In fact, you're becoming hysterical, and that can do you no good. I wish you would try to keep calm." As the wizard took a step toward Frodo, Sam darted quickly, protectively between them; Gandalf stopped where he was. "We did not mean to distress you," he told Frodo. "No one expected you to become so frightened, nor to fight so fiercely. You may disagree with the council's decision, but you must understand that we were trying to help you. We still hope to, if you will let us. Will you trust me, Frodo? No harm will come to you, nor to the child if it is not harmful itself."

"I'd like to believe what you say," Frodo answered, "but how can I after you've kept secrets from me already?" He had always trusted Gandalf, and it hurt that he could not now. "I don't know what this council has planned for me. Why didn't you tell me what they were doing?"

"I didn't want to upset you."

"Upset me-!"

"There were matters discussed in our earlier meetings that would have caused you greater alarm, harder words spoken than you have heard today. The council debated whether or not you should be allowed to carry the child to term." At Frodo's horrified intake of breath, the wizard nodded. "You see why I thought it best to keep it from you, and say nothing of the meetings. That was an error--I admit it. I should have told you what was happening sooner."

"Yes, you should have," Frodo answered. "And you might have asked me what I wanted!"

"Frodo, will you please calm down?"

But Frodo did not want to calm down. "You ask me to trust you, Gandalf. Why can't you trust me?" he continued earnestly, as if the wizard had not spoken. "Why can't you and your council let me decide what to do about this baby? I have carried a much more dangerous burden at your behest. You and Elrond placed the fate of Middle Earth in my hands, and I did not disappoint you then!" His success, it was true, had been due as much to chance as to his own strength and abilities, but they had appointed him Ringbearer and sent him on his quest. They had thought him fit for such a monumental task, and called him a hero when he had succeeded. That they would treat him like an irresponsible child now simply because he was pregnant was infuriating. "You know I am not a fool, nor under the influence of Mordor, nor out of my mind. I have every right to choose for myself-"

A spasm of pain cut him short. He clutched his belly and would have fallen if Sam had not been ready to catch him.

"Frodo?" Sam asked as he took his arm to steady him. "What's the matter? Is it the baby?"

Frodo nodded. "I think so." As he sat down, another, more painful spasm seized him. He couldn't help crying out.

Gandalf came forward, but Sam glared up at him ferociously and said, "Don't you touch him!"

The wizard stopped again and did not try to touch Frodo. "He needs help."

"And help he'll get, from folk that truly mean to help him." Sam turned to Pippin, who was still in the doorway, and told him, "Run to the Houses o' Healing. Find the Master Healer and tell 'm it's Frodo. It's his time."

"You won't be going anywhere," Sam regretfully told the small figure huddled in the chair; the last surge of pain had doubled Frodo over. "You can't, not now."

"I know," Frodo groaned. "I'm trapped here, just as they wanted." He lifted his head to look up at Gandalf. "I suppose you're pleased?"

"No," the wizard answered solemnly, "I'm not pleased at all."

"Never you mind, Frodo," Sam tried to comfort him. "We'll have to make the best of it. I'll look after you. I won't let anybody near that means you harm." Now that the spasm had passed, he cupped one hand under Frodo's elbow. "You ought to be in bed. Can you get up?" Frodo nodded, and Sam carefully helped him up from the chair and over to the bed. Lifting him up, however, was an effort. It was always difficult these days for Frodo to climb up onto the high-posted bed even with Sam's assistance; tonight, Frodo was unable to climb at all, and Sam had to support most of Frodo's weight himself.

"Won't you let me help?" Gandalf offered as he watched the two hobbits' struggles.

"You've done enough," Sam answered bluntly. If Frodo didn't trust Gandalf, then Sam was determined not to either. He managed to get Frodo onto the bed just as another spasm of pain seized him; Frodo cried out, and Sam scrambled up beside him.

"You brought this on!" he accused the wizard as he gathered Frodo into his arms. "You and this council of your'n--they've frighted poor Frodo into this." This wasn't entirely fair, since Gandalf had tried to make Frodo calm down, but Sam wasn't interested in fairness right now. He didn't know exactly what had happened at the citadel, except that Gandalf and those Men and Elves had frightened Frodo badly enough to make him want to fly from the city, and that was all Sam needed to know. They were all responsible for setting Frodo off, but Gandalf was the only one here he could blame. "It's come on much too soon. It's barely six months." Sam had heard of babies in the Shire occasionally being born this early--stillbirths or tiny, fragile things that didn't live more than a few hours. If this baby died, it would be the council's fault too.

"Please, Sam, don't let them harm the baby," whimpered Frodo. "Don't let them take it away from me!"

"I won't," Sam promised. He cradled Frodo, petted his hair, and placed kisses on his brow, doing whatever he could to soothe Frodo until help arrived. Although it felt disloyal to Frodo, Sam thought that, if this must happen, then it was better that it happen now instead of after they had left Minas Tirith. No matter what Frodo had said about trusting himself to their care, Sam knew very well that this was beyond his abilities to cope with, and certainly beyond Merry's or Pippin's. What could they have done for him? Frodo needed the skilled hands of a master healer or experienced midwife to see him through this. No less would do. If it hadn't been for this council today, Sam would have summoned Aragorn or Elrond to come to Frodo's aid as well; both had saved Frodo when he'd been in dire need before, but to have them here now would be even worse than Gandalf!

Between his gestures of comfort, Sam lifted his eyes from Frodo to regard Gandalf warily. What would he do if Gandalf insisted on taking Frodo's baby? Could he fight the wizard if he had to? Sam had always found Gandalf to be somewhat fearsome as a friend, and how much more so as a foe! Who knew what a wizard of such vast powers might be capable of doing when he was angry? Gandalf had hundreds of spells, fireworks, and lightning-blasts at his command. How could one little hobbit stand against that? And what if Gandalf called for Men or Elves from the citadel? Sam knew he couldn't fight off so many on his own, but he would do his best for Frodo's sake. He would defend Frodo with his own life if it came to that.

But Gandalf did not try to fight him for Frodo, nor did he leave the room, but simply stood where he was.

"Aren't you going to go tell them Elves about it?" Sam asked him.

"No, Sam," Gandalf answered. "I will stay here and wait with you. I know that you are only trying to protect Frodo. You doubt me now, as Frodo does, but I swear to you that I wish to help him. I will remain here until you believe me."

Sam didn't know what to say to this. At the sound of someone coming into the house, and a hobbit's footsteps in the corridor, he turned eagerly to the bedroom door. Was it Pippin returning with the healer at last?

No. Merry came to the door, and immediately saw what was happening. "It looks like we won't be needing the ponies after all," he said. "Can I do anything to help?"

"Mr. Pippin's gone for the healer," Sam told him. "Will you go and watch for them to come? Let them in, but see that no one else gets into the house. None of the citadel folk. No Elves."

"Not even Legolas and Gimli?"

"Not even them! We don't know as we can trust `em!" Sam insisted vehemently. "I promised Frodo I wouldn't let anybody take the baby, and that's just what I mean to do."

Merry nodded, and went to keep watch at the front door.

"Hush, my dear," Sam said to Frodo, who had curled himself into a tight ball and was sobbing and moaning, beyond all comfort. "It won't be much longer. Help'll come soon."

Sam had never seen Frodo--never seen anyone!--in such agony before. He knew little of these matters, but surely natural birth-pangs were not like this: they came and went over many hours before the baby was born, while Frodo's seemed to go on constantly since they had started, and grow worse and worse. And there was nothing Sam could do to make it stop; he could only hold his beloved close and weep with him. Would that healer never come? Sam was beginning to be afraid that Frodo might die if help did not arrive soon.

He looked up at Gandalf, who had drawn closer to the foot of the bed. Could he be trusted? Sam didn't see any other choice.

"Can you do anything for him?" he asked tearfully.

"I will try," Gandalf answered. Taking a seat on the bed beside Sam, he did what he could.

Frodo was only dimly aware of what was happening around him. Sam's tears, Gandalf's cool hand laid on his brow--none of it touched him. He was filled with a terrible pain that tore at him from the inside, as if the baby were trying to fight its way out of his body.

He was screaming by the time the healer arrived, bringing the midwife. There was a hasty consultation between the two, then a glass of greenish liquid was held to Frodo's lips.

"Here, little one," the midwife said, "drink this down. It'll take the pain away, and make you sleep."

He drank, and the pain diminished. It was as if the potion he'd swallowed were washing through him in waves, green like river-water running in his blood. He felt as if he were drowning in it, looking up from the depths at the sunlit world above. He heard voices shouting urgent orders, but they sounded distant and indistinct; the words had no meaning. His body was lifted, his clothes removed, and thick towels were placed beneath him, and this too seemed unimportant. Even Sam, who clung to his hand, refusing to leave his side and promising that everything would be all right, seemed as if he were miles away. Then Frodo sank farther down beneath the waves. He floated alone in the sweet, green water...

---

He dreamt once again of the tower of Cirith Ungol. He lay bound to a table. His belly, which rose to a great mound, was lit red from within, growing and swelling as if it were about to burst.

Over him stood the orc captain with a knife upraised.

"Time to talk, little rat," the orc said, but instead of waiting for him to beg for a release from the pain, it brought the knife down immediately and split his belly open with a single, sweeping slice.

What emerged was not a baby, not a orcling, but a single glowing orb like a fiery eye.

---

When Frodo awoke, it was morning. The curtains were drawn over the windows, but shafts of bright sunlight came in through the gaps. Everyone seemed to have gone and left him alone. He was in his own bed. The bedclothes had been changed, and he was wearing a clean nightshirt.

As he ran one hand over his now-flat abdomen, he found that it felt peculiarly stiff and padded; he was still groggy from the effects of the green potion he'd drunk the night before, and it took him a moment to realize that there were bandages wrapped tightly around his torso from his hips to the bottom of his ribs.

*They cut me open,* he thought. *They've taken it from me. Sam couldn't stop them.*

Tears began to well in his eyes, and then he heard a baby's cry. He turned his head on the pillow to see that he was not alone: Sam was standing over a cradle that had been placed before the hearth.

"Is it... all right?" he asked, half-afraid of the answer.

Sam looked up at him, beaming. "Beautifullest little hobbit-lad you've ever seen! Not a thing wrong with him anyone can find."

"It's a boy?" Frodo didn't know why that should surprise him, but then he realized that he would have been just as surprised to hear that it was a girl. He had simply never thought of this mysterious baby in terms of an ordinary hobbit-child of either sex. "A little boy." He tried to sit up, when a twinge of fresh pain stopped him.

"Here, love, just lie still," Sam said as he rushed to the bedside and made Frodo lie back down. "You're all stitched up, and you don't want to pull 'em loose. The healer says you aren't to be moved for at least a week. You're going to be in some pain `til you heal, and he's given me some medicine you're to take for it. You're to have quiet and rest. No one'll trouble you--I'll see to that."

"Can I see the baby?" Frodo asked once Sam had given him a dose of medicine and propped him comfortably on fluffed-up pillows.

"I'll bring him over." Sam returned to the cradle to gather up the tiny bundle within its blanket, lifted it carefully, and carried it to the bed. He tipped the bundle slightly so Frodo could see the baby's face.

The child was beautiful, not crushed and red and funny-looking like the other newborn babies Frodo had seen, but fair and pink, with wisps of blonde curls on the crown of the tiny head.

"Would you like to hold him?" asked Sam.

"Can I?"

"Don't see why you shouldn't. He's your baby, isn't he? Here, be careful now-" Sam shifted the bundle to place it in the curve of Frodo's arm.

As he cradled the baby to his chest, the bluest eyes he'd ever seen opened to meet his. Frodo lifted his free hand to touch the tiny, pudgy pink fingers, which curved around the tip of his own finger and held on with a remarkably strong grip. He laughed out loud. "Is it really all right?"

"The midwife and healer, and Gandalf, and even the wet-nurse who was brought in to feed him went over every inch of him from the minute he was out of you," Sam told him. "Every one of `em's said they've never seen a healthier baby, even if they've never seen one so small--small, that is, for the Big Folk. He hardly looks like an early baby at all. There's no reason to think him anything but a normal newly-born hobbit."

"Except for where he came from." This puzzle remained unsolved--and, yet in spite of the seeming impossibility, he was holding his son in his arms. Frodo had no idea how it had come about, but as long as the child was not a hideous monstrosity, deformed, or of an orcish cast, he felt he had no cause for complaint.

"What're you going to name him?" Sam asked.

Frodo hadn't considered this very basic question either. "Drogo," he decided after thinking it over, "after my father." He looked around the empty room. "Has everyone gone, Sam?"

"The Master Healer and midwife are gone, but she said she'd be back this morning to see how you came through the night. The nurse is upstairs. We gave her a room so she'll be nearby when she's needed."

"And Gandalf...?"

"Gandalf went back to the palace, to tell `em about the baby," Sam told him. "He was here all night, sitting up with me to watch over you. Then, when it started to grow light, he said that the King and Lord Elrond ought to know what'd happened, and he got up and left."

Frodo held the baby protectively closer. "What do you think he'll tell them?" They might not be out of danger yet.

"I don't know," Sam admitted. "He said he meant no harm, and he was a help to you last night." Deferentially, lest Frodo should disagree, he added, "I wonder if you might've been wrong not to trust him."

But Frodo did not disagree; he was beginning to wonder the same thing himself.

When Gandalf returned to the house a short while later, both hobbits regarded him anxiously.

"Ah, Frodo, I'm glad to see you're awake," said the wizard. "How are you feeling?"

"Weak, and very tired, but I think I will recover."

"And the child?"

"He's fine. Beautiful." Frodo asked the question foremost on his mind: "Are they going to try and take him from me, Gandalf?"

"No," Gandalf assured him. "I told the council that I have examined the child, and deem it no threat to anyone. There is no reason why it shouldn't be left in your care, and so it will remain unless I see some sign that it might become dangerous in the future."

Sam laughed. "A pretty little mite like our Drogo? A danger?"

"We've no way of knowing what this 'little mite' may grow to be," Gandalf told him solemnly.

"But they've agreed?" asked Frodo. "They'll let us alone?"

"Lord Elrond will no doubt wish to see the child for himself, but he has consented to abide with my advice. Aragorn also wishes to see you, if you do not object to his visit."

"No," said Frodo, "I've no objection to their coming, if it will convince them that there's nothing wrong with my baby."

"No one else will disturb your recovery," Gandalf promised.

"Thank you." Frodo glanced up at the wizard shyly, then asked Sam, "Will you leave us for a moment, please? I'd like to talk with Gandalf."

"If you're sure it's all right..."

"It's all right, Sam."

Sam retrieved the baby from Frodo's arms. "It's near time for his feeding anyway. I'll take him up to the nurse." He went out, leaving them alone.

"Gandalf?" Frodo began timidly. "I truly do wish to thank you. You have looked after my best interests, even when I didn't believe you would. I'm very sorry for the way I behaved last night. You were right--I was terribly frightened, and hysterical. I did myself no good, and I was horrible to you." He held out one hand. "Will you forgive me?"

"Of course," Gandalf said reassuringly as he came closer to the bed to take Frodo's hand. "I understand why you behaved as you did."

"Your council threatened my baby."

"Yes, and it was ill-considered, but you must see why they acted as they did. You must understand their fear, Frodo." Gandalf explained, "The Men of Gondor have lived under the shadow of Mordor all their lives, and are afraid they are not yet free of it. The Elves too are afraid of what this child represents. Their powers have waned since the destruction of the Ring. Even the greatest among them fear that they may not be able to contend with a force of evil if they wait too long. I confess that this prospect troubles me as well."

Frodo had not realized this. The Elves' powers had diminished--and Gandalf's too? Yes. Gandalf had always had the appearance of an old man; now, somehow, he looked older. There was a weariness in the wizard's eyes that Frodo hadn't noticed before. It was more than fatigue after their recent quarrel, but something that went deeper. Frodo didn't quite understand how, but the Ring's destruction had affected him as well as the Elves. They had fought to defeat Sauron and his minions, but that battle had had its price. It had put an end to much of the world's magic, for good as well as evil.

"Do you think that's likely?" Frodo asked. "You're still worried that my little Drogo may be 'a force of evil'? Do you think he could grow into something..." he could barely say it, "something monstrous?"

"Your Drogo seems no more than a harmless infant, but you mustn't forget that his origin has not been explained," Gandalf reminded him. "We know that he was almost certainly conceived in Mordor."

"That's what we've always believed, but couldn't we be mistaken?" Frodo countered. "Perhaps he's been given to me by some other means, for some other reason."

"What then?" asked Gandalf. "How do you account for his existence?"

"I can't," Frodo admitted, "but I agree with Sam: Could anything so lovely as that baby have been created for an evil purpose?"

But Gandalf, he saw, remained doubtful.

When Frodo was well enough, Aragorn and Elrond were admitted to see him and the baby. Other members of the council--Elrohir in particular--demanded to view the child as well, but Gandalf was firm on this point. Frodo received his visitors calmly and politely, as if he had never argued with them. He allowed them each to hold and examine the baby in turn, but looked anxious as they did so. Sam, who remained at Frodo's bedside, kept a suspicious eye on the visitors, as if he expected the king or half-elven lord to carry the baby off, and meant to stop them if they tried any tricks. Elrond examined the child thoroughly and cautiously, but Aragorn was more interested in Frodo's well-being; he asked how the hobbit was recovering after the traumatic birth and was apologetic for his part in upsetting Frodo and bringing this on so soon. They did not stay long, but left Frodo to rest.

"You have seen now for yourselves," Gandalf said as the trio walked back to the citadel.

"Yes, and it is as you describe," Elrond assented. "The child appears to be no more than a harmless infant--but, Mithrandir--" he turned to the wizard, perplexity in his face, "What is it? Do you know?"

"I have... an idea," Gandalf replied hesitantly, "but I will not yet say. The child is no danger to anyone for the present, and I do not want to rouse greater fears against it until I am certain I have the truth. I will not see that last meeting of the council repeated."

"None of us wish that!" Aragorn agreed heartily.

"Nor will I have Frodo disturbed."

"I do not wish that either," the king agreed, more solemnly this time. "Unless there is good reason to intervene, I am happy to leave him and the child in peace."

"There may be a time later for disturbances that none can avoid. Until then, I am also content to wait," Elrond decided. "We will leave the matter in your hands, Mithrandir."

---

The first crisis had passed: the child had been safely born. Frodo was recovering from the birth and seemed content not to question the mysterious circumstances that had given him this baby, but Gandalf continued to ponder. He was still troubled. A dark suspicion had entered his mind on the day of the council, and although he had seen no proof that it was true, he could not easily dismiss it.

Should he speak to Frodo? No, not yet. He didn't want to alarm the hobbit unnecessarily. Frodo's trust in him had already been damaged once, and he was reluctant to risk it again. But there were some questions he hoped he could ask Frodo without distressing him.

He waited until a day when he thought Frodo was well enough for an arduous conversation. Frodo was up and dressed for the first time in weeks, sitting on the terrace with a shawl around his shoulders. Sam was seated on the flagstones near Frodo's bench, the baby in a woven basket before him, and the other hobbits had gathered around. They were chattering merrily, making jokes, and looked so happy that Gandalf hated to interrupt them.

"It's good to see you up and about, Frodo," he said as he approached the group. "You're looking very well today."

"I'm feeling much better!" Frodo responded cheerfully. "I've been permitted up from bed at last, and I wanted desperately to get out of that room for awhile. The lads were kind enough to bring me outside, but Sam insists I stay wrapped up against the autumn chill." He waved the fringed hem of his shawl. "He's got the baby wrapped up too, even though October here is much more mild than it is in the Shire."

Gandalf sat down beside Frodo on the bench. "And how is the baby?"

"A bit fussy today," Sam reported. Drogo was squirming in his basket and making plaintive, mewling noises, and Sam was carefully arranging a blanket over the raised handles of the basket to shield the baby's face from the sunlight. "He's never been out-of-doors before, but he'll have to get used to it if we're ever to take him all the way home."

"We've been making plans to return to the Shire," Frodo explained to the wizard. "We're hoping to leave as soon as Drogo's old enough for the long journey... if we are allowed to leave."

"They won't try to stop us this time, will they?" Merry asked. "We won't have to run off in the middle of the night to get away?"

"No one will stop you," Gandalf answered. "In fact, Elrond and his party plan to return to Rivendell before the winter. You might find your journey easier if you accompany them." He saw that, after Frodo had been treated so harshly by the Elves, the other hobbits were wary at the prospect of traveling with them. "I will travel at least to Rivendell myself," he added, "and perhaps even go with you as far as the Shire."

"I wouldn't mind going by way of Rivendell," Frodo said wistfully. "I'd like very much to see Bilbo again, and tell him everything's that happened." The others agreed to this. "And then we'll go home in the spring. I've been looking forward to it more than ever. We've made our plans for that too," he told Gandalf. "We're going to set up house together, Sam and I, at Bag End. We'll make some formal arrangements between us, and we'll bring up our child there." He chuckled. "Although how we'll explain him, I cannot imagine! And how will I explain it to him when he's old enough to ask? The poor little thing's going to be so awfully confused. But he won't want for a family, no matter what. Merry and Pippin are delighted to be his uncles, aren't you? And Sam's turned out to be a much better mother than I am--but that doesn't surprise me in the least," he teased. "I knew he'd be wonderful. He's mothered me from the moment we left home."

Sam looked up from the baby to give him a smile.

"Sam's taken on most of the duties from the nurse so that we hardly need her services, except for the actual nursing. He can't manage that himself," Frodo went on teasing. "He's convinced that he knows better than she does the proper way to care for our baby, even though the woman has three children of her own."

"She's never had the nursing of a hobbit-baby before," Sam answered, unperturbed. "And there's never been any baby like ours. He's special, and he needs particular care." Drogo was still fussing, and Sam lifted him out of the basket to try and quiet him; holding the baby against his shoulder and jouncing gently, Sam went pacing up and down the terrace. Merry and Pippin went after them.

Gandalf had never inquired into the hobbits' private relationship since that first day, although he had seen enough to believe that a great deal had changed between Frodo and Sam in the intervening months. He noted that both hobbits spoke as if they considered the child to be Sam's as much as Frodo's in spite of the impossibility. It was easier for them to think of it that way. He remembered how fiercely Frodo had fought to keep his baby. He had also seen how stalwart Sam could be in Frodo's defense; the baby gave him someone else to love and defend with the same devotion.

Frodo turned to watch the trio petting and cooing over the baby, and smiled softly. "Isn't it funny what babies do to people? They change everything. You know, I never thought I would have children, even in the usual way," he confided to Gandalf. "I never expected to marry or to have a family, or do any of the things most hobbits take for granted as only natural. I thought I'd be like Uncle Bilbo--I wouldn't want them. But now that I've carried Drogo, and held him in my arms, I know he is mine." Then he turned to regard the wizard with curiosity. "You're coming with us to the Shire. Do you mean to watch over the baby and me?"

"For awhile," Gandalf answered, "until I am satisfied."

"How long will that be, Gandalf?" A small, worried frown creased Frodo's brow. "Not for the rest of Drogo's life?"

"I'm afraid I may not be around for as long as that, if Drogo lives out the expected years of an ordinary hobbit."

"But you're not satisfied that he's harmless? Why?"

"There are certain questions that remain unanswered. I cannot be content until I have answers." He asked, "Frodo, are you still having dreams about Mordor?"

Frodo shook his head. "No, not since the night Drogo was born." At the far end of the terrace, Sam had handed the baby over to Pippin. "Do you think they were important?"

"They may be. They have been on my mind since you first spoke of them to the council. I would have asked you before this, if more urgent matters had not diverted my attention. I'd like to hear about them. Will you tell me?"

"Yes, if you like," Frodo consented.

"Were they memories?" asked Gandalf.

"Some were, in part, but the true events were mixed up with all sorts of oddness. They were very disturbing to me at the time, but they seem so ridiculous to recall now. Most of them were about the Tower at Cirith Ungol--about orcs torturing and molesting me, implanting things inside my body."

"You said you also dreamt of Sauron's Eye upon you?"

"Once or twice. I dreamt I stood at the Crack of Doom. I was about to cast the Ring into the fire." Frodo spoke more reluctantly now. "His Eye turned to me. I was caught by his gaze, and couldn't look away. I could feel it..." He lay a hand on his bandaged abdomen, a gesture Gandalf did not miss. "And on the night of Drogo's birth, I dreamt-" He laughed suddenly. "It's too silly! Odd they may have been, but those dreams were meaningless." He turned to watch Pippin lifting the baby up and holding him at arms' length. The little swaddled legs dangled free. "They have nothing to do with Drogo, and he has nothing to do with Mordor."

"Are you quite certain of that?"

"Yes," Frodo responded without hesitation. "We must have been mistaken. I've given the question of my baby's origins some thought too, Gandalf. We've all said how remarkable it is that a baby could grow so quickly and be so healthy and hearty after only six months. What if he were conceived earlier?" he asked the wizard eagerly. "Not in Mordor, but somewhere else along our journey. Lothlorien? That's possible, isn't it?"

Gandalf regarded him in amazement. "You believe that the Elves had something to do with it?"

"Why can't it be so?" Frodo went on with the same eagerness. "Isn't such a thing within the Elves' power?"

"I suppose it is, but why would they do it?"

"I don't know. For some reason of their own. They want to take the child, don't they? Who can say what they really want it for? Is it any less likely that they would do this than Sauron would cast a dark spell that's done me no harm and given me a lovely child?"

Gandalf was considering how to reply to this incredible idea, when Pippin lifted the baby up again, high over his head, and an ear-splitting shriek put an end to the conversation.

Frodo struggled to rise from the bench. "What's wrong?" he called out anxiously. "What's happened to Drogo?"

"I don't know!" Sam answered, shouting over the piercing wail. "I only let Mr. Pippin play with `m a moment. Did you do anything to the baby?" he demanded as he retrieved Drogo.

"Nothing!" cried Pippin. "I was just dandling him, as I've done a dozen times, and he started in! I didn't mean any harm."

"Maybe he's afraid of heights," Merry offered. "You held him up so high, he could see over the wall. It's miles down."

Sam gave them both a scowl. As he held the baby closer to comfort it, Gandalf caught a glimpse of the tiny pink face over his shoulder; for an instant, it twisted, distorted, and became... something else.

The wizard stood horrified. None of the hobbits had seen it.

"I never heard him howl like this before!" Sam said as he carried the baby swiftly toward the house. "It can't be the heights. There must be a pin sticking in the poor mite." Frodo started to follow, but he was unsteady on his feet; Merry took his arm and, with Pippin abashedly trailing behind, they also went in. Gandalf remained alone on the terrace.

Even the most innocent infants could look like little demons in full red-faced howl, but not so demonic as what he had seen. Had it been a trick of the light? Imagination? Or were his worst fears for this child true?

Gandalf went into the house and up to Frodo's room. The hobbits were gathered around the cradle with worried expressions, even though the baby had stopped screaming.

"I don't know what set `m off like that," Sam said with some puzzlement. "There's not a pin out of place, and he doesn't need changing. Look at him--he's sweet and quiet as a little lambkin now, as if nothing was ever wrong."

"Maybe nothing was," said Pippin hopefully. "Babies are like that sometimes, you know. They'll yell their heads off for no reason."

Sam looked unconvinced, but since Drogo was sleeping peacefully, he couldn't argue. He gently tucked the baby in, then put Frodo to bed, saying he'd had more than enough excitement for his first day up. As the hobbits dispersed--Merry and Pippin to their own room and Sam to see if the nurse had returned from her home--Gandalf took a seat beside the cradle.

As the wizard watched the sleeping baby and waited for some change in that innocent little face, he turned the matter over in his mind. If his suspicions were correct, then the truth would tear at Frodo's heart. Perhaps it would have been more merciful to take the child from him at birth after all. Frodo would never have seen the baby, held it in his arms, given it a name, nor come to love it so dearly. He would have been sorrowful, and would never forgive those who had taken the child away, but he wouldn't know the greater sorrow that he might have to endure now. Gandalf's own heart ached at the thought of causing further pain to a well-beloved little creature--hadn't poor Frodo suffered enough already?--but if his suspicions were correct, then he must act soon. But how could he act, and cause such pain, unless he was perfectly sure?

"Gandalf?"

He turned to that find Frodo was not asleep, but lay on the bed with his head in the crook of one arm, watching him.

"You've been staring at that baby for an awfully long time," Frodo observed. "You look as if you're waiting for something to happen. You look troubled. Gandalf," he hesitated, summoning his courage to ask, "you do think something's wrong with Drogo, don't you?"

"I had hoped I would not be required to answer that question yet," Gandalf replied circumspectly. "I don't wish to frighten you, Frodo."

"I am already afraid, so you might as well tell me what you think." Frodo pushed himself up into a sitting position.

"And if I am wrong...?"

"If you're wrong, then we'll be relieved when we learn that it isn't so. And if you're right-" Frodo gulped hard, braced himself, and said, "If you're right, then I'd better know the worst now. Tell me, please?"

Thus appealed to, Gandalf left his place by the hearth and crossed the room to take a seat in the window box on the far side of the bed. He gazed solemnly into the hobbit's wide, fear-haunted eyes as he began, "What I am about to say will be hard for you to hear, Frodo. I truly hope that I am mistaken--not for your sake alone, but for all Middle-earth--but I fear I am not. From all you have told me, and after what I have seen today, there is only one answer I can find to explain how this baby came to be. It is of Sauron's making."

The color drained from Frodo's face. "Are you saying that Sauron is the father of my child?"

"No, Frodo," Gandalf explained, "I believe that the child is Sauron, reincarnate. He has taken this new form, to live again, through you."

"No!" Frodo thought he was prepared to hear the worst, but Gandalf's words sent cold shudders of horror through him. "That can't be true! Sauron was destroyed with the Ring. You told me so--you said that he had placed so much of his powers within it that he couldn't survive once it was gone."

"I did think it was so," said Gandalf, "but if I am right, then he must have survived the Ring's destruction, even though he was greatly diminished by its loss. He existed for so long as a force of will, and some essence of that must have remained. To escape oblivion, he sought refuge in the one place he could find: in you. You were the last thing his attention was focused upon before the Ring was destroyed." He paused, then asked, "You put the Ring on your finger in those last moments, didn't you, Frodo?"

Frodo could only nod in reply. He had not told Gandalf the full story of how his will had failed when he had to cast the Ring into the fire, but his injured hand revealed much of the tale without his having to say a word.

"And his Eye was upon you, just as you described in your dream?"

"Yes," Frodo answered hoarsely. "I felt his gaze."

"Was it a dream, Frodo, or a memory?"

"I- I don't know." Until now, he'd thought that that dream must be a wild fantasy like all the others--but what if that one had contained the seeds of truth? His memories of those final days in Mordor, especially the minutes on Mount Doom when he'd fallen entirely under the Ring's spell, were hazy. He'd been lost in darkness, blind to all but the Ring like a wheel of flame in his mind, and he couldn't say even now exactly what had happened to him there. That pulse that had struck him like a powerful blow at the moment of Sauron's destruction, he remembered clearly from his dream. Could it have been real? "No," he said. "How can you say that my Drogo is-!" He shuddered again. "Gandalf, no. I refuse to believe it. Even if Sauron survived, how could anything so hideous as that transform itself into a lovely little baby?"

"Sauron has taken fair form before this, to deceive," Gandalf told him. "You know your history: He first appeared to the Elves as the Lord of Gifts, and was pleasing and well-spoken when he taught them the craft by which the Rings of Power were forged. The Elves were not deceived by his fair appearance for long, but the race of Men were more easily taken in. In the days when he bewitched and seduced the last King of Numenor, Ar-Pharazon, and sent him to his doom by seeking to conquer the Undying Lands, Sauron was quite beautiful to look upon.

"When Numenor was cast into the sea, Sauron's physical body was also destroyed. He became formless, a dark spirit of malice borne upon the winds to Mordor, and when he was able to take shape again, it was only in monstrous and terrible forms. It was said that he had forever lost the ability to assume a comely appearance, but that was thousands of years ago. He may have regained the skill, now that he has need of it.

"If the child had been created by orcs, or Nazgul, or some other denizen of Mordor, it would have been born with the stamp of evil upon it for all to see. Sauron alone has ever held the ability to disguise what he is. If there is any dark power who could appear as an innocent baby, it is he.

"On the terrace, I caught a glimpse of his true face. I think it was the sight of Mordor, Sauron's home for eons, that caused him to slip and reveal himself. It was only for an instant--but it was that which has most confirmed what I have long suspected."

"No..." Frodo's heart rebelled against every horrible word Gandalf spoke. It couldn't be true! He wanted to clap his hands over his ears and scream to shut it out. But he had to listen. In spite of their recent differences, he trusted Gandalf enough to know that the wizard wouldn't lie to him. If Gandalf was saying these awful things about Drogo, it was because he had asked to hear them. And, as much as he wanted to deny it, he couldn't. The same thoughts had been lurking in the darkest corners of his mind all along, where he would not have to recognize them for what they were. They had emerged only in fragments, in his dreams.

Was it true? Frodo glanced at the cradle beside the hearth, and he suddenly felt the full horror of what his baby might actually be. When he considered what he might have carried in his body all those months, had fought so hard to keep, and nurtured so tenderly, he thought he would be sick. Fresh shudders overtook him. A low moan rose in his throat; he put one hand over his mouth, but could not suppress it. As the cry escaped him, Gandalf swiftly left the window seat and moved to the bed to sweep him up. The next thing Frodo knew, he was enfolded in the wizard's white cloak. He held on tightly, clinging to it in fistfuls, and hid his face against Gandalf's chest until the shuddering fits had passed.

"What would he want from me, Gandalf?" he asked in a small, trembling voice.

"Just what you've given him: a chance to grow, and to be protected until he has had time to regain his strength and focus his powers."

"And then-?" If they'd taken this baby home to the Shire, would he have grown there as an ordinary young hobbit until it was time for him to reveal himself? What did he plan to do then? Would he have destroyed or enslaved them all, and created a new stronghold--a new Mordor to begin again? The thought of it was too terrible to contemplate. "Is he after revenge, because of what I did to him?"

"If it comforts you, Frodo," Gandalf answered, "I don't believe Sauron ever saw you as a threat. You have no powers of your own to challenge him. If he was aware of you at all before that fateful moment at the Crack of Doom, it was merely as an instrument used by the Elves, and by me, to carry the Ring. Once you placed the Ring on your finger, you fell into his grasp, and so he used you himself, for his own purposes."

This was no comfort at all. Frodo had endured so many horrific things because of Sauron and his works; it seemed somehow more degrading that he was not even to be counted as an enemy! He had not been subjected to so much pain and misery and fear because he was hated by Sauron, but simply because he was there.

"I believe that if he has revenge in mind, it is toward more than you alone," Gandalf continued. "If he meant to punish you, he could have done so long before this. It was no kindness that you were unharmed by this pregnancy; if it had been too painful to endure or it endangered your life, you would have refused to bear the child, and he meant to be born. I wonder also if the birth happened when it did because you were trying to leave Minas Tirith, and he wants to stay here. His oldest foes are here: Elrond, and the bloodline of the Numenorean kings, of whom Aragorn is the last descendant. He might seek his revenge upon you eventually, but I would expect him to strike at them first, while he is near them. They will have to be warned."

Frodo nodded; it was necessary to bring them into it now. "They were right after all. Your council had every reason to be afraid," he said, growing too numb with shock to feel as disturbed as he knew he ought to be. "How you must blame me for fighting against them."

"No, Frodo," the wizard assured him. "You were only doing what anyone would to protect their child. You couldn't have known what you were protecting."

"What can we do, Gandalf? How will you know for certain if this is true? If it is, can you drive this evil away?"

"My powers are diminished, but so are his. I don't think he had intended to reveal himself so soon. Fortunately, he is still weak. This form is new to him, and the force of his will is diffused. If I can force him to reveal his true self again, I may be able to confront and defeat him unaided. But, Frodo, if I am to confront him, I must act immediately, before he has time to grow and regain his strength. The fight will only be harder the longer we delay."

"Yes," Frodo consented dully, still numb, "if it must be done. And what about the baby?" He lifted his head from the folds of Gandalf's cloak to look up into his face. "Is there a baby?"

Gandalf shook his head. "If I am wrong, then the child will not be harmed. If I am right, then it is no child at all."

Behind them, Sam shouted. He had come to the bedroom doorway and seen what they had not: A thick, black cloud of what appeared to be smoke was rising from the cradle, growing thicker and taking shape.

Gandalf leapt up and seized his staff, which he had left propped against the end of the mantelpiece when he'd come into the room. "Sam, take Frodo out of here!" he ordered as he advanced to meet that darkness taking shape. "Now!"

Sam had no idea what was happening, but he saw enough to realize that there was danger and he scrambled to obey. He climbed onto the bed and took Frodo's arm to try to draw him away to safety, but Frodo would not move. He sat frozen to the spot where Gandalf had left him and stared at the terrifying scene before him. He couldn't bear to watch, but he could not look away. All his nightmares were coming true.

There was something dark, an ebony creature with eyes like glowing red embers, clambering over the edge of the cradle. It was not quite formed--its limbs and body distorted like a shadow cast over an uneven surface--but solid and growing swiftly larger. Soon, it would be man-sized.

"It's got ahold of Drogo," Sam cried, and would have left Frodo to go to the baby, if Frodo had not held him back.

"No, don't!" He might lose his child today, and might lose Gandalf, but he did not intend to lose Sam as well.

"What?" Sam looked at him incredulously, shocked that Frodo would not want to rescue the baby as well.

"We mustn't." When Sam tried to pull away, Frodo clung to him all the harder, wrapping both arms around him to hold on as tightly as he could. "Don't, Sam! It's out of our hands."

As he stood over the thing in the cradle, Gandalf shouted some words that Frodo did not recognize. Then, in the common tongue, "Begone, foul fiend! Whatever powers you once had in this world are ended! Your time is done!" The wizard raised his staff; Frodo shrieked in spite of himself as Gandalf brought it down.

The end of the staff struck the dark shape and split it in two. There was a thunderous roar of hatred and rage that rang in the hobbits' ears, and the room was filled with smoke and a blinding burst of light as if the house were ablaze.

"Frodo, get down!" With a fierce effort, Sam yanked him from the bed. It was impossible to reach the door, so Sam threw himself to the floor, pulling Frodo down beside him. They huddled together with the corner of the bed providing meager cover as the outer wall of the room and part of the room directly above were blasted open. The thick, black smoke rose up and out through the gaping hole and spread like a cloud on the sky over the city.

*A dark spirit of malice borne upon the winds...* Frodo remembered Gandalf's words about the last time Sauron had been driven from his physical form. But, this time, the spirit was too weak to hold itself together. It did not drift toward Mordor, but was lifted on the breeze, rising higher into the air and dissipating until the last of it was gone.

Gandalf lay in a heap on the floor amid the rubble, his garments and long, white hair splayed around him. His staff lay near his hand, its carved head blackened and charred as if it had been held in a fire. The cradle had toppled over. Sam ran over to search frantically through the tangle of blankets, and found them empty.

"Where's Drogo?" he cried. "What's happened to the baby?"

"There isn't one," Frodo moaned softly. "There never was." But that did not lessen his grief. He had suffered so much because of Sauron. He'd thought that being ensnared by the Ring, falling under its spell, and then losing it, was the worst thing to happen to him--but this was ever harder to bear, for it cut into the depths of his heart. Could worse be done to him than this?

While Sam stood stunned and bewildered beside the fallen cradle, blankets still gripped in his hands, and Gandalf regained his feet, the other members of the household came to the doorway of the room and gaped at the disaster. Frodo curled where he lay, weeping for a child that had never really existed, and for all things that ordinary hobbits wanted that he thought he'd never want himself.

When Gandalf picked him up from the floor, Frodo sobbed in the wizard's arms. "Is it over, Gandalf? Is he finished with me at last?"

!~|end|~!

Gandalf leapt up and seized his staff, which he had left propped against the end of the mantlepiece when he'd come into the room. "Sam, take Frodo out of here!" he ordered as he advanced to meet that darkness taking shape. "Now!"

Sam had no idea what was happening, but he saw enough to realize that there was danger and he scrambled to obey. He climbed onto the bed and took Frodo's arm to try to draw him away to safety, but Frodo would not move. He sat frozen to the spot where Gandalf had left him and stared at the terrifying scene before him. He couldn't bear to watch, but he could not look away. All his nightmares were coming true.

There was something dark, an ebony creature with eyes like glowing red embers, clambering over the edge of the cradle. It was not quite formed--its limbs and body distorted like a shadow cast over an uneven surface--but solid and growing swiftly larger. Soon, it would be man-sized.

"It's got ahold of Drogo," Sam cried, and would have left Frodo to go to the baby, if Frodo had not held him back.

"No, don't!" He might lose his child today, and might lose Gandalf, but he did not intend to lose Sam as well.

"What?" Sam looked at him incredulously, shocked that Frodo would not want to rescue the baby as well.

"We mustn't." When Sam tried to pull away, Frodo clung to him all the harder, wrapping both arms around him to hold on as tightly as he could. "Don't, Sam! It's out of our hands."

As he stood over the thing in the cradle, Gandalf shouted some words that Frodo did not recognize. Then, in the common tongue, "Begone, foul fiend! Whatever powers you once had in this world are ended! Your time is done!" The wizard raised his staff; Frodo shrieked in spite of himself as Gandalf brought it down.

The end of the staff struck the dark shape and split it in two. There was a thunderous roar of hatred and rage that rang in the hobbits' ears, and the room was filled with smoke and a blinding burst of light as if the house were ablaze.

"Frodo, get down!" With a fierce effort, Sam yanked him from the bed. It was impossible to reach the door, so Sam threw himself to the floor, pulling Frodo down beside him. They huddled together with the corner of the bed providing meager cover as the outer wall of the room and part of the room directly above were blasted open. The thick, black smoke rose up and out through the gaping hole and spread like a cloud on the sky over the city.

*A dark spirit of malice borne upon the winds...* Frodo remembered Gandalf's words about the last time Sauron had been driven from his physical form. But, this time, the spirit was too weak to hold itself together. It did not drift toward Mordor, but was lifted on the breeze, rising higher into the air and dissipating until the last of it was gone.

Gandalf lay in a heap on the floor amid the rubble, his garments and long, white hair splayed around him. His staff lay near his hand, its carved head blackened and charred as if it had been held in a fire. The cradle had toppled over.

"Where's Drogo?" Sam cried, and ran over to search frantically through the tangle of blankets. "What's happened to the baby?"

"There isn't one," Frodo moaned softly. Tears filled his eyes, and he let his head fall to his arms to weep for a child that had never really existed... when, to his surprise, he heard a soft whimper, and the baby began to cry.

He lifted his head and watched with wonderment as Sam crouched beside the fallen cradle and picked up Drogo from the floor. "He's alive!" Sam announced in relief. "He's all right."

"He's still here! But how..?" Frodo turned to Gandalf as the wizard regained his feet and came to help him up. "Gandalf, how can it be?"

Gandalf had no explanation.

As the other members of the household came to the doorway of the room and gaped at the disaster, Frodo went over to join Sam, who was doing his best to soothe the crying baby. Drogo's face was reddened and bruised, his fair hair singed by the blast, but he was whole and otherwise uninjured.

Had there been two separate beings from the beginning: the infant body created, and the evil force that had inhabited it? Could the one have survived the banishment of the other? Frodo didn't know; he couldn't explain it either. He only knew that, somehow, he still had his child, and he would not let him go.

He took Drogo from Sam and held on to him tightly, laughing and sobbing at once. When Gandalf came closer to see the baby, Frodo looked up at the wizard and asked, "Is it over, Gandalf? Is it truly over at last?"

!~|end|~