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."
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