A Father's Touch

(Or Frodo Baggins, La Leche League Representative)

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction, written solely love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and situations used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises. The author receives no money or other remuneration for presenting this work but the pleasure of enjoying the Professor's creations. This work is the intellectual property of the author and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.

 

You have never in your life felt so inadequate.

Nothing you can do is right. This little someone whose arrival you have waited and hoped for has turned your world upside down and proven to you without a doubt that you were never cut out for motherhood. You find nothing instinctive, as you had expected it to be, and even though you have known cousins and neighbors with babies, the full time reality of having one of your own is nothing like what you thought it would be.

You have no idea how you imagined you could do this.

And now, the latest travesty. Your child is screaming with hunger and you are aching to feed him but he will not take the breast you so diligently offer. Part of you is glad he won't because you are still sore. In your inexperience, you have been latching him incorrectly and even though you are now doing it right, the soreness has not had a chance to heal. But despite the pain, you also feel the deep-seated need to have him nurse. You are uncomfortable, full and heavy, and the feeling makes you agitated. Your body knows what it needs. It knows the only relief lies with feeding your son and will not let you rest contented until you have done so. It is a need so deep; a call so bound into the essence of your being that you cannot but answer it. It is the reason you have come to this quiet bench in the shady garden but your inability to answer that call is driving you to despair.

"Oh, please, little one, eat! You know you want to! You know you need to! Just calm down and eat!" Your tone betrays your frustration and your infant screams louder. He wants nothing to do with you and if you had had any other choice at that moment, you wouldn't have wanted much to do with him either.

"My, that's a racket!" says a softly cultured voice behind you. You almost jump, but Frodo's sweet tones have always been music to your ears. He approaches from behind and drops a sweet kiss on your flustered cheek. Your heart still skips a beat at the touch of his soft lips, no matter what circumstance he finds you in. He sits on the bench behind you and rests his chin on your shoulder, peering down at his red-faced, screaming son. He smiles and places a pillow he has carried on the bench next to you. "He is a healthy thing, I will give him that!" You feel the muscles of Frodo’s face against your cheek as his proud grin broadens and a measure of your tenseness eases. Somehow Frodo always seems to make things better, though you can't even imagine what help he could possibly be in this situation.

"Oh, Frodo!" you cry. "It's hopeless! He won't nurse and I know he will starve if he must depend on me for sustenance!" Your tears have been close to the surface all morning and now they spill forth like a flood. "I am useless at this! The others have done it so easily! They must be natural mothers, but surely you can see I am not! Your son deserves someone who can take care of him properly, feed him and protect him!” You look up at him, miserable, wishing there was something he could do to help, but realizing there couldn’t possibly be. “I can't do this!" you sob, your heart nearly breaking.

Frodo sits quietly, his chin resting on your shoulder throughout your tirade. Even your son has settled and gnaws discontentedly on the finger Frodo offers him. Your lord says nothing when you finish, but his smile never dims. His apparent lack of empathy is somewhat irritating. How dare he smile when you have given him such momentous information! Surely he realizes that this is a matter of life and death and that it is his son's survival that is at stake?

"Would you be surprised," he says calmly. "If I told you that each of the ladies has said the same exact thing to me?" His voice is warm with a tender care and compassion that assures you he really does know exactly how you feel. "It always happens at about the same time too," he chuckles. "About a week after birth. It must be something about hobbit lasses, I guess... You all birthed near the same time..." He tilts his head to catch your eye and winks. "Except for you who had to be late." You can’t help smiling timidly back at his gentle enjoiner. "And nearly all of you went through a patch of trouble caring for the little ones. With some it was the new-ness, the unfamiliarity with infants, with others, just the nursing, but even the first new moms eventually got past their troubles." He chuckles. “I can’t claim to have even overcome the shock of finding you were all expecting. You ladies are doing quite better than I.”

Frodo's warm body is pressed against your back supporting you and you can feel his sweet laughter as it echoes through his frame. You lean against him, wishing you could climb inside and wrap his comfort around you like a blanket. He has always been the answer to prayers unasked, but what help can he be in this? He turns and arranges himself so that his legs are on either side of you and you and his son are enveloped in a warm embrace. "You see," he says, settling you back against his chest. "I think it has been difficult here. We're not elves, and there are things that are uniquely hobbit that they cannot help with. Like raising hobbit babies." He again offers his finger to the fussing infant. Your child suckles on it frantically. "We've had to figure some things out on our own, and it has not been easy."

"I know," you whimper. "But there is a difference between not easy and impossible, Frodo! Your son won't nurse from me! Perhaps one of the others who have had less difficulty could take him. This child should not be made to suffer because his mother was a failure as a parent."

"Failure! Failure?" Frodo cants his head back to look into your unhappy face again. There is a merry twinkle sparkling in his eyes. "Your journey is just at the beginning. Judge yourself in 33 years and then tell me if you were a failure at being a parent."

"With me as his mother, he might not make it that far!"

"Nonsense!" chides Frodo. "Look at the miraculous things you have accomplished already?" You turn your head towards him, drawing in the sweet musk that surrounds him like a heady fog. Inches from your nose, his delicate, leaf-shaped ear peeks from a jumble of dark and errant curls. Love swells in your heart and your frustrations are momentarily forgotten. There is no room for them when the full measure of his love fills you.

"What miraculous thing have I done, save cross the sea to find you?" you ask with a dreamy sigh. "And had it not been for you, I could not have done that."

Frodo sits back so that he can give you the full measure and focus of his luminous blue eyes. The look on his face is one of pained incredulity.

"Surely, you know what an incredibly miraculous thing you have done?" he asks, breathless with awe. "You have given me a son! You have given me hope, a future beyond this life, a treasure beyond anything I dared to dream of!" He shakes his head in disbelief, astonished that you could not know this. His arms tighten possessively around you and he stares into the distance as if deep in thought. "It was enough," he says softly. "When the quest was over, for me to return home to the Shire. I was satisfied with the simple reward of being able to go home to the peace I had once known." His lips form a tight line, and you know he is remembering the state of his homeland upon his return. "But even when that comfort was denied me, I was content to help rebuild the Shire, to bring it back to what it once was. It was enough for me to have the people I loved close to me and to watch them grow and prosper." He looks down at your son who is becoming increasingly unsatisfied with his father's non-productive finger. "But even when I realized that I would not be able to remain, would not be able to see more than a hint of the bounty that was to fill my home, I was satisfied that my friends would go on, would have peace and joy even if I were not there to share it with them." He smiled then, so sadly that it was fit to break your heart. "I came into the West with no more than the hope I might be healed and the comfort of having Bilbo as a companion as long as we both lived."

Tears, but ones born of love and heartache rather than selfish frustration, fill your eyes and your heart swells in your chest. You feel very humbled in the arms of this hobbit to whom the world has dealt a far crueler blow than anything you have experienced.

"I never expected anything when I came West, but I got so much more than I ever dreamed." His arms tighten about you again. The tone of his voice has changed and you hear in it his fierce joy, his astonishment and his boundless gratitude. "I found healing for my body and my heart, and was glad of it, I saw Bilbo return to vigor, and was overjoyed. I was humbled by the companionship of ladies who left all they knew to be by my side, and was astonished to find I could know love for them all." His body is trembling against yours and you sob to feel it. Your infant has even shushed to hear his father's heart-felt words.

"And just when I thought my joy more complete than any hobbit ever had the right to expect, I was given a gift the like of which I never expected to receive." You do not have to even look to know Frodo's eyes are shining with rapture at the tiny, fretting bundle in your arms. The sob you have held breaks forth and you bury your face into his elegant neck.

"...Forgive me," you plead. "I...I am ashamed of myself. I...I...failed to remember what you endured. You would never have talked of giving up so soon…" Your throat is too tight to continue but he shakes his head and draws you tighter.

"Nonsense..." he whispers and suddenly you know he understands exactly what you feel. "Your only failing was in thinking that this was solely your trial and your duty." He grins. "I was prideful too once."

In the light of his smile and the understanding of his words, your stubborn frustration thaws. A settled calm fills your heart and in the warmth of his love you find contentment. A relieved laugh bubbles up amid your tears and he hugs you close. "We all need help now and again," he murmurs. "True wisdom is in knowing when to ask for it."

With that he cradles your son's head and tucks the pillow he has brought under your arm. The child roots against you hungrily and with no trace of his earlier resistance, takes the offered breast. He suckles with greedy gusto and soon your milk begins to flow. You sigh, relieved, and relax against Frodo’s chest, glorying in the feel of his warm body against yours. Frodo is enraptured watching his son's enthusiastic efforts. There is a joy and wonder in his bright eyes that touches your heart and sings of his deep and abiding love. You can almost feel his sweet blessing filling the little hollow.

The baby grunts, a soft contented sound. His eyes close and his body relaxes as he settles in to the business of feeding. Your body, meeting the same call a thousand generations before you have answered, responds to his need and a feeling of acute relief flows through you. This act seems so simple now that you wonder what made it seem so impossible earlier.

And in that moment on that shady bench with Frodo spooned behind you, you come to a realization that shocks and humbles you even more than did his earlier testament. It is something that fills you with his strength and a feeling of power more profound than anything you have ever felt before. His loving arms tell it, as does his protective chin that has your shoulder tucked possessively under it. He never doubted you could do this. Not even for a moment. His trust and faith in you fills your heart and gives you strength. He knows you will protect and serve this little part of you both with fierce perseverance for as long as you live. In that moment you know you can do this thing and much, much more. He believes in you and loves you utterly, and that is enough to make anything possible.

The end