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Seven thousand years was a long time to wait for the woman his father had intended for him to marry, and he alone knew what his father didn’t get to hear - she had made her troth with someone else. Legolas didn’t love her, but the slight was keenly felt. There was no other maiden that could take her place at his side as Queen of Mirkwood. She had been conceived and given birth in order to marry Legolas, son and heir of Thranduil. But she, unknowingly, had fallen for another.

Legolas sighed, bereft of a soul with which to share his emptiness, he beseeched Valar for an answer. Without an heir, his father’s House and reign over Mirkwood would end. He was the last. He didn’t want to be the last. There would never be a chance to even meet Arwen, his intended, how could he now? And his heart would never find a soul to love, wherever his endless days took him.

Falling into slumber, Valar kissed the elf-prince with his answer. A rare gift to elves, and never before seen in the world of men. Upon wakening, Legolas could feel its voice in the quiet of his mind, he could hear its faint heartbeat thrumming within the cocoon of his body, and for the first time in his life he was truly afraid. What had he done?

It was more than month before he could pluck up the courage to speak with his father about what had happened, about what was going to happen a few months from now. His father would tell him what to do. His father was wise and knowledgeable about these things. He approached his father, a brooding, silent silhouette against the darkening evening sky.

“Father, I must speak with you,” he soft voice carried across the hallway.

Thranduil turned, but did not smile as he usually did on seeing his beloved son. “Ah, Legolas, my son. I sent word for you to come here. It seems you reached me before the messenger reached you.”

“You sent for me?” Legolas started, wondering if the knowledge of his secret had preceded him. Elves could feel each other’s state of mind and it was possible the king already knew.

“Lord Elrond of Rivendell has need of your skills. Come, there is no time to delay.”

Legolas went cold all over. “Skills? Mine? Now? But father, I cannot . . .”

“Legolas,” Thranduil spoke softly. “Each of us fears something, each fear is different, but you must put aside that fear. We have a debt that must be repaid,” he told him.

Legolas let his gaze drop. The debt was well known. Elrond had not forgotten lightly what his kin of Mirkwood had done to his friends the dwarves, although no ill feeling remained, the debt did. “Yes, I know father, but that is not what I fear. I am . . .”

“There is no time, my son.”

Legolas gazed into the deep blue eyes of his father, now full of tears. The emotions from him creased his own brow with sorrow. “You know . . .”

“That Arwen pledged her troth to another? Yes, I know. It means you are the last of the Woodland Realm. You understand that there is no other I can send.”

“But, father,” Legolas’ voice beseeched him, but his voice came as little more than a whisper.

Thranduil rested a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Make the last days of my House worth setting to song, my son, my only born. Whether Valar returns you to me or sends you into death, make it a worthy life.”

“Yes father,” Legolas whispered, beyond despair, beyond tears.

“Do not return here, for we walk to the Grey Havens in the morning. The House of Greenleaf, of Mirkwood will be no more.”

Legolas panted, trying to tell his father what he had come to tell him, that he would not be the last of elves of Mirkwood, but the words refused to form. His father and all the elves were leaving. He would be alone, and unable to ask what he should do. Now he had to ride to Rivendell, to untold dangers and hope he lived to work through his fears of the unknown.

“I will do as you ask, father,” he told him. “And when I am done, you shall hear those songs sung across Middle Earth, from the halls of Valinor itself.”

Thranduil smiled through his watery eyes. “Till then, my son,” he said. “The blessings of elves go with you. Leave at once. I could not bare to watch you leave, understand me. My heart breaks enough.”

Legolas swallowed. “Mine also,” he whispered. Hugging his father for the last time, he turned and almost fled from the hall.

He was to meet with Arwen after all, he thought silently. He wondered if her father, Lord Elrond had told her who she was supposed to marry. He wondered if she or her father would mention it. He vowed not to. She was free to choose and had chosen another, though who this elf was he did not know. It mattered not.

The ride to Rivendell was uneventful. He did not dare look back, the sweet singing of those who walked came keenly to his elven ears, as did the answering tears that stung his eyes. No, he willed himself. I must not break now. I have a duty to my people, my father, and my unborn.

His arrival at Rivendell was calm and serene, if clouded with doubt. There were dwarves to contend with, some of them eyeing him with less than a friendly air. He recognised some of them, even if their hair was whiter now than it had been sixty years before. Doubtless they recognised him. And doubtless they would have beaten him to a pulp had he not been guarded by four servants and been within the walls of the Lord Elrond’s palace.

His eyes widened no small amount when the youngest of their number charged at him, axe readied. His arms went across his belly to protect the precious gift within, very unselfish, and very stupid of him. As it was, a quicker hand grasped the axe arm before it could fall.

He looked up at a face he had not seen in some time. “Aragorn,” he gasped.

“Master Dwarf,” Aragorn spoke in warning tones. “That would be unwise.”

The dwarf lowered his axe and glowered at the elf beyond Aragorn’s shoulder. “Only because he had a ranger for a bodyguard,” he growled and walked away.

Aragorn sighed and turned to his old friend. He clasped his shoulder. “Legolas, my old friend . . .are you alright?”

Legolas straightened his tunic. “Yes, friend-Aragorn. Thank you. I was taken by surprise. I had not expected such a show of aggression here within Imladris.” He clasped Aragorn’s shoulder and smiled gently.

“See that you do not loose your guard again. We will be needing your skills honed and your wits sharp and readied for the perils to come.”

Legolas nodded. “It will not happen again.”

Aragorn smiled. “Come, I have someone here who is dying to meet you.”

“Dying?” Legolas said in alarm.

“Well, not literally,” Aragorn grinned. “But she is very eager.”

Legolas followed and his eyes met those of the Elrond’s daughter. “Lady Arwen,” he breathed. She smiled at him in return.

“No hard feelings?” she said softly in elvish.

“Never,” he replied in kind, forgetting that beside them stood a man equally versed in Quenya. The frown that brushed across Aragorn’s face went unnoticed. “If it is a good man that has captured your heart, then it is his heart that should keep you,” Legolas told her.

Arwen’s eyes shifted to Aragorn’s and returned to her intended. “He is a good man, one of worth and strength,” she replied.

Legolas did not ask his name, it was not his place. It was not until many weeks had passed that he discovered the name of her heart’s choice. The orc lay dead on the cliff top, the elven symbol of betrothal baring the name of Undómiel torn from his throat and held in his murderer’s grasp. Having kept the pendant safe against his heart for almost two days he was glad to return it to its rightful wearer.

The counsel of Elrond went well, all things considered. That he had a glaring dwarf burning eye prints into his back was a small price to pay for carrying the torch of his father’s House into battle for Middle Earth. No dwarf could take that pride from him. He would do everything he could to protect the Fellowship, including the dwarf, and return some measure of honour to the last days of the Woodland Realm.

It was no small feat. Their journey was quiet and uneventful for many nights, even with the pass of Caradhras rendered inaccessible. Legolas sighed. He refused to admit that he was tired, which was a strange sensation, one he was unaccustomed to. But, upon their first night in Moria he fell asleep, much to the surprise of Gandalf.

Gandalf shook him awake in the quite unending dark.

“Is something wrong?” he asked quietly.

“You fell asleep,” the wizard noted softly, pulling on his pipe in contemplation.

“I am sorry,” Legolas replied. “I must have dozed off . . .”

“You did more than doze, young prince,” Gandalf noted with much amusement. “You fell asleep four hours ago. I left you to it, since you were much in need of it, it seemed.”

“Four hours?” Legolas gasped. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, realising suddenly that they had been closed. “It is not customary for elves to sleep, much less with eyes closed. Something is wrong.”

“No, I shouldn’t think so,” Gandalf assured him, watching him with an intense gaze.

Legolas gazed back at him. “Then why did I fall asleep? Why am I feeling so tired?”

“That is to be expected, you know.”

Legolas’ eyes widened. “I do not understand.”

“Evidently, there was no time to tell your father before you had to leave in such a hurry,” Gandalf noted cryptically. “That is a shame.”

Legolas slowed his breathing. “You know?”

Gandalf nodded. “It was not a desire expressed lightly, I presume?”

Legolas gasped. “You know about that as well?”

“There is nothing that escapes me,” the wizard told him, as if the elf should have known that already.

Legolas swallowed. “Then why did you not stop my inclusion in the Fellowship?”

“Why would I do that?” Gandalf posed carefully. “Your skills are desperately needed. But beyond that, you are the last of your House, the only one whose skills were honed for this one journey. Your plea to Valar notwithstanding, your life has another purpose. It is not Aragorn alone who has a task he was born to fulfil.”

In the darkness the others slept on, all except one, whose elven line picked up the whispered conversation. His blue eyes did not need to open to see the two sitting together. He lay, unmoving and simply listened.

Legolas frowned a little. “I thought my task was to unite the My House with that of Lord Elrond’s, but that was thwarted by the troth between Lady Arwen and another.”

“You have the vow you set between your father and you, to hold aloft the banner of Mirkwood. You also must allow the House of Thranduil to continue.”

“I face death at every turn. There is little hope of seeing peaceful times. What hope do I have of seeing my son take his first breath.”

The listener’s eyes opened at that, but he made no sound.

“There is always hope,” Gandalf replied. “As long as the Ring is safe in Frodo’s care, we must hold to that hope.”

Legolas tried to nod his agreement, but it didn’t happen. “I do not know what I am doing,” Legolas admitted.

“Neither do any that embark upon this journey,” Gandalf was not referring to the journey to Mordor and Legolas knew it. “When you reach Lothlórien, the Lady Galadriel will be better versed in this than I,” he told him. He smiled then, and gave the elf’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.

Legolas allowed a smile to form. His hand moved to the gentle swell of his body, wondering how long he could keep his secret. “You will not tell the others,” he said.

Gandalf looked at him in surprise, hanging half risen from his stone perch. “Why would I do that?” he ventured. “It is not my place, but yours, but I should tell you, that it will not remain hidden for very long. I assume you know this?”

“I know nothing of such things,” Legolas replied, unaware that now two pairs of ears were listening in. Unlike Aragorn’s, the dwarf eyes opened upon waking, but he remained motionless.

“Has your mother not told you anything?”

“My mother was killed sixty years ago.”

“Ah,” Gandalf voiced softly. “Then it seems I do miss some things after all. An orc raid?”

“No,” Legolas replied, the sadness in his voice evidence of his deep loss. “She and her party were singing at the feast of Autumn Solstice in the forest when they were interrupted by a group of dwarves. She was injured in the confusion that followed. She never recovered.”

Gandalf stiffened and turned to where Gimli now bounded to his feet. “Your father . . .”

“No, Gandalf, it was an accident,” Legolas cried out, bringing the others to full wakefulness. Legolas held his arm, as if he could hope to hold back the wrath of a wizard. Gandalf trembled, but remained still. “While I distrust dwarves I hold no anger towards Gimli. I hold no one to blame!”

Gimli sneered. “But you never thought to ask me what I thought of this?”

There was not a sound for several seconds as the elf and dwarf stared at each other. Breaths were held, eyes darting from one to another of the three that stood in their midst. Suddenly Gimli threw down his axe. “I was never told this,” he growled. “No one told me an elf had died.”

“There was no reason for me to tell you,” Legolas replied softly. “Why drag you into it? It was an accident. Your father and his kin were lost in the forest, and we were afraid. It is in the past.”

Gimli gazed at him for a long time. “But it isn’t,” he replied. “You lost your mother at an age when you still needed her care. Your loss vexes you even now, as keenly as my own. I lost my mother to orcs at the age of three, that’s twice as long ago as your loss.” He drew and tossed his remaining axes at Legolas’ feet. “For what it’s worth,” he said quietly. “My axe is yours. I owe you a debt. If the power that made us allow it, I shall live long enough to repay it . . .in part, at least.”

Legolas looked down at the axes at his feet and felt the first tear slip from his eye. The truce had been gifted. He lifted his gaze, releasing another tear. Gently lifting one of the deceptively heavy blades he held it out to the dwarf. “Agreed,” he whispered huskily, his voice less than steady.

Gimli took the axe and sat down again, in deep thought.

“It is time to move on,” Gandalf decided. “Time for reflection can wait.” He looked down at the upturned eyes of the dwarf and smiled gently.

“Legolas, get them up,” Aragorn called.

He knew he had to, but the desire to go on had gone. Despair, for only the third time in his lengthy life threatened to consume him. His eyes were bright with the pain of loss, the emptiness alone keeping the tears at bay.

It was a long way to Lothlórien, even at the fast pace Aragorn set. Once or twice Legolas was forced to pause for breath, feeling heavier than he had been before their entry in Moria. Although he looked no different, he felt different. He kept up and was glad to be in Lothlórien, despite the less than stellar welcome from the Galadhrim.

Haldir eyed him most strangely, and with less than due manners considering his title and stations, being much higher than the lowly captain of the guard. “You can go no further.”

Aragorn argued for longer than seemed necessary to secure their passage to the Lady of the Woods. Legolas had never seen her, in fact it was him they were arguing about. Haldir believed it was Legolas’ fault for leading them there. Aragorn told him not to be so ridiculous.

The prince could not help the chuckle that forced its way to the surface. No one noticed. The argument changed to an accusation that perhaps Aragorn had shown the outsiders the way into their realm. Haldir grew in contempt, blurting out the true reason for their detention; the Ring. Legolas peered over his shoulder at the hobbits, looking scared, one in particular looking very guilty. He could not blame him, it was his task to do. Legolas could feel the Ring’s presence, but was not affected by its deceit.

Gimli huffed under his breath and finally could keep his peace no longer. “Why don’t we just go back to Moria? We are sure of a kinder welcome there than here!”

Haldir glared at him, but the look soon fell away. “You cannot go back,” he replied. “The Lady Galadriel is waiting for you.”

Finally, without an explanation, Haldir’s attitude changed to one of friendly host, as if the previous night had never happened. In the city, Legolas could find no rest. He listened with deep sadness to the lament for Gandalf, unable to sing with them, his pain too great. The only other soul that knew his burden and with whom he could find an ear and the strength to carry on was gone.

Aragorn, too, was lost without Gandalf. His anger and frustration driving sleep from his mind for many hours. Legolas took a walk, preferring to be alone for a while. Aragorn found him in the early dawn, sitting cross legged in the bole of one huge tree, in tears.

Aragorn saw him look away, embarrassed that he should be found in such a state. He shook his head, gripping his shoulder in his hand. “Do not be ashamed of these tears, my friend. I, too, have shed them.”

Legolas bowed his head. “I am not ashamed,” he returned. “It is simply that once they began the tears would not stop.”

Aragorn regarded him for a moment before smiling gently. “That will be your hormones,” he noted gently. The elf looked up at him uncomprehending. “I know that elves have them, Legolas,” he told him. “It should have been expected.”

“I do not understand.”

“You are with child, your hormones do strange things to you.”

Legolas stared up at him, wide eyed. “Who told you?”

“I heard you and Gandalf speaking that night deep in Moria.”

Legolas slumped into his seat, head bowed. “I was not aware that you were awake. How much did you hear?”

“The first thing I heard with clarity is you asking Gandalf why he allowed you to come along, knowing that you carried a child.”

Legolas sighed.

“I also know that Arwen was supposed to marry you,” he added. “May I ask . . .since Arwen was the only princess, was this child . . .the answer to your plea?”

“It was not the answer I was expecting,” Legolas admitted wryly.

“When is your time?” Aragorn asked.

“I do not know,” Legolas replied.

Aragorn stared at him. “You do not know . . .?” He sighed. “You did not seek an oracle’s touch?” Then he sighed. “You did not tell Lord Elrond, did you?”

“I have an oath to fulfil. If I had told him, he would have refused to send me.”

“No,” Aragorn shook his head. “Lord Elrond would have allowed your inclusion. He would have had you honour your oath, but he would also have told you all you needed to know.”

Legolas considered this. “Are you not a healer?”

“I have some the skills handed down to me from my fathers, memory of the healing powers of Elendil, yes,” he agreed.

“Can you not tell me what I need to know?”

Aragorn hesitated. It was the first time anyone had asked him to perform so intimate a task as an oracle’s touch. With a gentle release of his breath, he knelt down on the ground beside him. “Undo your tunic and let me see.”

Legolas unbuttoned the form-fitting tunic and opened his shirt in a like manner before opening the top two buttons of his leggings to expose the gentle swell of his belly. Aragorn hesitantly reached out to lay a hand on him, closing eyes and concentrating. In his minds eyes he pictured the unseen babe, heard the faint beat of its heart.

He opened his eyes and lifted his hand from the warm skin of his friend. “You have quite a way to go yet, my friend, although my skills are not up to the task of an accurate measurement. Galadriel would serve you better.”

Legolas nodded. “I am frightened,” he revealed. “It is not easy for me to admit it.”

Aragorn clasped his shoulder. “I know. But, you are not alone,” he told him. “There is a reason we are a Fellowship. We are in this together.”

Legolas gazed at him for a long moment. “You mean, tell the others? I am not sure I am ready.”

“Ready or not, the others will notice by the time we reach Emyn Muil.”

Legolas looked down at himself, for the first time noticing how large, to his eyes, he had become. He gently placed a hand over the tiny bump and smiled slightly. “I never dared believe it was more than a dream, but it is real. There is a child in there.”

“For now, you look as though you have eaten a big meal, nothing more,” Aragorn assured him.

Legolas looked at himself, smoothing the once flat belly with the palm of his hand. “Still, it all seems surreal. I have heard its heart beating, but I have yet to feel it move.”

Aragorn smiled grimly. “Promise me, that you will seek Galadriel’s advice.”

“I promise.”

Aragorn rose and left him alone. Legolas gazed at the small swell of his body in wonder. His fears still much in evidence nagging at his mind, but he was at peace. He took in a deep breath, and inclined his head a little. Someone was coming, he could tell by the footfalls who it was. There was no time to right his clothing before he looked up to see Gimli.

The dwarf had turned in surprise, not knowing he had been sitting there. Now his eyes widened in even greater surprise. “Am I correct in assuming that was not a big breakfast you ate this morning?”

“You are correct,” Legolas replied. There was no time to formulate a lie, even if he had wanted to utter one. “I am with child.”

The axe in the dwarf’s hand dropped as his fingers lost all motor control. “I . . .I . . .I see.” Gimli took a seat on one of the enormous tree’s supporting roots and cleared his throat. “And here I was thinking that it was only dwarves you couldn’t tell the difference between.”

“I am considered a rarity among elves; being androgynous, neither male nor female, but both.”

Gimli opened his mouth to speak, rejected whatever the thought was and opened his mouth to say something else. After the forth such attempt, he said, “Well, the female half of you works.”

Legolas smiled, unsure how to answer. He secured the buttons once more and sat very still taking in the sights, sounds and smells of the city.

“You’re scared, prince-ling.”

The elf looked up to find dwarf eyes looking right at him. He swallowed and turned away.

Gimli rested a hand on his shoulder and smiled. “There is nothing to be ashamed of. Fear keeps your wits about ye. There is a saying among dwarves, ‘there are three things you should never run out of; food, water and fear’.”

“Even gold?” Legolas wondered.

Gimli dismissed the suggestion with a wave of a hand. “Most dwarves, if truthful, don’t put much value on gold. They mostly prefer to boast that they have a lot of it, whether they have or not. My uncle Thorin had more than he could spend in six lifetimes, but in the end gold, silver, gems . . .they are all worthless when you’re surrounded by a host of enemies. No, whilst I marvel at the beauty of such caves that carry a good seam or two, I’d much rather sit and look at it than dig it out until it’s all gone and lost forever. Ochh, where’s the fun in that?” he added almost to himself. “Fear is a better thing to have, it keeps you aware of danger, aware of your limits, and keeps you alive when there’s naught else to do, but run.”

Legolas gazed up at him in a new light. “I am sorry your kin were imprisoned,” he said softly.

“I’m more sorry for the loss of your mother,” Gimli replied. “Ooh, I wish Gandalf had struck me that morning,” he groaned. “At least it would have been a bump on the head to boast about for long while, but to lose him like that . . .”

Legolas covered the dwarf’s hand with his. “We are all feeling bad, friend-Gimli. I wish he was still here. I need him now more than ever. But Frodo is the one who would need him more.”

“You haven’t spoken to anyone, have you?” Gimli realised.

“Gandalf knew, and Aragorn knows.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Gimli said.

“I have had no one to speak to . . .that is why I am frightened.”

Gimli leaned closer, his hand rubbing the young elf’s back with surprising tenderness. Legolas looked up to meet a gentle smile, before enveloping the dwarf in his arms. Gimli drew him into his chest, and sighed. “Hugs are something else not to run out of,” he noted quietly. “But, I fear it will not be enough.”

“It is enough,” Legolas told him.

Gimli lifted his head to see a figure in a white dress approaching. He gently pulled away and bowed his head in respect. Legolas looked up and rose to his feet and dropped to one knee in one fluid motion, bowing his head.

“Legolas, son of Thranduil,” Galadriel addressed him in his mind. “Come.”

Legolas glanced at Gimli and followed the already retreating figure of the Lady of the Woods.

Legolas had fallen asleep in the hollow beneath the tree. Boromir eyed him with confusion, the hobbits sat nearby also confused.

“I didn’t think elves needed to sleep,” Merry whispered.

“He looks peaceful. Do we really need to wake him?” Pippin asked.

“I think we aught to,” Boromir decided and made to stand, reaching out a gloved hand to shake the elf’s shoulder. An axe flat against his shoulder made him freeze. As gentle as it was, there was a warning in the move.

“I don’t believe you want to do that,” Gimli told him gently. “The prince needs his sleep as much as the next man.”

“Elves don’t need to sleep,” Boromir said.

“You have rested,” Gimli noted gently. “Now, leave him be.” Gimli stood between them, resting his chin on his hands that held the butt of his axe.

Boromir raised his hands, in a gesture that meant he was not going to start a fight. “Even so, you also have to agree, Gimli, that our elf-friend is not as spry as he was at the beginning of our journey. I for one, believe we have the right to know, if he is ill he jeopardises everything we are trying to achieve.”

“Elves do not fall ill,” Frodo spoke, returning from his meeting with Galadriel, Sam at his side. He frowned on seeing Legolas asleep. “What has befallen him, Gimli?”

“Everything is fine,” Gimli replied in mock grumpiness, although Frodo could see the telltale signs of a smile beneath the excessiveness of his beard.

“Everything’s fine?” Sam asked. “It’s not if an elf is asleep. And with his eyes closed, t . . .”

“Sam,” Frodo interrupted. “Gimli wouldn’t lie.”

“Perhaps not, but there is something he is not telling us,” Boromir put in. “It has been obvious for a while that Legolas has been below par.”

“Has he ever missed a shot?” a voice inquired. Heads whirled to see Aragorn approaching. “Has he failed you in some way? Has Legolas given you reason to doubt him?”

“No,” Boromir replied. “But he has been tired, often restless, distracted even. If there is something wrong then we should all share the burden. Isn’t that why we have this fellowship between us?”

“That is not the reason you asked, and you know it,” Aragorn replied, his voice taking on a hard edge. “Why this distrust all of a sudden? Why towards Legolas, who does not deserve your anger? Me, I can understand it. I am the man who is destined to wrest your inheritance from your grasp, but Legolas has done you no wrong.”

Boromir fell silent, lowering his eyes.

Aragorn settled down beside Gimli and turned his head to gaze at the sleeping elf. He had to agree, this was unprecedented, but he wasn’t about to reveal anything to a man too riled to listen.

A minute or two later and Legolas shifted in sleep and opened his eyes. For the third time that day, the first thing he saw was blue eyes. This time they were not Gimli’s or Aragorn’s, but Boromir’s. He sat up, wondering why everyone was looking at him strangely, and then realised that his falling asleep had caused something of a stir.

“Feeling better?” Gimli asked.

“Yes, thank you,” he replied. “I was very tired after speaking with Lady Galadriel.” He stood up and collected his quiver. He looked around. “Has anyone seen my bow?”

The boat trip down river was relaxing after the long days of walking from Rivendell. Legolas, baring a new, better bow, began to enjoy the time with Gimli. The dwarf’s gruffness had peeled away to reveal a tender, protective side, which Legolas found amusing and Boromir found baffling.

Boromir became more withdrawn as the days passed, and Legolas became more concerned. Some days his frustrations were aimed at Aragorn, and always about the ring, on other days it was Legolas’ tiredness or some imagined tardiness.

Legolas kept pace with the other boats, he took his turn at watch when the others fell asleep and was there when they woke with the dawn. Only Aragorn and Gimli knew that Legolas slept for a few hours in between. Until they reached the Rorus Falls, they were unaware that anything was different about this elf than any other elf they had ever met.

Legolas knelt at the water’s edge to fill his water pouch, knees splayed to accommodate his growing bump. Not the usual pose for an elf. Pulling himself to his feet with help from the side of the boat, he heard a soft voice in his ear.

“Should have asked,” Gimli said under his breath.

Legolas turned and saw why. The rest of the fellowship were staring at him. Silently he approached them, noting the question in their gazes. Aragorn spread his arms wide, from where he stood behind the gathered onlookers. Busted.

“Do my eyes deceiving me, or have you put on weight?” Boromir asked quietly.

“No, your eyes do not deceive you,” Legolas replied.

“What manner of sorcery is this?” he asked.

Legolas was at once confused and alarmed, and then affronted. He dodged with lightening speed the swish of an axe that was not aimed for him, and stood back as Boromir, armed with a knife, was knocked to the ground with the flat of the dwarf’s blade. Gimli roared his anger.

“No one touches the elf!”

Aragorn, kneeling on the man’s arm, tore the blade from his grasp and punched him in the face. Boromir grunted and blinked, shaking his head free of the fog, which had swiftly descended.

“Do not force me to repeat this moment,” Aragorn warned him. He got up and took a step away from him and watched him get to his feet. “Legolas, tell them. Tell them what you should have told them weeks ago. It is too noticeable to keep secret any more.”

Heads turned to Legolas, who stood beside the boat, looking less than the slim elf they had met at Rivendell. For a long moment, he said nothing, but curled a gentle hand on his now larger stomach. “I am with child,” he said. “My son will arrive five months from now.”

“You are a woman?” Boromir blinked stupidly.

“Not entirely; androgynous,” Gimli replied helpfully. “That makes Legolas very special and us very lucky.”

“Lucky?” Boromir laughed. “This has got to be a joke. What did you stuff beneath your clothing to look like that?”

Gimli glowered. “Don’t listen to him, lad. He’s just jealous, because he can’t get it up . . .” A hand to Gimli’s shoulder made him lower his axe and stop the insult.

Legolas smiled. “Friend-Gimli, that will not be necessary. Boromir, it is true that I am androgynous, both male and female. I will show you that it is nothing, but the truth.” He slowly unbuttoned his tunic from top to bottom, and then his shirt to reveal creamy skin and a now large belly protruding several inches from his normally compact form.

Pippin seemed fascinated and braver than the other hobbits, coming right up to the swollen form and touch it. “It’s warm,” he said in awe. “Oh! It’s moving!” He stumbled back a few paces and half screamed, half laughed. “There’s something in there, Merry, and it moved.”

Merry came up behind him and calmed him down with a hand on each elbow. “It moved,” he scoffed. “Next, you’ll be saying there’s Oliphaunts in Gondor.” He stepped up to Legolas and gazed at him strangely. “Does it really move?”

Legolas smiled softly. “Come, see for your self,” he invited. Moments later four small hands were set side by side feeling tiny movements from within Legolas’ abdomen.

“Wow, Mr Gimli,” Sam blurted out. “You and Mr Legolas must have ‘ad a funner time in Galadriel’s city than we thought.”

Legolas turned an interesting shade of rose and Gimli choked on his water. Aragorn chuckled quietly to himself all morning.

The final two-hour trip down river brought them within sight of the top of the falls.

“We will rest here and cross the lake at nightfall,” Aragorn decided.

Cooking a light meal, most of the group rested after eating.

“What are you going to call it?” Pippin asked.

“I am uncertain,” Legolas replied. “It is tradition to give birth near a river and name the first born after that river. I was born near the River of Legolin in Ossiriand.”

“I’ve never heard of Ossiriand,” Sam noted drowsily.

“It is now beneath the sea,” Legolas explained.

“Where’s Frodo?” Merry suddenly asked. Sam was instantly awake.

If he had moment or cause to think it a bad idea, this was both. Holding his belly with one hand and running across the plains at a hectic rate was not his idea of the exercises in pregnancy that Galadriel had told him about. At times, he struggled to keep up with Aragorn, at others they were almost side by side, but Gimli trailed far behind them most of the way.

When the Rohirrim circled them, Legolas was more afraid of what Gimli would say that could end all their lives than not finding Merry and Pippin alive. They were sour men, battle-worn and homeless. Their leader, one Éomer, nephew to the king of Rohan, eyed Legolas with some measure of surprise, but said not a word. He called two horses forward and bade them ride and walk no further.

“It is a long enough walk for men, let alone a woman ripe with child,” the prince noted quietly. “But do not trust a hope. It has forsaken these lands. We ride north!”

And then they were gone. Legolas swallowed an ill-timed snort of laughter. A woman, indeed.

Watching them go, Aragorn turned to Legolas. “What did he say?”

Legolas smiled. “He believed I was a woman,” he replied.

“A woman?” Gimli growled under his breath. “I told you, no one remembers . . .it’s dwarves you cannot tell the difference . . .uuuuuuuuuuuuugggggggggggrrrrrrrrrrrr,” he growled. He looked up at the horse and grimaced. “I’m not getting up there.”

“You will,” Aragorn told him. “Or you will hinder us.”

The dwarf complained, but finally relented. “Give me a leg up.”

Legolas obliged, but found him far heavier than he expected. Suddenly pain tore through his abdomen like a poker from a black-smiths’ fire. He cried out, gasping, hands let go of Gimli to hold himself. Weakened legs held him up only for a moment more. Sliding down the horse’s flank, he knelt for a moment, unaware of hands on him.

Panting he waited and the pain slowly died away. Thinking it safe to get up, the pain returned in force. Again he cried out.

“Easy,” Aragorn whispered. “Stay there. You should not have done that.”

Legolas nodded. “I did not think Gimli would weigh so much.”

“Is he going to be alright?” Gimli asked, white with worry.

“Yes, I think so,” Aragorn replied.

“Is the baby arriving early?” Legolas asked, his eyes wide.

Aragorn shook his head. “I think you pulled a muscle. You were lucky, this time. You are going to be sore for a while, but do not try that stunt again.”

Legolas nodded, breathing slowly and bracing himself for the next task, getting up onto his feet. With Aragorn’s help he rose amid loud gasps of pain. Panting, he nestled his head against the patient, grey horse’s shoulder, and waited for the pain to pass.

Legolas lifted his head a little to look into the anxious face of his long-time friend. “Should I be riding when with child?”

Aragorn drew his lower lip into his mouth and considered this. “We are not far from the fire. Take it gently and you should be fine. I am not about to take you on a wild gallop across the Mark.”

Legolas smiled a little. He heard the last few words in his mind, Aragorn had thought them rather than spoken them; ‘although I want to hurry’. “We might not have that choice one day,” Legolas told him. “When that day comes, you will leave me behind.”

Aragorn stared at him. He shook his head, there was no way he would leave anyone behind, he needed Legolas’ bow, his eyes and his ears. How could he think himself so dispensable? In his heart he knew it was true. He watched Legolas mount carefully, Gimli at his back, and wince, hiding a cry of pain.

Aragorn was worried, it was apparent to both of them. Gimli was close to apoplexy with agitation. The second Legolas had mounted, he dared an arm about his waist and hugged him for a moment, relief washing through him.

“Are you alright?” he asked quietly.

“I will be,” Legolas revealed. “It does not hurt so much now. I had not expected you to weigh so much.”

“It’s the beard,” Gimli replied.

Legolas laughed gently, but stopped and winced, holding his belly. “I will wait a while longer before trying that.”

Gimli patted him back gently in acknowledgement. “Aye,” he said gently. “I’ll try not to make you laugh until we find the hobbits. Actually . . .there’s not much to laugh at until we do find the hobbits.”

“Is that because they had died believing you had fathered my child? You never once corrected them on that,” Legolas recalled.

Gimli was silent for a second. “I am not willing to accept that they are dead at all, yet. And as for correcting their assumption . . .if it had been my choice . . .if we had known each other when you conceived . . .”

He said no more.

Legolas turned his head a little at that, wondering if he had heard correctly, which of course was a ludicrous thought. Beyond that he didn’t know what to think. A smile dusted his lips before he realised it had begun and surprised himself. Did this mean Gimli . . .? Legolas had much to think about.

They had had a days gentle ride to Edoras and a day to rest there before pressing on to Helm’s Deep. Legolas was afraid, if truth be known. He had not expected to engage in battle quite so soon, or this far north. On the first day’s ride, he found himself feeling comforted and safe in the dwarf’s strong arms. A gentle pat on the hip now and then was all Gimli could manage with the quiver between them, but neither complained. Just being together gave them a sense of peace that was difficult to achieve when they were apart.

On the second day of their journey, Legolas had been scouting ahead. He had not seen the warg’s approach and blamed himself for the loss of Hama, little was he to know that worse was fated that day.

Legolas sat in a quiet corner, watching the men of Rohan preparing for battle. Women and children were everywhere and mostly it was strangely quiet. He pressed a hand to his heart, where lay the pendant of Undómiel in the breast pocket of his shirt. Its wearer was dead and not even Gimli could dissuade his grief. How could he face her and tell her what had happened? Worse still, the people around him could not comprehend the grave loss to the whole of Middle Earth. The heir of Elendil was lost.

Beside him sat Gimli, unable to even understand the elf’s turmoil. How could he begin to explain to his one remaining friend that the woman born to marry him had given her token to his best friend? And now Aragorn’s voice was gone from his heart.

He carefully took out the elven token and gazed at it in deep thought. Suddenly the child within him somersaulted and he gasped. Gimli took the pipe from his mouth and turned to him in an instant.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Legolas replied. “The child turned over.”

Gimli patted his hand and stood up. “I’ll go and find us something to eat. You’ll be hungry.”

Legolas watched him go. He hadn’t even thought of food at all since Aragorn had fallen. Gimli alone had thought of his care and well-being. He berated himself. He should have been thinking of his child as well as, if not more than, his grief.

The child turned again, nudging up into his ribs. Legolas gasped. What was the child doing in there? He placed a hand on his belly and listened. It seemed to him that the child was dancing. Legolas reached out to find the cause . . .his head went up.

“Aragorn!” he gasped. His feet took him to the gate and there he was. “You are late,” was all he could think of saying. He looked him over and added in the common tongue, “You look terrible.”

Aragorn laughed. The relief and joy was incalculable.

The pendant dropped into Aragorn’s palm and they looked at each other. Legolas knew.

“Why did you not tell me that it was you Arwen had blight her troth with?”

“She bade me not to. Legolas . . I am sorry. I was not aware of the situation between you and her. It was not my intention to come between you.”

“She will go to the undying lands,” Legolas replied. “The choice will be taken from her.”

“Most likely,” Aragorn agreed blandly, remembering his last conversation between himself and Arwen’s father. It had not been a happy conversation. He winced without realising that he had.

“There is nothing to forgive,” Legolas told him with a gentle smile. “I could never have loved her as you do. How could I dare to cage so lovely a bird in a marriage of convenience?” He paused. “Her heart was never mine.”

The man nodded his acceptance. “How are you feeling?” Aragorn asked.

“I am fine . . .now,” Legolas revealed, his smile widening. “Although,” he added with a frown. “My son seems more content to bruise me from within.”

Aragorn laughed a little louder. He rested a hand on his protruding belly, and smiled widely. “Ah, little one,” he crooned softly in Quenya. “Pleased that I am back?”

Unnoticed, a woman nearby gasped to see Aragorn alive, and gasped again to see him take back the token of his love, and gasped once more to see him touch the elf so tenderly. It confused her. Was Aragorn betrothed to marry the elven princess . . .and the father of the unborn?

No one had said anything to the elf, no one knew quite what to say. Men carrying babies was not something they were used to seeing, it was deemed unnatural. And elves were an unknown in these lands. It would be up to her uncle whether Legolas would fight. But then, she thought silently, he had already fought in the Golden Hall for the king’s honour.

Aragorn was the one she was drawn to. He was a nobleman, of high birth, and a man of honour. He always had a ready smile for her, always asked after her well-being. Beyond that, did she dare hope to gain Aragorn’s love? She had feelings for him. Or was it simply duty? He was the only man she knew who was eligible for her to marry. Was that not as good as love?

A week later and the fighting resumed at Pelennor Fields. Mightier beasts than had ever been seen in all his life now towered above them. Oliphaunts in Gondor, indeed, Legolas recalled. No matter, he thought; the higher they are, the harder they fall. Much to Gimli’s horror he jumped lightly up the animal’s body, killing all the warriors that rode it. Then suddenly the confused creature turned and made straight for Gimli. The dwarf was doubly scared as he watched his life flash before his eyes and the object of his affections leaping along the great brute’s spine and letting loose an arrow into its skull.

The creature faltered and dropped to the ground at Gimli’s feet. He glared up at Legolas. “That still only counts as one,” he growled. “Besides, you will scare me to an early grave. I can already see grey hairs,” he grumbled.

Legolas smiled and chuckled to himself, and bent to kiss the top of the dwarf’s head before he realised what he was doing. Legolas looked at him in astonishment as equally astonished eyes turned up to his. “Just a token . . .of gratitude,” he stuttered. “Let us hunt more orcs,” he added, before the dwarf could find his voice and demand an explanation, as if he could think of one at short notice.

Gimli started after him, at a run to keep up. “Gratitude, eh?” he scoffed with amusement “So that’s what the elves of Mirkwood call it.”

Up ahead of him, and pretending not to have heard, an elf smiled gently.

“I’m telling you, he kissed me,” Gimli said.

Aragorn looked from one to the other, not knowing whether to laugh or rebuke them both and give them a good shaking. “Why do you both not admit it to each other that the possibility exists, and begin from there?”

“That is not enough,” Gimli demanded. “I want a full and unreserved confession.”

Legolas unfolded his arms, suddenly looking smug. “And just how do you do expect to get it? Torture?” He was grinning. Everyone knew torture was something that could not be done to an elf.

Gimli looked up at him. “That’s the best challenge I have ever had.”

Legolas looked at him and noted his fingers of both hands were making tickling motions. Legolas’ eyes suddenly went wide. “No, Gimli,” he begged.

“I’ve heard elves are extreeeeemely ticklish,” Gimli declared with relish.

“Gimli,” Legolas cried, taking a step back. “Please!”

A warrior woman of the Dúnedain looked in on the pair, her basket of healing herbs slung over one shoulder. “Why is Gimli threatening to tickle Legolas?” she asked.

“Gimli wants Legolas to admit his feelings for him,” Aragorn replied with a smile at their antics.

“Not while he’s pregnant, surely?”

“Oh, I think he would.”

“I broke a man’s jaw because he tickled me when I was pregnant,” she recalled.

Aragorn turned to the burly-built women whom he had known all his life and nodded. “Yes, but you are not Legolas. You are more Gimli.”

By now, Gimli had backed the elf against the only empty bed in the House of Healing, and Legolas fell backward onto its soft feather-filled mattress. A hand reached out and began to tickle his ribs. Legolas remained silent, but the smile spread.

“Come on, young prince-ling. You know you want to.”

Legolas did nothing, but curl into a ball, trying to hold back the giggles that threatened. “No . . .” he huffed. Gritting his teeth, he grinned.

“It’ll come,” Gimli said confidently.

Legolas shook his head, laughing under his breath. Gimli reached out with the other hand and began tickling his other side.

“No!” Legolas almost squealed and burst into laughter. “Stop!”

Gimli continued. “Give,” he said slowly. “And, I’ll stop.”

“No!”

“Give,” the dwarf repeated. His fingers though as rough and as hard as his axe skated delicately over elven flesh.

“No,” Legolas laughed.

“Say it.”

“No,” He laughed hard.

“Will you admit it?”

“Alright . . I love you!” Legolas laughed.

Gimli stopped instantly, watching the elf regain his breath with a huge smile wreathed across his face. Still breathless, Legolas felt lips brush against his, and returned it with a chaste touch of his own. Gimli’s gaze was questioning. Is that the best you can do? his eyes said. A hand cupped his furred cheek and drew him down and he kissed him fully, deeply, leaving the dwarf breathless.

Aragorn stepped carefully over to the bed and forcefully rested his hands on the end rail. As the bed jolted both heads tuned to look at him. “As sweet as this is, but . . .” He looked round him at the sick and injured. “Get a room,” he mouthed.

He sighed thickly, eyes closed. Lying back against the pillows, he slowly smiled. “I have lived 7000 years and never knew pleasure like this,” he whispered softly. His tunic and shirt lay open, as were the buttons of his leggings, to expose to curve of his body.

Gimli smiled where he lounged on one elbow beside him. “Perhaps you were not with the right person,” he supposed.

Legolas opened his eyes and gazed at him. He shook his head. “I have never been with anyone,” he said.

“You haven’t?” Gimli was surprised. “Then, how did this wee thing get in there?” he asked, brushing a hand affectionately across Legolas’ belly.

Legolas looked away for a moment. “When I discovered that the woman who had been foresworn to be my wife had chosen another in my stead, I beseeched Valar not to end my father’s House,” he explained softly. “I am the only son of Thranduil, the last of the elves of Mirkwood . . .and there was only one princess.”

“Lady Arwen,” Gimli realised. He pursed his lips together and continued rubbing the belly tenderly. “You are the last . . .?” Gimli mused to himself. “For so small a thing, this bairn has changed your life immeasurably. I don’t suppose it was quite the answer you were looking for.”

Legolas’ eyes drifted shut, feeling the tender touch swirling across his skin. “No, it was not,” he agreed.

“Would you change the answer to your prayer?”

“No,” Legolas replied, his breath deepened, enjoying the new sensations.

Gimli smiled gently. “I’ll stop if you want me to,” he said softly.

“No,” Legolas panted. His body trembled. “This feels so good.”

Gimli’s smile widened. “And I’ve only been touching your belly. What will you be like when the real fun starts?”

Legolas opened his eyes. “You mean . . .there is more?”

“Much more,” the dwarf replied with relish.

After much cajoling, Aragorn, now crowned King Elessar, watched them leave the city to journey north. He did not think Legolas should be travelling, which rebuffed the dwarf so small amount.

“What?” Gimli had grumbled. “Do you think me so inept that I can’t look after him properly? Is that what you’re saying?”

“No, of course not,” Elessar assured him. “But he is close to term. If something should happen and there is no help available . . .” He could not voice the worst scenarios he was picturing in his mind.

“I will be fine,” Legolas told him. “We will be gone for three weeks, a full month before the baby is due,” he said with confidence.

As Elessar watched them leave he sighed. “Strange that he should use those same words Isildur said to his wife the day he left for Gladden Fields.”

Arwen swallowed. “I fear for him,” she said softly.

“I wish I could have gone with them, but my duties keep me here for another three months,” he replied, trying to quell the rising cloud of doubt unsure if it were his own or hers.

Legolas took them north to Fangorn Forest. It was a journey of four days on horseback, and they met no other living soul on their way. They spoke at length about their lives, families and their histories. Upon reaching Fangorn Legolas shared the tale of the trees awakening, singing to Gimli of the first words they had spoken. They wandered the outskirts of the forest for a day or two, not venturing in further lest the trees attack them.

After their short stay, Legolas drew the horse southward towards the valleys of the Ered Nimrais.

“Where are you going?” Gimli asked.

Legolas turned to him in surprise.

“I was hoping to see Mirkwood, and the elven city, and meet your father.”

Legolas shook his head. “The elves are gone from Mirkwood. There is nothing left there. My father bade me not to return.”

“What about the City of Trees, and Galadriel? Can we not go there?”

“It is not permitted,” Legolas replied, his sight moving into the distance for a moment.

Gimli understood the wrench that it was, to be so close to home and yet never to see it again. “Then the crystal caverns, it is,” he decided. Legolas started onward again. “But not until you had something hot to eat,” Gimli finished.

Legolas turned again, and this time smiled.

It was a three-day ride to Helm’s Deep and the Crystal Caves, and it rained most of the way. Two days in and Legolas has his first portend of things to come.

Legolas breathed softly, feeling his belly tighten, but it stopped all too soon.

“Everything alright?” Gimli asked.

“Yes,” Legolas replied. “I must admit, I am a little tired.”

“Let us rest here for the night and go on again in the morning. We shall reach Helm’s Deep at noon.”

They reached Helm’s Deep at the exact time Gimli had predicted, which made him smug and difficult to live with for the rest of the day. The greetings of the fort’s caretakers rang off the walls of the mountains. After exchanging news and sharing a meal, Gimli announced his intention to take Legolas down into the Glittering Caves.

The men of Rohan looked uncomfortable. They eyed Legolas’ state before choosing their words carefully. “He . . .er . . .she . . .the elf is . . .that is to say, delicate.”

Legolas tried very hard to keep the laughter checked, but it escaped regardless.

Gimli pursed his lips. “Aye, that he is,” he agreed, and ignored the sudden daggers aimed at him from an abruptly silenced elf. “But, we made an oath, he and I,” Gimli continued. “And I intend to collect my half of the bargain.”

Legolas had to agree, they had made a bargain, and silently chastised himself for making it. He still had to understand what caves had to offer that trees and their beauty could not. He had lived all his life inside the dark caves of Mirkwood’s palace, and had never liked it as much as the sounds, sights, smells and the feel of the forests.

“Besides,” Gimli went on. “Legolas may look delicate, but he is strong, and still has quite a while before the bairn is due.” He paused, giving the very large bump an affectionate rub. “I would not endanger either of them, even if I thought seeing the glittering caves worth a broken bone or two, which they are not.”

Legolas smiled, melting at the tender words Gimli imparted. He was placing his worth and the worth of a child not his own above everything dwarves held dear. It fair took his breath away, and had brought his silent complaints to naught. He felt suddenly selfish. “I ask for your forgiveness in doubting you,” he said, once they had been lead to the doorway that lead into the cave system.

Gimli looked up from the map that the guard had given him and gazed at his companion. He smiled gently. “Did you really think me selfish enough to keep the beauty of these caves to myself, after you opened my eyes to the wonders of the forest?”

“Well, I actually . . .thought the opposite,” Legolas admitted. “I felt your desire to show me caves was somewhat strange. I had not thought that you were bestowing upon me a gift, and for that I am the one who was selfish.” He paused. “I am sorry.”

Gimli smiled. “There’s nothing to forgive,” he told him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “If I go too fast or you need to rest, just let me know,” he said. “But, trust me, this short walk will be worth every step. It’s quite dry, but be careful.”

Legolas smiled at his fussing and kissed him gently. Gimli was surprised, not that he had kissed him, but that he could still reach him with a belly that looked like a wine barrel. Legolas kissed him again, hearing a slight moan of desire.

“Kiss me too often like that and we’ll never get to the caves,” Gimli warned gruffly. “And you’ll find out right here and now what pleasure it is that you have been missing.”

Legolas shuddered to think what that could mean, a delicious wave ran though him and he smiled. “Is that a promise?” he inquired softly.

Gimli swallowed. “Caves first,” his voice wavered. “Besides, with you looking like that, I would end up breaking my promise to Aragorn about keeping you in one piece.”

Legolas frowned, not understanding, and followed him down.

Not more than five minutes passed when they turned a corner and the world lit up. All around them crystals of every colour and shape and size glistened like a million stars in the heavens. Gimli beamed in wonder and delight.

“Just look at that. Magnificent colour and oh! Those striations!”

Legolas’ smiled widely with pleasure at his companion’s joy. “It is beautiful,“ he said quietly, almost afraid to waken an imagined keeper of such a shrine to Mother Earth.

Walking further in Gimli missed a crack unnoticeable against the black of the cavern floor. A second later, Legolas stepped into it and with a startled cry, he vanished.

In terror he fell through into the cavern beneath, freefalling he turned just in time to see a large expanse of water coming up to meet him. Instinct alone turned him head-down into a dive. He curled up just as he sank into the frigid liquid and came up to the surface with a gasp. He looked around and spotted a narrow spit of dry ground at the water’s edge. He made for it as quickly as his elven arms could take him.

Once out of the water the three-headed ogre rose within him. The first head told him he was separated from his companion. “Gimli!” he cried out. The second made him gasp, “My son!” he whispered. Hands to him hugely extended belly discovered that the child was fine. It moved beneath his touch. The third head jeered at his sudden realisation that he was lost. The three-headed ogre of terror gripped at his being. “Gimli!” he cried out, louder still.

“Legolas!” came a cry so far away that it almost betrayed the reach of his hearing.

Gimli turned at Legolas’ cry of alarm, but found him gone. He gasped in horror. Striding about the cave he abruptly tripped up on the lip of a hole, and fell on his face. He grumbled slightly and looked at the hole; it was larger than he had expected.

Silently thanking his stars he had not fallen down it, he suddenly went cold as the thought occurred to him. He dared not voice his horror that Legolas had fallen through it. If he had he was now somewhere below him in the dark and alone. Just as he was about to fear the worst he heard a shout. He was about to dismiss it as wishful thinking when he heard it again.

“Legolas!” he cried back. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” the elf voice came back. “I landed in a lake,” he added as if reading Gimli’s thoughts.

“A lake?” Gimli said. “Well, I hope he didn’t dive into . . .” Gimli sat down, knowing elf instincts as he did . . . “Oh, this is not good.” He thought for a moment and then it came to him. The caves were interconnected. No one knew caves like a dwarf, and the map said nothing about any caverns below the Glittering Caves. “Hang on,” he called down. “I’m coming.”

In the strange light of the crystals all around him, Legolas waited. He knew Gimli would find him soon, but it seemed to be taking longer than he had imagined. Without realising that he was doing it, his breathing increased. He stood up and walked around the tiny patch of ground between water and shear cliff, and sighed a little. He was uncharacteristically nervous, and unaccustomed to the sensation of butterflies in his stomach, which seemed to be marching with boots on every now and then when he was not concentrating on working out his next move.

On the third such occurrence he rubbed his belly with affection. “Do not fret, my firstborn-to-be. Gimli will get us out of here. All we need to do is stay calm. So go to sleep, or at least stop fidgeting so hard.”

Legolas had barely uttered the words when he spied a small tunnel, once a tributary of this subterranean river, but long dried up. He smiled. “We will meet Gimli half way,” he decided, and off he set.

After twenty minutes of walking in near blackness Legolas turned a corner, but instead of going upward the new tunnel curved downwards. He turned back. The air was fresher from down there, but there was even less light. Back the way he had come the light was stronger, but the air was stale. Now, he was not only lost, but confused.

“Gimli?” he called softly.

There was no reply. He had little choice but to return to the water’s edge and wait. Abruptly, a strange feeling came over him, drawing like a slow arrow through his insides. He gasped, clenched and panted. After a moment it died away, leaving him deeply afraid.

Slowly, holding on to the rock face, he returned to the bank where he had dragged himself from the frigid water. Sitting down, he looked around him at the crystal ceilings and had to admit that they were beautiful, even for a prison.

Above him, some fifty feet up, was the narrow opening he had fallen through. From here it looked like a black tear on a large painted canvas. It seemed like an eternity since Gimli had called down, without the sun he could not determine the time he had been stuck beneath the ground.

Thoughts came to him of his mother, and the last time he had seen her. She had been singing, her voice was ever in his mind. With little else to do, he began to sing the words of the song she had been singing when the flames of the fire had caught her. Slowly at first, his voice filled the space around him, then with greater clarity the words rose, filling him with hope. His son within him quieted, almost as if to listen to the lilt.

Suddenly the knife that tore through him before returned, stilling his words in mid note. He gasped, unable to draw breath as the fierceness of it snatched at each attempt. He could pin-point its source this time, a point below his belt at the base of his swollen abdomen.

As he struggled, he tried to recall what the Lady Galadriel had told him. Stay calm, and stay relaxed. “That is easier said than done,” he whispered, as the pain passed. “Gimli?” he called out, wondering if the dwarf was alright. Was he looking for him? Or had he fallen through another hidden hole into another cavern within the mountains. He gazed around him, wondering if there were orcs or any of the undead still lurking here.

Gimli was frantic. There was no way down the chute that Legolas had inadvertently stepped into. He could be anywhere, hurt, dead. He paused for a moment. “Legolas?” he called out for what must have been the hundredth time. He was about to call again when he stopped and strained his ears. He was certain, although anyone would have called him mad, but there was singing coming from somewhere. It was a single elfish voice, of sweet purity that it could only have been Legolas.

“Legolas!” he cried. “I’m coming. Keep singing, lad. I’ll find you.”

But then the singing abruptly stopped.

Gimli stopped. That was downright odd. A moment or so later and the voice started again. Gimli turned this way and that trying to locate the source of the sound. Then he ran on again, down an incline and into the darkness.

Legolas kept singing, if nothing else it gave him a sense of not being alone. He paced as he sang, hoping the movement would dry his clothing, and also keep him awake. He was tired.

He reached the same verse he had reached before, but this time six words short of where he had been forced to stop the last time, the pain came. It gnawed through his lower abdomen as he leant back against the cave wall.

“No,” he groaned, breathing deeply. “Not now. Please!”

Head bowed he breathed, trying to do what Galadriel had told him, but it seemed so much harder than it had been simply talking about it. His hands gently rubbed across his belly until it eased. He lifted his head back against the almost vertical cliff and sighed.

He began to sing the song again, if only to keep himself calm. It also gave him an idea when to expect the knife to tear through him again. Pressing against the cave wall relieved some of the backache, at least, so he stayed there far a while, singing about the autumn colours and gold-ing of the leaves, and the harvesting of the forest fare.

This time he could feel his abdomen tighten before the pain started. He kept singing, his voice faltering, but he kept going until he could feel it leave him. He panted for a moment, eyes closed and began the song again. He had sung only two lines before he realised that he was crying.

Gimli stopped when the voice stopped. It had been an unmistakably tortured collection of notes, hardly befitting such a sweet voice. Silently he willed him to keep singing. Without that, he could never hope to find him.

Then it did, drifting up over a widening area to his left, but it stopped all too soon. The sound that replaced it was not so welcoming. He heard his name through sobs of fear and anguish.

“Legolas?” he whispered, knowing that an elf could hear far better than he.

“Gimli?” the reply came instantly.

“Legolas!” Gimli called back and scooted over to stare down at an enormous underground cavern, half filled with water. Directly below him some forty or so feet stood Legolas on what at some distant point in the past had been a ledge in the vertical cliff. “Oh, Legolas,” he beamed, seeing him standing there gazing up at him. “Are you alright?”

“I am unhurt,” the elf replied. “Get me out,” he said.

Gimli smarted at the lost look in his face. “I’m coming, prince-ling. Just hold on.”

Just then, Legolas moaned, the sound carrying up the cavern wall to Gimli’s ears. “Oh no,” the dwarf muffled. “That’s not good. That’s not good,” he muttered over and over. Flinging his pack off his back he rummaged inside and drew out a length of rope.

“Keep singing,” Gimli called out. “It will help to calm us both down.”

Legolas’ voice rose again, at first wavering between frightened sobs, but then gaining in strength again. He groaned heavily through the next pain. “Gimli,” he called. “I need some help.”

“Keep singing,” he told him, finally locating a firm rock to tie the rope around. Having secured it in place, he grabbed two more ropes, securing them over one shoulder and under the other arm, one of them ended with a grappling hook.

Just as he was about to climb down, he gave an experimental tug and the rock unexpectedly gave way. Gimli growled and swore under his breath. Below him, Legolas moaned loudly. Gimli peered over the edge to find Legolas with his back again the cave wall, knees slightly bent and his head titled back.

He was breathing heavily, and loudly. Time was running out.

“That’s it,” he praised in true dwarf fashion, if only to hide his own feelings of helplessness and fear. “Keep breathing. I’ll be down in a minute . . .if this confounded rock will hold,” he added under his breath. He spied the blanket he had stuffed into his pack and took it out. Gimli threw down the blanket and it landed at Legolas’ feet. “Lay this out to sit on it. It’ll keep the baby off the cold rocks.”

Legolas lifted his wide eyes up at him. “Do not let me give birth down here. Do not leave me . . .”

Gimli huffed loudly. “As if the intention ever crossed my mind. Just lay the blanket out and sit on it. Just in case,” he said.

As Legolas panted and moaned badly, Gimli search around him desperation. Legolas cried out as the pain increased.

Gimli peered down at him. “Focus, lad. I’m coming.”

Finding another rock he tied the rope on and began to descend.

Legolas was crying out with every breath, “Oh! Gimli!”

“Breathe, lad, breathe!”

Legolas slid down the cliff to sit knees drawn up, panting loudly. “I’m soaked,” he called, thinly, his voice belying his despair and fear.

“You fell into the water,” Gimli replied as he climbed down. “You’re bound to be wet.”

Legolas shook his head. “Something popped . . .inside me.”

Gimli only had a minute to wonder at that when suddenly a ping above him grabbed his attention. He looked up into time to see the rope snap. Gimli landed heavily on a tiny ledge twenty feet above where Legolas sat groaning heavily. Something snapped as he landed.

Gimli shook himself and looked down. Legolas looked up at him in terror as the last of the rope fell beside him, leaving Gimli stranded on the ledge.

It was all Legolas could do not to scream. His eyes flew wide as new sensation filled him. A shocked gasp escaped, and he struggled to stay calm. “Gimli!” his strangled voice uttered.

Gimli turned to him, and knew. Time was up. He blinked. “Legolas,” he called down.

Legolas did not respond, fighting the urges that fought for supremacy within his body.

“Take ’em down,” Gimli called.

Legolas lifted his head, his brow creased in both effort and confusion. “What?”

“Your breeches, lad. Take them off!”

“Gimli?”

“Trust me. Don’t be afraid. Nature knows what it’s doing, just let it do its work.”

The pain left him but the strange feeling remained. Lifting up, he slipped his clothing off and sat down. Panting as the next pain came on the heals of the last he pushed the cloth passed his knees. He gasped loudly as hot shafts of sweet agony was focused at one point of his body. Panting loudly, he pushed again, not knowing why but driven to do so.

“Elbereth!” Legolas cried. “I’m burning!”

Gimli’s eyes sprang with tears, stuck as he was just twenty feet above him, and yet it might as well have been two hundred. He watched as Legolas sank back with a cry, panting. “Take them off, lad. Hurry,” he urged him.

Legolas reached out to peal the cloth from one calf and managed to pull it free as the strong urge to push returned. The cloth hung forgotten hanging from the other knee. Gimli pushed himself up to sitting, wincing at the strange angle of his arm, unable to do anything but watch and grimace at each cry of pain.

“Gimli,” Legolas gasped.

“I’m here, lad,” he assured him softly. “Keep it coming.”

“I cannot do this alone. I need you.”

“I’m right here,” Gimli told him calmly, although he felt far from it. “You’re not alone.”

Legolas breathed deeply, feeling the pain rise like a roc. Gasping in a breath, he pushed, groaning heavily, but seemingly in greater control knowing Gimli was close by. It didn’t seem important to him that there was a distance between them. Resting, eyes closed, he panted to ride the overwhelming sensations that assaulted him.

Gimli winced noiselessly as he turned the arm around and felt it crack back into its correct position. Legolas opened his eyes, hearing the slight sound.

“Gimli,” he called softly.

Gimli peered over the side. “I’m still here.”

Legolas smiled a little and moaned with pain. He fought it, writhing.

“Don’t fight it, lad,” Gimli coaxed him. “Give it all you’ve got . . .for me.”

Legolas panted and sucked in a breath and pushed, one hand subconsciously reaching for him up the cliff. He pushed again and cried out loudly. Gimli gazed down at him, legs splayed but relaxed, but between them he could see a crown of gold.

“Push!” the dwarf cried with growing delight.

Legolas was near exhaustion, but heaved a breath and pushed. He cried out, leaning back against the rock he panted, “I cannot do this.”

“You’re almost there, lad,” Gimli told. “Don’t give up.” Tying off a loop of cloth to hold his arm still he hefted the grapple and flung it at the rock beneath his feet with as much force as he could muster.

Legolas hunched forward and pushed. Suddenly a scream was torn from his throat as the infant slid from his body. Moaning and panting, Legolas lay still, until he felt a hand on his arm. He opened his eyes to see Gimli smiling at him.

“You did it,” the dwarf said, tearfully.

Legolas lifted his head to look down at the infant now reaching out with one arm. Drawing its first breath, it let out a wail. Legolas burst into tears, reached down and picked him up.

Gimli began unbuttoning his tunic and shirt as the infant searched for something to suckle. “He’s hungry already,” he noted.

Still bloodied and wet, Legolas lifted him closer to take his first feed. He closed his eyes, feeling the spread of hormones through his body. His insides lurched and he pushed gently, feeling a warm mass leave him. He sighed with relief and peered down at his son.

“I am glad that is over,” he said softly.

Gimli smiled, and sniffed away the tears. “Aye,” he agreed.

Gimli lifted his head, just seconds after Legolas noted that someone or something was coming along the tunnel he had entered earlier in an effort to find a way out. Gimli picked up the axe he had dropped before descending and made ready to defend them, literally single-handedly.

Suddenly Aragorn rushed into the cavern, out of breath from a run. “I heard your cry for help,” he announced. Several guards came out of the tunnel behind him. “Where is the enemy?”

Gimli looked at him in astonishment. “Ochh! You might be a king, but there’s no enemy here as wants your crown,” he grumbled. “What call for help? We’ve had everything well under control here.”

Aragorn looked beyond him to see Legolas in a state of undress and thought for a moment that he had walked in on a private moment of passion. A second after that, he noticed the newborn lying in Legolas’s arms. “You gave birth alone,” he voiced softly.

Legolas looked up and smiled softly. “Not alone, my friend. Gimli was here.”

Aragorn eyed Gimli, and his strapped arm, with scepticism, but relented. “I am sorry I ever doubted you,” he said.

“How did you know we were here?” Legolas asked.

“There was a cry. I felt it within my heart and had to answer it.”

Legolas smiled gently. “Your elven inheritance,” he noted

Aragorn and Gimli slowly helped Legolas up to the surface to meet the surprised faces of the garrison stationed at Helm’s Deep. Legolas rested on a rock, his clothing in ruins, but lacking any spare, Gimli set about finding something from the stores that would fit.

Borrowing a wagon and horses, on the understanding that they were driven by a Rohirrim drover, Aragorn took them to the South Road towards Minas Tirith.

“How did you reach us so quickly?” Legolas asked.

Aragorn, sitting beside them, told them what had happened.

“After I heard the cry, I called a few men with me and took to the tunnels. The caverns run almost continuously from Minas Tirith to Helms Deep. The Dimholt Road and the City of the Dead lay between, and they had blocked the natural underground road as you may remember. We had to clear away the man-made door blocking the tunnel before we could reach the Deeping River where it flowed under the mountains. We thought we had lost our way until we came upon Gimli’s abandoned belongings. We heard a cry of pain. I saw you below us on the ledge and rather than scare you we backed down the tunnel and took another fork. It was then that we came out suddenly into the crystal cavern and were almost felled by the bravest, most honourable dwarf I have ever been blessed to know,” he said. “Coming up unawares on a dwarf defending his mate and newborn, that could have cost me a limb, or my life . . .what better protection could an elf ask for?”

If Gimli had glowed more, he would have been called a lantern. “Aye, laddie.” he agreed. “It could have cost you your life.”

Aragorn grinned. Legolas smiled tenderly, eyelids blinking heavily.

“You rest, lad,” Gimli said gently. “You will be taking things easy for a few days, so get used to it now.”

The look in Legolas’ eyes darkened, but he smiled. He was exhausted and the will to argue was not with him. Reaching up, he cupped his furred cheek and smiled. “I love you,” he whispered.

Legolas was asleep before he heard the softly spoken reply. Gimli planted a tender kiss to his forehead. “I love you, too.” His rough hand tenderly caressed the silken hair of the little baby sleeping against Legolas’ breast. “Both of you.”

Legolas did not awaken until the wagon stopped in Minas Tirith. Arwen greeted them with a huge smile and hugs of relief and joy.

“What are you going to call him?” Aragorn asked as he lifted him from Legolas’ arms so that he could re-button his shirt.

“I would be honoured to have him named by the king?” Legolas requested.

Aragorn gazed at the infant, taking in the gold-white hair and pail skin. “He looks like an Arfin-Laurë, Royal with Golden Hair,” he suggested.

“I like that. Falas-huinë is also a strong possibility,” Legolas said.

Gimli considered this for a moment. “The edge of darkness,” he translated. “I prefer Aragorn’s suggestion, but the choice is yours. If you choose yours, you won’t mind if I simply call him Falas, because for a long hour you kept me on the edge of a fright I do not wish to name, much less repeat?”

Legolas smiled gently. “What if I chose to have another child?” he asked softly.

“Depends on who you were thinking of?” Gimli blurted out, suddenly feeling jealous.

“You know who I would choose,” Legolas replied gently.

Gimli paused for a moment in surprise. “Well, that would do me the greatest honour,” he replied. “But when it happens, I am tying you to something immoveable . . .even for an elf,” he told him. Gimli’s eyes followed Aragorn as he stepped towards the window. “And where do you suppose you’re going with my son?”

Legolas folded his arms and regarded Aragorn, tipping his chin up to see what the king would say. The amusement in his eyes was almost palpable. He watched the king turn and level a questioning look at the dwarf. Legolas said nothing, simply lifted a single brow, waiting for his answer.

Aragorn frowned. “Your . . .? But I thought . . .?”

“He is as much my son as he would be if I had given him life,” Gimli announced with pride. “I was by Legolas’ side all through his pregnancy. And I was with him, as best as I could be, during the birth . . .”

“I could not have gone through it without you,” Legolas put in.

“And I intend to stay with him to raise the young rascal,” Gimli continued as if Legolas had not spoken.

Legolas untied his arms. “Rascal?”

“He’ll be as much a rascal as . . .”

“You will not raise him to be a rascal,” Legolas retorted, with mock disgust.

“And why not?” Gimli demanded, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “It never did me any harm.”

“Not yet,” Legolas warned in fun.

“Is that a threat there, lad?” Gimli inquired.

“I could make it one,” Legolas offered, in amused defiance.

Gimli, frighteningly, slowly smiled. Legolas had the good sense to look worried, but stood his ground. The dwarf carefully raised his hand a few inches from where it was still draped over the butt end of his axe. To Legolas’ horror the fingers began to wiggle. The elf jumped.

“No, Gimli,” he said softly.

Aragorn looked at the dwarf, but saw nothing. As soon as the confused king looked away, the fingers twitched again. Legolas stifled a laugh, but not fast enough.

“Gimli,” Legolas begged.

“Consider yourself a baby-sitter for the afternoon, Aragorn,” Gimli said with glee.

Suddenly Aragorn was left holding the baby as the dwarf set down his axe and approached the elf as if stalking a game beast of the forest. The elf was backing towards the inner room of his quarters, Gimli was following him, fingers of both hands making tickling movements. He was not making contact and yet, the helpless elf was already laughing.

“I shall bring Arfin back in an hour . . .” Aragorn heard loud laughter coming from beyond the partition that separated the two rooms. “Make that two hours,” he amended. There was still no response as he backed towards the door, opened it and slipped out . . .right into his wife.

“Arfin-Laurë,” he said.

Arwen smiled. “Sweet name.” She gazed into the sleeping face of the infant. “It suits him,” she decided. “And you will need the practice,” she added.

Aragorn gazed at her for several seconds before the penny dropped.

El fin

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Dictionary definition : Androgynous: hermaphrodite, neither male nor female, but both.

In this story, Firstborn, Legolas was portrayed as being androgynous. The meaning was explained in the story, but some readers missed it. For those who were unsure what this meant, I decided that clarification was need. For the most part, androgyny is confined to plants and lower classes of animals; namely snails, slugs and certain types of fish and some amphibians. But, it does occur in humans as well. One of the commonest forms of androgyny is called Klinefelter syndrome. There are others, including Klippel Feil, which is less severe.

To the two little girls : Before making a judgement on an aspect of medical science, and flaming someone two or even three times your age on a subject you know nothing about, please look the word up in the dictionary, available in all good book stores. And read my bio. It would save you a lot of embarrassment. Also, it is not polite to make a judgement on a person who is different, for whatever reason, especially because of a disorder for which they are not to blame or for which there is no cure.

I, myself, have one of these syndromes. I am certain that had the young readers who questioned this been aware of it, they have probably met more people with genetic cross-gender syndromes than they realise. We don’t bite, we are not contagious - and yes, we do have both male and female organs.

Thank you for your time.

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