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?
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