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 are attuned to his every movement.

Every twitch, every drawn breath, every contented murmur, and every sweet exhalation.

His sweet smell rises from the top of his head and you kiss it gently, feeling the tickle of ebony curls against your lips. He nuzzles your breast with a sleepy sigh but it is habit, not need that stirs him. You cradle him in your arms, utterly content to have his warm living essence spooned so perfectly against your body. This happy peace in the darkness of your room is the most blissfully flawless union that two mortal beings can form. This soul is your life and your reason for being. He is everything you have ever wanted or dreamed of… as is his father, Frodo.

You sleep, but never deeply; always at least half aware when he stirs to feed or wrap incredibly tiny fingers around your own. In that dim half conscious world, you watch a tiny patch the moon's liquid silver light creep slowly across the floor of your room. Part of you is aware it is very late, but you can't seem to let go of the day. You should be exhausted, but your mind refuses to succumb, detailing every nuance and flavor of the hearth-warmed smial. Perhaps that part of you realizes this precious time with your new son is too fleeting to miss.

You become aware of another presence in the room. You would have been startled, but you know the easy pattern of the newcomer's breathing too. Frodo makes no sound at all as he crosses to your bed and you watch him through half closed lids as he kneels and gazes into his child's sleeping face. You smile. You cannot help it. It was worth every agonized scream you uttered to see such wonder, awe and love in his dear face. He touches the baby's softly rounded cheek and the little one roots against his finger. You see the quick flash of his teeth as he smiles in the dimness and you are compelled to reach up and stroke his face with the same loving caress. He kisses your palm. The heat and earnest love in that touch bring tears to your eyes.

You unfold your arms from the child and nod so that Frodo knows he is welcomed to hold his son. Even in the moonlit dark you can see the elation in his expression and your heart is again pierced to think that you had some part in bringing him this joy. He is careful with the baby, hardly waking him as he settles the bundled infant into his arms. His voice whispers soothingly to the child and you see the baby's eyes open to stare up into his father's.

There is no cry, no protest from the little one as Frodo carries him to the window. In the liquid silver light you can see your lord's elegant profile outlined against the pane. His bright eyes glitter as he drinks in the baby's features. He cannot help but see the mark that his own blood has put on this child - but this is a Baggins unmarred by pain or burden. Perhaps it is the fierceness of his gaze, but you know, somehow, that he will never let this child of his know even one day of loneliness or pain or regret. This child will be safe and protected with every ounce of his father's strength. This little one will never doubt how much he is loved.

Frodo's full mouth curves into an enraptured smile. His perfect aristocratic nose, rimmed in moonlight, is mirrored in slightly snubbed copy on the child he cradles so tenderly. The light frames them both but also seems to glow from within them. Or perhaps that is a trick of the light, or an illusion that can be blamed on your tears. In this happy, blessed moment you are humbled by your love for him. You thought it boundless before, but now this living bond between you has bridged any distance there might once have been. You are truly one, joined by this perfect little being your beloved holds in his arms.

Moonlight washes the baby's face and you can see his little eyes glittering as they focus on the visage above him. You see the tiny lips purse and the little forehead crease in deliberate attention. It is as if he is studying Frodo with the same intensity that his father studies him; as if the baby were saying 'Now, wait… I know this face!'. Frodo laughs and the power and feeling in his trembling voice sends a wave of joy coursing through you. You love him more fiercely in this rare precious moment than you ever thought it possible to love anyone. He bends to place a kiss on his son's moonlit head and you hear the words he struggles to whisper.

"Aiya, lissë hinya…."*
 

~*~

 

* (Hail, my sweet child)