“What is it?” Aragorn asked.

“A company of elves are requesting audience with you and Queen Arwen,” the guard explained. “They are led by an elf lord, sire. He says his name is Legolas of the Woodland Realm.”

Aragorn gasped and suddenly grinned. “Well, what are you waiting for, man? Let them in,” he cried, laughing with great joy.

Arwen smiled along with him. They had not seen Legolas and Gimli for many years.

“Is there a company of dwarves with them?” Aragorn abruptly asked.

“Aye, sire. Do we allow them in also?”

“Of course,” Aragorn laughed. He took his wife’s hand and they walked through the doorway and through the hall to the grand entrance of the palace. There the lead horses were just beginning to appear through the tunnel from the lower levels.

Aragorn’s heart skipped a beat for there was Legolas on Arod, and to his surprise Gimli was beside him, riding his own horse, a magnificent bay with white socks. Aragorn wondered for a moment why they were not riding the same mount, but the reason slowly became clearer as they approached. There was a small child sitting in front of Legolas, an elven child of no more than seventeen years old, golden hair flowing behind her against Legolas’ green jerkin.

“Legolas has a maiden?” Arwen wondered. “I thought Legolas and Gimli . . .and she seems far too young to mate.”

The child looked no older than an eight year-old human child, and in every way was. The smile of the king’s face froze for a long moment before dying altogether from his features. Aragorn could not tear his eyes away, and the breath seemed to have been sucked from his drying mouth. In his mind, a deeply hidden memory rose in his mind followed closely by the taste of bile on his throat.

…

“Estel?”

Arwen’s voice broke through his remembering and he looked at her. A breath finally rasped its way passed his lips. Valar . . .bless you . . . How could he have been so stupid?

“Is she not sweet?” she asked. “I wonder who she is?”

“It is Haldir’s daughter, is it not?”

“Haldir’s?” she inquired evenly, trying to hide the surprise. “I did know Haldir had such a young child.”

“I remember seeing her in Lorien with Haldir.”

Arwen frowned slightly. “Haldir is still on border patrols to the North,” she recalled. “I expect that is why she is with Legolas,” she supposed, although that still did not make sense to her.

“Aye, I expect so.” He gazed a little longer at the child, and knew that was no child of Noldor Legolas was holding before him on the horse as they approached.

Legolas brought the horse to a stop and before he could dismount and lift the child down, she had already hopped to the ground and was running towards the queen and shocked king.

“Uncle Aragorn!” she cried out, the smile spread across her face.

Aragorn’s eyes clouded with uncertain astonishment. She remembered him? They had barely met. The child launched herself into his arms, and he caught her, just. Arwen smiled, seeing them together. Aragorn could not contain the smile, he loved children and had seen precious few in Imladris, Lorien or even Mirkwood.

Gimli, still aloft on his horse, smiled at the sight. It reminded him of that first glimpse he had had of her. It had been her laughter he had encountered first. Then it was the golden hair as she dropped giggling from a tree into Haldir’s unsuspecting arms…

…

Gimli slipped off the horse and watched Aragorn with his daughter and smiled. He had nothing to fear.

“Well, now, Haldaraina,” Aragorn said, “You are looking so well. Where is your father?”

Arwen jolted a little, the child within her womb having suddenly leapt with joy. She frowned, thinking it very strange. There was only one reason an elf would do that, and that was if they were in the presence of kin . . .

“Right here,” Legolas replied, smiling as he approached.

“And don’t forget me,” Gimli added with a chuckle.

Aragorn clasped Gimli to him, and turned to Legolas, holding him close, as close as he could. He looked down. “You have another child on the way,” he noted.

“Due this month,” Legolas smiled with joy. “Truly, the Valar has been good to us.”

Aragorn’s eyes moved to the little girl now exchanging greetings with his wife. “Why did you not tell me?” he whispered.

Legolas’ eyes darkened as he whispered back, “I tried, many times, but I could not. At Helm’s Deep especially.” Aragorn remembered the look in his eyes that night, and how Gimli alone held him back from following. “Aye,” Legolas said aloud. “Gimli is my mate, this is his daughter and unborn.”

“Your daughter?” Arwen asked in surprise.

Legolas smiled wider still. “Lord Celeborn himself gave Gimli leave to adopt her, not three years hence, along with allowing my marriage to Gimli.” he explained. His green eyes met Aragorn’s for the briefest of moments, but both looked away. Nothing more was said.

“I thought Haldir’s brother was her father,” Aragorn said aloud, thinking this a ruse.

“No,” Legolas replied, although he knew Aragorn did not believe it any more than Arwen did. “He was her guardian, until such times as I could bring her home.”

Haldaraina wriggled out of Arwen’s grasp and returned to Gimli for a hug, which was her want as often as she could get away with it, which invariably was every time. Aragorn called for rooms to be made available and dinner to be prepared for the hungry and thirsty elves and dwarves. Almost certainly some could sleep within the Hall of Kings, most would have to be housed in the guard houses, the princes of both peoples, on the other hand, were given private quarters.

Arwen took Legolas’ arm. “I see you and I share something in common,” she said.

Legolas tried not to stiffen. “We do?”

“We both have a child due any day,” she smiled.

Legolas relaxed. “I had noticed,” he agreed. “When?”

“Within the next week, and yours?”

“We are due at the same time,” Legolas replied.

Arwen gazed up at him, open mouthed. “And you rode all the way from Mirkwood?”

“Erebor, in fact,” Legolas corrected.

“Erebor!”

Gimli guffawed. “I told him you would be angry, Queen Evenstar, but he would not listen.”

“I am fine,” Legolas assured them both. “Do not fuss over me. We came to make a fuss of Arwen.”

Arwen blushed. “That will not start at all, I can assure you. I am not partial to fussing any more than you are.”

The three friends laughed together, as they made their way into the palace. Aragorn was silent and pensive, holding back a little way from them. His mind was working out dates in his head. This was not good. But then, Legolas had said it quite plainly, Gimli had adopted the girl; that would mean she had no claim on the throne . . .on the other hand . . .Numenorean law . . .

Another elf joined them, smiling and relaxed, and Aragorn greeted him at once. “King Thranduil, forgive me, I did not see you.”

Thranduil grinned. “There is nothing to forgive, Estel.” He grasped the man to him and patted his back. He drew back then to look at him more closely. “You have become a fine king. Did I not say you would when I was here at your coronation?”

Aragorn smiled. “I believe you did,” he agreed.

Thranduil chuckled softly. “I saw your surprise at Legolas’ news,” he said.

Aragorn half considered denying it, but chose instead to walk back towards the palace.

“I must admit,” Thranduil continued. “I was very angry when I found out. Legolas and Gimli arrived in Mirkwood just as we were mopping up the last of the orc carcasses. Seeing them together was shock enough, I imprisoned his father, but then my son tells me that he has an illegitimate child.”

Aragorn winced. For an elf that was an unspoken curse, a blemish, and brought with it a closed door to Valinor. More than that . . .Aragorn could not bear to bring the thought to mind. “He lives, which means you did not kill him. So there was some good to come of this news.”

Thranduil laughed softly. “Ay, my friend. Just seeing them together, I knew this was no infatuation born of battle and the need for comfort.”

Aragorn swallowed, feeling decidedly sick. That was exactly what that one night had been… the comfort of flesh. He put the images out of his mind. Many a man comforted each other through the horrors of war, but that did not mean it did not have repercussions, especially if the other was an elf.

“I almost believed that Gimli was Haldaraina’s father. She calls him adar, and in sindarin. Can you believe that?” he said in surprise. Thranduil stopped walking and turned to Aragorn, clasping his shoulder. “My son is lucky to have such a friend in you. I know that you feel for him deeply. You are dear to our family, Aragorn. We . . .” He hesitated. “We had an afternoon of aggressive negotiations.”

Aragorn’s brow rose. “Aggressive negotiations?”

“Negotiations with swords and axes.” He blanched noticeably. “Poor child . . .she was screaming, adar, adar, adar, clinging to Gimli’s clothes. I am not a stonehearted father. It took Legolas all night to calm her. By that time we had calmed to the point of agreeing that love is all encompassing. I woke them early the following morning and we journeyed to see Celeborn. He was visiting Grey Havens at the time.” Thranduil sighed. “Legolas almost walked into the sea. The call was strong with him, but he would not leave Gimli or his child.”

Aragorn slowly nodded. He had seen the sea’s affect on Legolas himself, he knew the torment behind those eyes. “It must have been hard,” he said.

“Very hard, but Legolas is determined that he will not leave without Gimli. As it was, Celeborn bade us return to Rivendell with him. There set them both to long weeks and month of prayers and such. I do not know what happened, or what was said other than the barest details. I went there to petition the Valar for forgiveness for my son and to reinstate the family honour. What they returned with was a binding troth and Gimli’s name in the Book of Ages as Haldaraina’s father. She is counted as peredhor, even though it is plainly obvious even to me that she is peredhil.”

“Perhaps the Valar are wisest in all things, my friend,” Aragorn decided, a lightness coming to his heart at last. Legolas had petitioned for protection for the line of Kings of Gondor, he was certain of it. An unselfishness request, and one granted. Aragorn’s son would be king after him. But what was even better than that was that Thranduil did not know. Aragorn smiled. “They know more than we can understand.”

“Even than elves, you mean?”

Aragorn grinned and his friend chuckled. Finally they entered the palace to rejoin the others. The New Year celebrations were grand with a peace Aragorn, for a time, had not expected to find. Two days of feasting and greeting old friends and making new ones damned the nameless ache in Aragorn’s heart.

On the night of the third day of the weeklong celebrations, Aragorn retired to his private chambers. He was exhausted after the day’s pageantry, but happy. Arwen looked at him as he drew close beneath the blankets.

“Why did you not tell me?”

“I did,” he replied, knowing full well what she was talking about.

“You said you had slept with someone, that it was for comfort. You did not tell me who it was.”

Arwen was not angry but disappointed, and Aragorn understood it. “I accepted that I had made a mistake, and so did you. Why bring this up now?”

“Sleeping with someone can be a mistake, but beseeching the Valar for conception is not an accident.”

Aragorn said nothing at first. “I was ignorant, I was not aware of the birds and the bees, and I know that is no excuse.”

Arwen persisted. “Estel, Legolas’ daughter is the heir to your throne.”

Aragorn gazed at her for a moment longer. “She is not.”

Arwen hesitated, a gentle crease to her brow. “How can you say that?”

Aragorn sighed gently. “Gimli is Haldaraina’s father, not I.”

Arwen gazed at him, unsure what to say or even think. “Our son recognises his kin. She is your daughter.”

Aragorn shook his head. “The Valar have made their decision. I will not break apart Legolas’ family, or ours, simply to prove a point. Haldaraina is not my daughter.”

Arwen lowered her voice to a mere breath. “The Valar granted petition?” It was something almost unheard of.

Aragorn nodded gently. “Seeking another, even in battle, will never happen again. My heir lies safe within your body, my love, so rest easy. You are my one true love and will be forever.”

“The last statement I believe,” she said, eyes turning glazed. “The first however, is not true.”

Aragorn frowned. “What?”

Arwen smiled gently. “Your son is arriving, or will be before the dawn.”

It took a little longer than she expected, but the result was the same. Exhausted and happy she presented her husband with his son at eight o’clock in the morning. He was speechless as he kissed her.

“Rest, my love,” he told her gently. “I have several brothers waiting outside all eager to hear the good news.”

Arwen nodded, already on the edge of sleep. Aragorn rose and crossed to the door. Opening it softly, he closed it behind him, before the forward rush of bodies could catch a glimpse. Aragorn eyed them all in turn, his brothers and Arwen’s brothers were all waiting to hear.

“Well?” Gimli prodded. “Don’t keep us waiting any longer.”

“Yes,” Elrohir added. “We have paced all night.”

Aragorn grinned. “My brother’s, one and all, I am happy to announce the arrival of the heir of the throne of Gondor, Prince Eldarion.” There was a great cheer before Aragorn could hush them again. “Arwen is very tired and needs to rest. You may all see him later when she has had a chance to sleep.”

They all agreed and dispersed to find the kitchen, wine and several tankards. Gimli, for once agreed that this was a wine moment.

At dinner the following evening, Merry found himself talking with the smallest elf he had ever seen. He had seen her briefly in Lorien, years before and they both remembered each other. He was expecting the voice of a young child, but she had an inquiring mind that belied her age. He knew elves aged much slower than humans, or even hobbits for that matter, and he could not just her age. “Has your father Haldir arrived for the festivals yet?”

Haldaraina frowned softly, head to one side, a very Legolas mannerism, he noted with surprise.

“Uncle Haldir is here, he arrived with the Queen Evenstar’s brothers. Haldir is not my father. Legolas is my nanneth, I was born 17 years ago in Lorien.”

Merry was shocked to learn this and not far away the king’s face started to pale

“My adar and nanneth brought me here to see my uncle Aragorn and their new baby, on our way to our new home in Ithilien.”

“Your adar?”

“My father, Gimli.”

Merry blinked, not sure if he had heard her correctly. She was half dwarf? Her hair was a dark honey gold with the hint of copper and her eyes were grey. If she had been Gimli’s daughter, surely she would have looked like him, at least a little bit. Merry had met many great people all over Middle Earth, and knew their type and look. This little elf was not half dwarf, she was Peredhil.

“I am the only peredhor,” she announced as if it was the greatest gift since the harnessing of fire. “Until nanneth has my baby brother,” she added.

Merry smiled. Seeing Legolas large with child had also been a shock. “Are you excited?”

Haldaraina nodded as only a small child could. “Have you got a baby brother?”

“No,” Merry replied. “My mother died when she had me.”

“My nanneth nearly died having me,” Haldaraina told him.

Listening unintentionally, Elessar had lost the power of speech. Legolas had nearly died? He decided to find something else to concentrate on before he collapsed with the horror, and found it. The candlelight was playing on the soft sheen of his wife’s hair. She was beautiful.

Silent eyes watched him watching her, thoughts equally silenced for now, but which would in the right moment come to the fore. He dared not smile, not yet. Happiness was yet to be his ally.

Unaware of prying eyes, Aragorn found joy in the sight before him, he always had and always would. Arwen, his light and love. At his gaze she looked up and smiled back at him. In her arms, lay the joyous culmination of their love, the first of many, he hoped. He had a son, something he had never dared hope for. With the forging of peace after the downfall of Sauron, he was rid of the ghosts and threats of his past. He could finally live with hope for a bright future.

The movement of a little girl not far from where Aragorn stood caught Arwen’s gaze… as the princess of Mirkwood turned her head, Arwen saw a familiar jaw line, a remembered cheeky giggle. Her eyes flew to Aragorn’s face. There was no anger in there, but a warning. If she could see it, others would too, sooner or later.

Merry laughed along with her, oblivious to the gazes of others. “You must be hungry and thirsty. Would you like me to get you something?”

“Yes, please,” Haldaraina replied.

Merry was delighted, and for a moment forgot what he had asked. If she was part peredhor, he thought, she could be older than her elf size would suggest. And he knew even less about dwarves than he knew about elves. Was she of age? Seventeen years to an elf could be . . .

Legolas sidled in behind him and spoke. “What are you intentions towards my daughter, Merriadoc Brandybuck?”

Merry, startled, looked up finding himself bracketed between Lords Gimli and Legolas… As quick as silver, he replied, “My intention is to inform you, your highness, that your daughter rivals the Lady of the Woods in beauty.”

Gimli eyed him with no small amount of knowing mirth, and at first searched for something to say in reply. “Alas, you have me in a corner, young rascal. For I cannot gainsay my oath to the lady Galadriel, nor could I dampen the heart of my fair daughter.” Gimli leaned in conspiratorially. “She is a beauty, is she not?” Merry smiled, but it faded quickly. “And not yet of age, heir of Buckland.”

Aragorn, not far away, choked on his wine. For some reason he was instantly seething, but could not explain why nor say a word.

Haldir of Lorien watched with keen eyes the reaction of Aragorn to the exchange. His analytical mind was working overtime, and his was gaze hard. It was more obvious to him than it might have been to one who did not know the king as he did. Nevertheless, he knew.

After the feast to celebrate the birth of their son, Aragorn returned with Arwen to their chambers. Their son was hungry, and she was tired. He had ended the feast with the royal proclamation that his son and heir had been named, although any excuse for a feast would have been excusable since he was the happiest man who ever lived, through the Third Age at least.

“I request that all the remaining food be given to the poorest of my city tonight, so that even they may rejoice with me.”

And so it was.

Gimli had been awestruck by Eldarion. He walked slowly along the halls, his love beside him. “Are you tired?”

Legolas shook his head. “No, but full,” he admitted. “I have not eaten so much in weeks.”

Gimli chuckled. “We dwarves have a saying. Eat when you have it, dream of it when you don’t and you’ll never go hungry.”

Legolas smiled widely. He was restless, in truth. He was unsure if it was the song of the White Gulls in the distance, or the unborn child lying heavily within him. An unbidden memory rose and he lifted his head as if to shy away from its grasp. “Let us go into the garden and enjoy the last rays of sunshine before retiring to bed.”

“Aye, that would be good. The royal gardens are this way.” Gimli said and descended again into thought. “That tiny thing,” Gimli noted, more to himself than anyone.

Legolas smiled as they strolled together through the open archway and into the garden of trees and flowers. “Most elven children are born small, but he is healthy.”

Gimli hummed to himself in thought. “I have only ever seen dwarf babes, and they are a little more robust.”

Legolas swallowed. “How robust?” he asked.

Gimli looked up at him. “Well . . .from what I have heard and what I can remember, Fili and Kili both weighed eleven pounds each.”

Legolas’ jaw dropped.

Silent as the fall of night, the darkening shadows cloaked him from view and his mind from theirs. He was well disciplined, well trained, and bowed only to one master. He would see to it that his master’s honour was restored, even if it meant killing the child.

He followed them, using the shadows to his advantage. They were going to the gardens, and so would he. All he needed was a little more time, and he would be ready to strike.

Legolas gazed at the stars for a long while, naming them for Gimli as they sat on a bench in the gardens. He paused for a moment feeling something strange within him. His eyes widened. He breathed deeply for a moment and turned to Gimli, eyes wide and fearful. “Gimli, I-I need to lie down.”

Gimli turned from the star-spangled sky and looked at him. “What?”

Legolas’ breath abruptly caught in his throat for a moment before he moaned. Gimli jumped to his feet. “Is it time?”

Legolas nodded, and breathed slowly. “Help me to our rooms. This is not place for birthing.”

Gimli agreed and took his weight on his shoulder. “Take as long as you need, don’t hurry. I’ll call for a guard to fetch herbs for you,” he said.

Legolas stopped walking and opened his mouth to say something, but all that that came out was a loud moan. “I think I will need them,” he agreed breathily.

Legolas leaned against an apple tree and pressed his head against the rough bark. Gasping loudly, he hand reached blindly for Gimli.

Gimli gave him his hand and pursed his lips. “You’re not going to make it to our rooms, meleth. I’ll go and fetch help.”

Legolas rounded on him, terrified. “No! Please! Do not leave me alone.” He breathed heavily for a moment. “Just let me sit down.”

“If you sit down here, Legolas, you’re not going to get up.”

Eyes closed, Legolas breathed heavily, lowering himself down against the food of the tree. “Gimli? I am frightened.”

“Don't be. You've done this before.”

“That is why I am frightened,” Legolas replied. Tears abruptly appeared and fell as he sobbed. “I could not do it then, and I am too frightened to do it now.”

Gimli stared at him in wordless surprise.

“I was all alone in the forest,” Legolas told him. “It took so long, and was so painful I could hardly breathe. I almost died.”

Gimli leaned forward and wiped away his tears before kissing him. Taking the elf’s hand in his own he knelt beside him. “You’re not alone this time, melethron. Nor will you die. As for the pain, fear makes that worse. So you listen to my voice and remember that I love you. I am not leaving you.”

“He left me,” Legolas whispered, wincing.

“Who? Who left you?”

Legolas pressed his back against the tree, the pain drawing his breath in great gasps. Even after so much time had passed, he was unable to speak the name. “I does not matter now,” he breathed as a reprieve to the onslaught came. It would be all too brief.

“I am not leaving you. Understand?”

Legolas trembled, feeling the pain rising and clenched. It rose and rose like a vengeful beast out to consume him. He writhed, moaning horribly.

“Hush, meleth, trust it. Don’t fight it.”

Legolas sucked air into his lungs and cried out. “I cannot!”

“You can, Legolas. I’m here.” Breathing fast and shallow, he was beginning to panic. “Slow,” Gimli warned. “Slow down.”

Legolas relaxed to the sound of his voice, heard him call for the guard, but the pain did not stay away for long. Again he clenched and gasped loudly. Squeezing his eyes shut he tried to withdraw from it as it tore through him.

“Relax,” Gimli’s voice came to him. “Stay calm, like a butterfly.”

“Adar?” a weak voice whimpered.

Gimli turned. He had almost forgotten their ever-faithful shadow. “Haldaraina, it’s alright, child.”

“Nanneth is hurt.”

Legolas tried to speak, to comfort her, but couldn’t. Gripping Gimli’s hand, he sucked in a breath and cried out.

“I know, little leaf, but this is good pain.” Gimli could see she did not understand. “I’ll explain later, alright? First, I need you to find your uncle Aragorn. We need some help. Tell him we’re in the garden and . . .tell him to be quick . . .and bring herbs.”

Haldariana hurried off as Legolas panted. He gasped softly as a strange peace came over him. Gripping the dwarf’s hand he abruptly went rigid. Releasing the breath with a startled cry, Legolas looked up at Gimli, his eyes huge. “It is coming.”

Gimli nodded, and with his free hand he helped him out of his clothes. “Aragorn!” he called out, but there was no reply from within the palace.

Haldir had made up his mind. Something was not right with Haldaraina, and he was determined to get to the truth. Gimli could not be her father, Legolas had not met him at the time of her conception. Gimli and Legolas had gone to the gardens, and he needed to clear this matter in his mind. He needed to hear it for himself, and not succumb to guesses.

Just as he turned a corner a flurry of elven silk ran right into him. He grabbed it before it could fall and found himself looking straight into the eyes of the child in question. The eyes were wide with an unspeakable terror.

“Haldaraina, what is wrong?”

“Nanneth,” she puffed, quite beside herself and in tears.

“Hush, Haldaraina. Tell me,” he soothed. “Have you been scolded for something? Are your parents arguing again?”

The child shook her head. “Nanneth cries in pain. Adar sent me to find uncle Aragorn. He said to be quick.”

Haldir looked back the way she had come. “The infant comes,” he whispered. Releasing the child he indicated to a set of double doors passed which he had walked not three minutes ago. “See those guards?” He felt her nod against his arm. “That is the king’s chambers. Hurry now. I will help your nanneth.”

Parting hurriedly, Haldir bolted through the archway and into the last light of sunset. A horrible cry rose from within the grove of trees. His blood ran cold, remembering a night seventeen years before. He slowed to catch his breath and looked on in wonder. Legolas was not alone this time, although the pain seemed no less intense. Legolas panted, gripping Gimli with both hands like a vice.

Haldir stepped forward and unclipped his cape. Gimli eyes lifted to his as he knelt beside Legolas. “The birth is imminent,” he told them, laying the cape out between the wood elf’s feet.

“Have you done this before?” Gimli asked, knowing what Haldir was about to do.

“No,” he admitted. “Legolas had already delivered by the time we found him, but I have observed the births of my own children.”

Legolas gripped Gimli tighter and cried out loudly into the encroaching night.

“Legolas,” Haldir commanded. “Focus, my friend.”

Legolas groaned loud and long. “I cannot . . .” he gasped.

“You can, and you will.”

“It’s all that riding . . .and such tiny hips,” Gimli supposed. Haldir said nothing, but his look said it all.

Legolas turned his head towards Gimli and screamed into his tunic.

“That’s it, meleth,” Gimli whispered close to Legolas’ ear. “Another one of those should do it.”

Legolas gave it all he had. Haldir cupped the emerging infant in both palms to keep him off the cold stone. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Aragorn appear with Haldaraina. Legolas clenched and screamed. Suddenly the child was free and Legolas sank against Gimli’s supporting arm. He breathed hard, unwilling for a moment to open his eyes. “No more,” he whimpered.

“No, meleth,” Gimli agreed. “It’s over. Look.”

Haldir wrapped his cloak around the child and laid him on Legolas’ stomach.

Aragorn joined them, a healing pouch in his hand. As Legolas gazed at his newborn and held him, Aragorn cut through the cord and tied it. “I do not believe having another child will be good for you, my friend.”

“I will have to agree with the king, min mellon.” Haldir added. “It is not for an elf to task the life of the Eldar so readily.”

Legolas closed his eyes and shook his head. “Never again,” he whispered and descended into oblivion.

Gimli sniffed a little, tears coating his cheeks. “If I had ever known it would be this bad, I would never have . . .”

Aragorn gripped his shoulder. “Get him dressed as best as you can and carry him to his bed,” he instructed Haldir. To Gimli he added, “You can discuss that between you when he comes round.”

Haldir carried Legolas down the hall, noticing several pairs of eyes following his progress. Gimli was close behind him carrying a newborn, which brought smiles to several faces. Legolas was silent, finding this turn of events not quite as dignified as he would have liked. Worse was still to come.

When Haldir turned into their assigned rooms he found a flustered Thranduil already waiting. All hell broke loose within a second, and the infant reacted instantly. The king flustered over his son as if he was a young child, with a sprained ankle after some illicit stunt. The infant screamed at the sudden clamour. This would not do. Haldir laid the prince him his bed and pulled the blankets over him. And still Thranduil fussed. He was worse than the worst mother-in-law, Gimli realised.

“Your majesty!” Gimli called out firmly. “With all due respect and if you wouldn’t mind? I would like you to be quiet. You are upsetting my son.”

Thranduil lifted his head to glare at the dwarf, whom he only barely tolerated at the best of times, and mostly to humour Legolas. “And what business is it of yours?”

Gimli stepped closer. “That is my wife, in that bed. And I shall thank you to remember that it is I, and not you, who is her next of kin.”

Everyone expected a blow-out any second. In fact, Thranduil looked ready to explode, instead he stepped back. “I apologise,” he said softly. “I forgot myself for a moment, and forgot how sensitive newborn elf’s ears are.” He took a calming breath. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“There is,” Legolas replied, as Gimli laid the infant in his arms. “I need fresh clothes, a front opening tunic would be best, and a bath.”

Gimli smiled down at him as he began to hold their son properly for the first time since his birth. Finally they kissed. “You’re beautiful.”

“I am a mess.”

“Still beautiful,” Gimli insisted.

Legolas smiled mischievously. “Good, because tonight you will sleep on the floor.”

Gimli had the sense to look shocked. “I what?”

“Do not call me your wife again.”

Gimli turned an interesting shade of red. “Oops.”

As promised, Gimli slept on the floor that night.

In the sunroom the following afternoon, Arwen chuckled softly at the look of innocence on Haldaraina’s face. Choosing a name for her son had not caused this amount of amusement, she thought, or this amount of arguing. Nonetheless, her friends could not decide and, in truth, their daughter was making the whole situation comical.

“Why not Durin the Gold, adar?”

“Because, little leaf, Durin is a sacred name, reserved only for Durin’s direct descendents with black hair.”

“But Durin loved gold, too, adar.”

Gimli sighed, and tried very hard to ignore the smug smile on Legolas’ face. “Aye, well, I cannot argue your logic there, Hali, but the law is the law. No Durin the Gold.” He thought for a moment. “But, I do admire the name Gil-galad.”

Three gasps sounded deafening.

“No, adar,” Haldaraina beseeched him in all seriousness. “You can not.”

“Any why not?” Gimli asked, in mock seriousness.

“Because Gil-galad was the king, a great king,” she replied, as if her father didn’t know. “Haldir,” she said, looking at her baby brother intently where he lay nursing contently.

Gimli suddenly laughed, making his son jump and open his eyes.

“He has your eyes,” Legolas informed him. “Although Haldir would be touched by the sentiment, my sweet Hali, we would like something unique for your brother‘s name.”

“Arn-alda, beside the tree,” Gimli put in.

Legolas blanched. “My Lady Arwen, it may not be possible for me to enjoy your beautiful gardens for a while.”

Arwen smiled gently. “Have you thought of Nimrodel? Or Galad-eth?”

Gimli and Legolas both shook their heads. “Thranduil, for you father,” Gimli suggested.

Legolas lifted his eyes. “Or Glòin, for yours?”

“Pah,” Gimli huffed in frustration. “We shall still be arguing this when he comes of age.”

Legolas rose from his place on the couch and passed the infant to Gimli, arranging his jade green jerkin, which boasted a double set of buttons, one down each side, and was covered in dark gold embroidery in the design of Durin’s gate. “I believe we need a little help. And with that in mind, I shall approach Aragorn himself for ideas.”

Gimli smiled. “Aye, best idea I’ve heard all day.” He laid his sleeping son in the ornately carved crib and kissed Legolas. “Do not tax yourself, meleth.”

“I shall return shortly,” Legolas replied. “And hopefully with better ideas than what we have already.”

Dark shadows watched silently, unseen and unchecked. Only time would tell what nugget of juicy news would come his way to their favour, he had heard much already. It had been several years now, but patience was their ally. Soon now, the king would make an error and something in the air said it would be sooner rather than later.

Aragorn looked up from the bureaux as Legolas entered and chamber and smiled. His elf friend walked a little stiffly, but otherwise seemed all right after his traumatic night. “Legolas, how are you feeling?”

“Tired,” he admitted. “And a little sore.”

“I expected as much. The healer tells me that your son weighs almost ten pounds.”

“It is true. He gets that from his father’s side of the family.”

Aragorn chuckled. He sobered somewhat. “Has the healer prepared a regimen for you?” he asked as he rose to approach him.

Legolas’ eyes darkened, a sure sign of his discomfort. Aragorn’s heart went out to him, even though it was one of his most endearing traits. “I have a herb paste to apply three times a day. The healer wanted to apply it herself, but . . .I have Gimli do it. It is uncomfortable, but it should heal well.”

“I could have tended you, min mellon.”

“I know, Aragorn, but . . .I did not want to be embarrassed around you for the next one hundred years or so,” he said wryly. “It was enough for me to know that you were there to . . .witness . . .I could not bear the thought you what you would have had to do with the healing herbs.”

Aragorn nodded and clasped his shoulder gently. “I understand.” He turned back to the bureaux and regarded him gently. “On the subject of fathers, I have been meaning to talk to you.”

Legolas lifted his eyes warily to his friend’s face. He sank inside, but did not let it show. He had been dreading this moment for a while, but he was not one to step back from his responsibility whatever the personal cost. “Are you going to take Haldaraina away from me?”

Aragorn released a shocked breath. “No,” he assured him. “No, that never crossed my mind, my friend. Whatever made you think that?”

“I had to ask,” he replied. “Gimli is her father.”

Aragorn still had doubts, although he knew they were unfounded he could not rid himself of the guilt. “I was the one to call upon the Valar’s blessing. I remember the look on your face. It is burned into my memory even to this day. She is my daughter, by blood. Why did you never tell me?”

“I tried. You have no idea how it hurt to know that with your fall over that cliff in Rohan, if you had not come back . . .I would have to give up my small child to take your place upon the throne of men, and lose her forever. At Helm’s Deep, hearing you resign yourself to death that night, my heart constricted.” Legolas met his gaze. “She is not your daughter, Aragorn. She is mine. Her existence is your doing, but you cannot take her. You have a son. He is your heir.”

…

A dark shadow slowly smiled, unseen and unheard. Hearing all it needed, it slipped quietly away.

…

Aragorn’s face crumpled, and the shine of tears obscured the blue-grey of his eyes. “I know,” he whispered. He pulled Legolas to him in a fierce hug. “I know, my brother. I almost ruined your life with my recklessness, even to the point of almost killing you.” Pulling back, he gazed at him tenderly. “I only wish I could forgive myself.”

“Take heart, Aragorn. I have forgiven you, though there was nothing to forgive.”

Aragorn clasped his shoulder, unable to speak for a moment. “So, my brother, what brings you here today? Particularly when you should be resting.”

Legolas smiled widely. “Gimli and I are of a disagreement.”

“You had an argument?” Aragorn looked surprised. “After all this time?”

“Unfortunately, it is true,” Legolas replied. “We cannot agree on a name. We both agreed to ask a third party, and we would be honoured if the King of Gondor, our brother, would name our son. He was born in your private garden after all,” Legolas added, somewhat embarrassed.

Aragorn lifted a brow and a look of mischief entered his eye. “And a fitting punishment for that would be?”

Legolas looked a tad worried for a moment. “A nice name . . .if you please . . .my lord.”

Before Aragorn could reply the doors to the audience chamber flew open and a guard rushed in, bloodied and stepping forward unsteadily even at speed.

“My Lord . . .they took her . . .”

Man and elf froze.

“Who?” Aragorn demanded.

“Hal-Haldar . . .” Suddenly the guard collapsed.

Aragorn rushed to his side and knelt, feeling for a pulse. “He is dead.” Aragorn teased a remnant of elven cloth from his fingers and held it up. It was cream, embroidered with the twisting vines of silver thread, to match the crown on Gimli’s brow.

“My daughter!” Legolas burst. “Someone has taken her!”

“And taken her with force too, if her dress was torn in the process,” the King growled. In his palace, no one touched a child without due cause. And this was without due cause.

Aragorn rose at once. “Arwen. The babies.” At a run he charged out of the door, forgetting Legolas was not able to keep up. He didn’t care at that moment, all he could think of was getting to his wife. He knew whoever had taken the elfling, they would have to have done something to Arwen to get at her. Say nothing of Gimli.

The trail was not hard to follow. The first slumped body he came across was Merry’s, who was moaning sickly. Not long after that, he found Pippin, surrounded by the large form of another Guard of the Citadel. Aragorn rolled him over to find Pippin’s sword buried to the hilt in the man’s gut. Aragorn recognised the man as Hansal, a former palace guard under the reign of Denethor. Aragorn looked up at the doors Pippin had fallen against, which now hung from one hinge each.

Pippin moved and opened his pained eyes. “Do not try to move,” Aragorn told him. “What happened?” he asked, for now fighting the urge to barge into the sunroom, and getting himself killed, before getting all the details he could. They could still be inside, he reasoned.

Pippin coughed, a hand pressed to his ribs. “There were ten of them, I recognised them as Denethor’s personal guard. They demanded that I step aside and allow them entry. I refused. They said they had come to take the bastard child and that I should step aside for the honour of Gondor.” Pippin licked his lips, and winced with the pain. “I tried to hold them off, my lord, but there were too many. I tried to keep them from the children . . .”

“You did your best, my friend. Lie still.” Aragorn stood just as Legolas and Merry joined him. Legolas was ready to burst into the room, hearing an infant’s cry from within. Aragorn held him back. “Wait, Legolas. You are not recovered enough to fight, if we are set upon.”

“My children are in there . . .”

“So is mine,” Aragorn reminded him. “Wait here. Merry, can you fight?”

“No problem, just point out which black and gold uniform to bloody and I’ll do it.” Merry pressed a hand to the elf’s arm and followed Aragorn into the room.

The room was wrecked. Two couches lay smashed and both cribs had been overturned. Five bodies lay, cleaved by axe blows. Gimli sat amongst them, bleeding heavily from a head wound. Beyond him lay Arwen, a blow to the face already discolouring her creamy complexion.

“Gimli?”

The dwarf looked up, tears on his face. In his arms lay two small bundles. One was whimpering, one seemed to be asleep.

“The infants . . .?”

“They are unhurt,” Gimli spoke, his voice broken. “I fought them off, but another one of them came up behind me and grabbed Haldaraina. They would have taken the babies too, if I had not turned in time. They knocked Arwen to the floor and took Eldarion, but I killed the treacherous leech and took your son back . . .they took my little leaf.”

Legolas, unable to wait any longer, burst into the room, his eyes darting from broken furniture, two infants, Gimli, Arwen . . .Haldaraina . . .

The scream that rose seemed to come up from a fog and only increase in pitch and volume. Aragorn looked up sharply, and Gimli could only watch him, helplessly, torn between holding his son or laying him on the cold stone floor and comforting Legolas. Aragorn stood at once and crossed to the hysterical elf. He gasped, knowing suddenly what it was to an elf to be heartbroken and why it killed them.

“Legolas,” he called, but he knew that it was pointless. There was only two ways this would go.

Legolas continued to scream, unaware of the arms around him. Legolas fought back and Aragorn held him tighter still. Finally, he broke through and Legolas collapsed against him in gasping, wracking sobs. The man alone was holding him on his feet, his body numb against the pain in his heart. The soaked shoulder beneath his cheek was beyond the periphery of his existence. His mate and newborn were not even registering in his mind. All he could think of was Haldaraina.

Gimli pressed one of the limp but shuddering hands to his lips. “I love you,” he whispered. “Come and sit down. You need to rest . . .please?” It was all the distraught father could think of saying.

Aragorn found the note, pinned to the inside of the door with a dagger. He removed it before anyone else could find it and more hysterical sobbing could ensue. Legolas was beside himself enough without this, he realised. Arwen was pale and upset, but was relieved that Eldarion was safe, but it was a bitter consolation when she discovered that her niece had been taken. He read it and gritted his teeth. He wanted too much to kill something, or scream, but neither would get the girl back.

“I came as quickly as I could.”

Aragorn lifted his eyes to see Haldir. It had only been about three minutes, did Haldir really think it had been that long? Glancing at Legolas . . .the elf rocked back and forth, shuddering every now and then, holding a sleeping newborn with no awareness of anything around him and silent . . .yes, it had been too long. Unable to speak, he simply thrust the demand note towards him. Haldir took it and read the scrawled writing…

Haldir turned, eyes still on the parchment, as Aragorn stepped passed him. “They took Eldarion?”

Aragorn was seething, but reined it in. He gazed at the elf and realised that he did not know. “No, my friend. They took Haldaraina. Someone seems to think she is my daughter.”

Haldir’s eyes bore into his. “Is she?”

Aragorn did not dare drop the gaze. “No. She is Gimli’s daughter.”

A ripple fluttered across Haldir’s cheek. “I see.”

Aragorn knew there was more to those two words than met the ear.

Haldir stepped closer. “One night, seventeen years ago, I heard screaming in the forests of Lorien. Believing en elven brother was under attack from orcs, Rumil and I ran to the aid of a Sindarin elf. He had been making his way to Lorien, on foot and without provisions, to find safety for his unborn child, but nature had overtaken him. That night almost spelled death to that elf, for his suffering was unimaginable. It took me several days to be sure he would survive.”

No name was mentioned, but there was no doubt who he was talking about. Aragorn had not known of Legolas’ journey into Lorien, or of his pain. He had heard from Thranduil at the time that Legolas had been gone for an overly long time, possibly searching for Gollum, but Aragorn had known that the search had been called after the prince had ‘gone missing’. He realised Legolas must have been very frightened, if his cries from the garden were anything to go by. On hindsight, his flight to Lorien was understandable. He frowned, not wanting to think what that night, alone in the forest, must have been like.

“By your own word, my friend, tell me truly that she is not your daughter. The alternative would mean your immediate and painful death.”

“I am relived that you feel that way, mellon nin. Haldaraina is truly Gimli’s daughter and not mine. Had she been I would not be standing here, but out there looking for the Queen of Gondor. For I would not have married Arwen, but taken Legolas for my mate and relinquished the throne to his child. Honour would require nothing less. On pain of death or not I would reply the same, she is Gimli’s child.”

Haldir gazed at him and pressed a hand to his chest. “Forgive me, my friend. I was wrong to doubt you. What do we do?”

They eyed the shaking form of Legolas where Gimli held him, attempting to soothe the distraught elf. “We need to find her quickly.”

“And safely,” Aragorn added. “If they discover their mistake, they might kill her in their anger.”

“This is a revenge attack,” a voice spoke. Pippin had come to join them by the doors. “For the death of the Steward,” he wondered.

“Of a sort,” Aragorn replied.

“You will need to tell all those you take with you what the note says,” Haldir warned him.

Aragorn sighed and nodded. “Pippin, someone took Legolas’ first child under the misguided belief that she is my daughter.”

Heads rose and eyes turned to him from further in the room. Aragorn realised that he had spoken loud enough even for Gimli to hear. His eyes smouldered with jealously, but Aragorn could see something else within those dark orbs.

“She is my daughter,” the dwarf growled. “And I’ll kill any who say otherwise.”

“That is as expected, my friend,” Aragorn told him, stepped closer to the knot of family and friends. “And as king of this city and all the lands round about I will stand by you in your quest to right this wrong. It is my honour also that stands upon the edge of the abyss, but more than you and I is the welfare of your mate and your child.”

Gimli turned to Legolas’ large pleading eyes, both were silent. Gimli looked back at the king and lifted his chin. He nodded.

“What we are facing is an uprising, men whose loyalties lie with the Stewards and not with the Kings. We have to be very careful, not only to secure the safe return of the princess Haldaraina, who is heir to both Mirkwood and Aglarond, but to make sure we give a clear message to those who did this. They have made a mistake in their assumptions. They have made a mistake to think me a soft king, that I would tolerate such actions against an innocence child, a child who belongs to the visiting dignitaries of two countries, both brothers to her king and allies of Gondor.” Aragorn took another step forward, his noble head proud. “I will stand against this treachery, for no man will make such a lie and live to spread it across the lands I have fought to save from worse insidiousness. I will not see our three peoples go to war to save our honour for something so trivial in relation to what we have been through together. We all know that it was not your seed that brought Haldaraina into being, friend-Gimli. That does not matter. The Valar gave her to you, and gave you Legolas. He calls you meleth and she calls you adar. She has no other father but you, and that is all that matters.”

Arwen gave her husband a watery smile of support and nodded. This was very much to her approval. This was right, and she loved him.

A ripple passed over Legolas’ face, but he said nothing. Gimli lifted his axe from its resting place against the wall beside the chair where Legolas sat. Bending close he kissed Legolas quivering lips and pressed a kiss to his son’s sleeping head. “I’ll bring her home,” he promised and walked to Aragorn, looking up at him with a steady gaze. “There is a man somewhere who knows what he lost when he gave her up,” he noted. “And many more men soon to realise that this dwarf will not tolerate any slight to his honour, or his family.”

Aragorn said nothing, but passed him to kiss his wife and son, and to clasp Legolas’ shoulder. The elf reached up to hold him for a moment, words unnecessary. Pulling away, Aragorn touched the cheek of the sleeping babe and smiled. “His name is Annastel, a gift of hope.”

Legolas tried to smile, but it didn’t quite make it. “I will come with you.”

“Stay,” Gimli bade him.

“I can fight . . .”

“Legolas,” Aragorn cut in. “It is barely a day since you gave birth. He needs you.” He stepped away. “Pippin… how goes it with you?”

“Some broken ribs, but I am ready to answer the call of my lord and king.”

Aragorn levelled him a glare, which said, ‘stay here,’ but the hobbit was adamant. He turned to the second hobbit.

“I have a bit of a head ache,” Merry said. “But I’m ready.”

“Don’t even think of telling me to stay,” Gimli warned him, as the king’s eyes swivelled to rest on his face. Gimli’s head was still bleeding, but he did not care.

“You have an impressive army,” Haldir noted. Aragorn smiled grimly at that. “Time is wasting. They could be a league from the city by now.”

Aragorn shook his head. “The men upon the outer gates are loyal to me. If they saw a group of men with an elven child they would not hesitate to arrest them. After all, there are only three elven children within this city, and none of them belong to common soldiers.”

“True, but if she is concealed . . .”

Aragorn conceded the point. “Pippin, send the best riders of the guard with word to the gates of each level and to the captain of the wall. All levels are to be secured, as calmly and quietly as possible. Our best hope now is in secrecy. My guess is that they wish to discredit me, where better than here in the capital?”

Pippin bowed and hurried away.

“If I were one of them, I would have discarded my uniform after the kidnapping,” Merry voiced.

Aragorn nodded. “A hobbit’s sense of smell is legendary. Excuse the figure of speech, but you’ll be our dog. Haldir, set elf guards at all entrances to the palace and in this room. I want these buildings searched and secured. Deneb!” he called as a guard appeared in the doorway, obviously having just arrived for duty, and looking at the body in the corridor with confusion. “Call the guard, quietly mind. The princess Haldaraina has been kidnapped. I want a systematic search of the upper level, once done send word to each successive level. I will join you shortly.”

Deneb bowed and left, passing word to his second how had arrived shortly after him. The second guard stood by the door and waited. He would not leave his post save by the call of death.

“Gimli, you may summon your people to do what they will, but be advised. We need stealth and care.”

Gimli puffed out his chest. As if he needed to hear that, he thought. “I have warriors berthed on every level. We will be ready.”

The city was quiet all through the evening and no one noted the shutting of the city gates a little over an hour earlier than usual. The guard shifts changed and civilians went into their homes to eat and sleep, but nothing else stirred.

Elves and dwarves moved silently through the night-darkened streets and alleyways, and on every wall, the guards were alert. The upper level was thoroughly searched but there was no sign of Haldaraina. Merry stepped towards the king, and held up what he had found, four uniforms and an elf child’s slipper.

A small side door in the upper guardhouse swung open and four figures emerged, hugging the shadows, and with them was a much smaller one. With stealth they avoided the moonlit stretches of cobblestones and slipped away into a side street.

Aragorn stepped along the battlements, Pippin beside him checking every face of those on duty before stepping to the guardhouse and repeating the action. He shook his head. The guards within the room looked at their kin in expectation as he climbed onto a bench for them all to see. Beside him stood the hobbit, a dwarf lord and two elves, one flaxen haired and one dark.

“Men of Gondor, hear the voice of your king,” Aragorn began. “A grave injury has been committed this day to my brother, and thus to me. Men who profess to hold true to the same oaths as you, to hold honour and loyalty to your king and country, wearing with pride the same uniform as you bear now, have taken hostage the fair daughter of Gimli, Lord of Aglarond. She is but a child. You all have children and some of you grandchildren, some of you have sisters and nieces her age. I ask you, not as fellows of the citadel, not as soldiers, but as fathers, brothers, and uncles, help us find that little child and return her to her father. They are dangerous men, they had spilled innocent blood and almost took the life of your queen and newborn heir. I need your cunning, your stealth and your speed.

“It is true, this child is peredhor, half-elven, half-dwarf, and not of your lands, but she is an innocent, taken by force from my own palace. It was very nearly my own son they took, had it not been for the quick thinking of the child’s father. These men were intending to take this child of Aglarond and of Mirkwood and use her to topple the House of Elessar, to bring me to my knees and admit that I sired her. I will admit no such thing, for it is a lie. They use the end of the House of Stewards as a tool to incite anarchy and civil war and solely to destroy one man, a lie and a treachery that would destroy our country, and the ties we have forged between our allies and us. The peace we fought to long and hard for will be at an end. That this one man is your king is of no importance. The only concern is for the life of Princess Haldaraina. Any man who is not willing to set aside his watch or the comforts of home and hearth let him leave now. Any man who questions his allegiance or duty, let him leave now. I do not want men with doubts, or any man unwilling by my side. Let them leave unstopped, and no more will be said. Who is with me?”

Not one man moved. This was now the third such rousing speech, and there were four more guardhouses to muster. Aragorn would give them all the choice to aid or not. His eyes wandered to an older soldier who fidgeted a little too obviously.

“My lord and king,” he began.

Aragorn nodded in ascent for him to speak.

The man’s eyes lifted, steel grey and wide with fear. “I know who took her . . .I know where they were planning to hide if the gates were to shut them in.”

Legolas gazed out of the window and wrung his hands. There was nothing to see or to do, but wait. Returning to the couch he eyed the pestle and mortar that sat on the small table. It contained his medicine, and Gimli was not here to apply it. He gazed at the sleeping infant in the crib, his golden head turned to one side and his thumb stuck fast in his mouth. The day bed beyond it where Haldaraina had been taking her nap the day before, remained untouched. The signs of a struggle were still in evidence. His gaze was empty.

His mind turned to that first glimpse he had of her . . .

…

“Legolas,” Arwen called softly.

Legolas bowed his head. Silent tears slipped down his cheeks. “I failed her.”

“No,” Arwen spoke softly.

“I did,” he insisted. “I left her and they took her.” His shoulders shook as the grief overtook him. “I have to go and find her.” He could feel her hand on his arm, but it was from the arms round his shoulders that held him and from which he drew comfort. He had no strength to struggle. Sobbing, not for the first time, against the lattice of leather strips, soaking their waxed surfaces with his tears.

Haldir rested his head against Legolas’. Each time he had held him before had been hard, this time it was close to breaking him. These were not tears in parting, with the hope of returning in a few weeks or months time. These were tears of despair. “Stay here,” he whispered. “We will get her back.”

They stood in the tiny courtyard, a small house before them in darkness. There was no sound from within, and very little outside. In the silence, Aragorn’s eyes alone shifted to the lines of dwarves to his right and left, and behind them, lines of elven archers. When had the division of age-old hatred's slipped from them? He did not know, but here they worked as one.

He alone was the only man there, apart from Deremon, the man from the guardhouse. “Are you sure about this?” he whispered.

“Aye, my liege.” Deremon replied. He hesitantly walked up to the door and knocked softly. For a long time there was no reply.

Aragorn watched for any ripple from the ranks of elves, and it came. Something had stirred inside. Rumil, Haldir’s brother, stiffened and turned to meet Aragorn’s look. The king noted the slight nod and stifled the fury the rose within him. To his right, Gimli turned rigid with anger. As planned, Aragorn slipped back against the wall on the far side of the street, and left it to the elves and dwarves to arrest the four remaining conspirators.

“Who is it?” a voice called from beyond the door. It sounded sleepy, but it was a ruse. Aragorn could tell sleep-fuzzed voice from a forced copy of it.

“It is Deremon, open up, brother.”

A moment passed before the bolt shot back into its casing and the door opened. A face appeared in the narrow gap. “What do you mean waking me at such an hour?”

“Brother,” Deremon spoke again. “They’ve come for the peredhor child.”

“What peredhor child?” Ceremon asked, gruffly. “I don’t have any dwarves in here, Deremon. Only the king’s bastard. See?” He turned to the side so that his brother could see inside the single roomed house.

“Ceremon, that is not the king’s daughter,” Deremon told him. “You have to give her up.”

“Oh? And who told you that?” Ceremon wondered.

“I did, man of Gondor!” Gimli suddenly called out. “I come for what’s mine!”

Ceremon jumped back at the sudden voice. He looked out and saw the lines of gathered dwarves and elves in the courtyard, dwarves with axes and behind them rows of elves, bows in hand. A lone figure was leaning disinterestedly against the wall opposite the door. The dwarves took a decisive step closer.

“Give me my daughter,” Gimli demanded.

Ceremon turned to see the elves lifting their bows, notching arrows with deliberate care. The man stepped back and flung the door closed, only to find it unexpectedly wedged open by his brother’s body.

“Ceremon, think about what you’re doing,” Deremon begged him. “She’s peredhor . . .”

Aragorn straightened at Deremon suddenly choked, glints of moonlight on steel flashed in the doorway and suddenly the man fell.

“More blood on your hands, King Elessar, or should I say Thorongil the stable hand,” he called out and slammed the door.

Aragorn waited for a moment and then heard the cry from behind the door. Most eyes had missed the single arrow fly, but he had only barely seen the hand release the string. The cry was of anger. The situation could now go one of two ways. The door would open and someone would come out with the child at knifepoint . . .or dead.

Aragorn swallowed. The arrow had flown true, which meant there were now only three of them, and most likely all three of them were inside. His blood ran chill as he heard a woman cry out. He gasped softly in the still of night. Ceremon had a civilian woman in there. He stepped closer and waved Gimli back a pace. He agreed. One man already lay dead, and there were other innocent souls within the dwelling. It was a stand off.

Aragorn stepped closer, now standing in the centre of the courtyard. “Ceremon?” he called out. Lamps were being lit in the dwellings on either side as other folk were wakening with the coming of dawn. Had this really taken all night? “Ceremon,” he called again. The door opened a little and a face appeared, but it was not Ceremon’s. “Where is Ceremon?”

“Dead!” the man blurted out with no thought to address or title. “You want your bastard, you leave our lands and never come back.”

“And why would I leave?” Aragorn countered. “It is not my child you have.”

The man’s face twisted with rage, slipped out of sight. A child inside squealed and he returned, holding a dagger to her throat.

Gimli gave a short cry. “Don’t shoot . . .Aule! . . .don’t shoot.”

“Adar!” Haldaraina called out.

“Hali, hold on, little leaf. I’m . . .” Gimli stopped. What was he going to do? The dagger pressed to her throat and the man was looking at him with an uncertain look.

The man turned to Aragorn. “What is this? Dwarves and elves?”

“They are the child’s kin. This has nothing to do with me, except that you snatched her from my palace, attacked my wife and broke a few pieces of furniture.”

“But, you’re her father,” the man retorted.

Aragorn shook his head. “She means nothing to me. Killing her will change nothing.” He shrugged. “So go ahead.”

Gimli gave a startled cry, but the man had hesitated. All around the courtyard elves and dwarfs rippled with undisguised anger, aimed at Aragorn. Gimli growled softly, but raised his hand to stay the armies under his command.

Elven bows remained trained upon the man in the doorway, although the eyes of their bearers flicked to Elessar. They wanted to fire, but obeying the Dwarf they held motionless as the mountains above them.

Slowly another man, sword drawn walked up the street to stand beside Aragorn. In the grey light of dawn the face of Faramir could be seen, light brown hair lifting in the slight breeze.

“Steward,” the man addressed the newcomer.

“I am no Steward, stranger,” Faramir replied. “The line of Stewards ended with the death of my father. What is this ill-thought out idea of kidnapping a dwarf child going to achieve?”

The man hesitated. Suddenly his face turned bitter. “He set you up with his lies!”

Aragorn shook his head. “If that were so, my army would be here, and not those of Mirkwood and Aglarond. The child is not mine. The dwarf lord, Gimli, is her father. Look at him!” Aragorn demanded. “That is the heart of a father desperate to have his child returned. It matters little to me. I am merely angry that you took her from my palace.”

“Well . . .what about your training under my father. You were Thorongil. I remember you.”

“It is true that I served under Ecthelion, as Thorongil. I trained here, just as you did. Thorongil means son of Arathorn. That changes nothing. You have another man’s child. Let her go.”

The man did not move. “Ceremon said if your bastard child was brought to light, the line of succession would fail. Your kin have run before, when the Stewards of old killed your children. Now is no different.”

Faramir tossed his sword onto the cobbled street. “I will kill no innocent child, let alone one who comes from another country. There is no honour in either. I would not want to be a Steward to a bunch of undisciplined, unscrupulous child murderers.”

Aragorn had to praise that turn of phrase. He noted that the man’s fingers were fidgeting on the handle. “Give up the dwarf, man of Gondor, and save your life. If you do not, they will kill you . . .and I will not stop them. They will declare war on Gondor and beside them will be the elves, and I will not stop them. It will end when no man remains alive in Gondor, and Minas Tirith is raised to the ground. A small child will beseech the sky for an answer. What was this war for? Will you tell that child that it was for honour, the glory of Gondor, to restore the line of Stewards? Was it for an innocent dwarf child claimed by one man to be the illegitimate child if the king? Or for a mistaken belief that you know the heart of a man you met as a boy, fifty years ago?” Aragorn regarded him, two other men behind him. “Let he go, she is of no use to you.”

The knife fell a little way from the girl’s throat. His hold on the girl loosened and Haladaraina made a run for it. To the man’s surprise, she ignored Aragorn and ran straight for Gimli. Gimli wrapped his arms about her and held her tight, both in tears.

“My Hali,” he cried, “Are you alright?”

“I am alright, adar,” she sobbed. “I want to go home.”

“We’re going.” Gimli turned to his men. “Arrest these men,” he called. He turned to Aragorn and holding his daughter’s hand he walked towards him, seething. “Aragorn, we may be brothers, but if you ever say or do that again, I will personally skin you alive.”

Aragorn bowed his head in acceptance and replied, “I hope I never have to.”

Legolas laid the sleeping infant into the crib Haldir had repaired. Both infants were sharing for the moment as the elf worked away at repairing the other. Legolas' eyes gazed emptily at his son. You still have him, the maid had said as she brought food. It was supposed to be a comfort, but having a child, or two, or ten does not dampen the pain of losing another.

At the onset of fresh tears, he lifted his head. He had heard something in the hallway beyond the newly hung doors, but dismissed it. He could hear her voice everywhere he stood, and at every turn could imagine her dancing in the sunlight, or gazing up at the moon she loved best of all. He closed his eyes, but it was no help. Her smiling face always greeted him behind his eyelids. There was no peace to be had.

He stood and wandered aimlessly around the room, and lifted his head again as the sound came from beyond the doors, louder this time. Haldir was on his feet, but Legolas dared not hope that his ears did not deceive him.

He was staring at the doors as they opened, and there she stood, beside Gimli. He blinked, trying to decide if he was dreaming or if his desperation was causing him to hallucinate yet again. But this time, he saw not the beautiful daughter in fresh clothing, clean and happy. This child was filthy, its hair in disarray and clothing torn. She wore only one slipper and there were tear stains on her face.

"Hali . . .?"

It was the tiniest of whispers, one borne of desperate hope and disbelief.

The girl smiled and let go of Gimli's hand and began to run.

One word was torn from Legolas' lips. "Hali!"

He dropped to his knees and flung his arms around her, and until he touched her, felt her there he did not want to believe it. The tears fell, but no longer of unspeakable thoughts. She was alive, she was here.

It had taken eight days to bring together all the details and a court to be called and convened. People from all three countries vied for places within the courtroom to watch what was the first international legal case since Elessar’s coronation. Two hundred names were chosen at random from each country, and Faramir oversaw the preparations to the hall. Security was tight, reprisals expected, but none came.

The courtroom was full to bursting with elves, dwarves and men, sitting mingled and speaking together. On the third side of the hall sat two sets of layered seats. In one sat the families of the accused. In the other sat a smaller group, all of them witnesses and victims. On the forth side was the king’s dais, upon which sat an ornately carved, wooden throne. Finally, the conversations hushed as the Prince of Ithilien entered through a door to the side of the dais, with Pippin and Merry. Through another door three man, chained at the wrists and ankles, were led into the court to stand in the centre for all eyes to see.

“All rise for the king,” Pippin called, and as one the people stood.

Aragorn entered and rose to sit on the low dais.

Faramir addressed the assembly. “Please be seated.” As one they took their seats again. “Your majesty, people of Gondor, of Aglarond and of Mirkwood,” he addressed, bowing to all. “I, as Prince of Ithilien, have been asked as independent of both parties to oversee the proceedings of this court. If any party deem me unfit for this position, please speak now.” There was silence. “I am trained in its workings. I will not be swayed in matters of law, nor will I allow the witnesses to be swayed. All actions will culminate in the perpetrators being held in contempt of our law, and they will be punished by that law.” He turned to the third person who came in with him, Merry, and indicated to the table off to one side. Merry, dressed in full Rohan livery, sat down, with parchment book, quill and ink and began to take the minutes.

“On the first day of April, the year 5 of the Fourth Age, ten men entered, without leave, the Royal palace of Minas Tirith and kidnapped the daughter of Gimli, Lord of Aglarond and Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, with the intent to kill. During the attempt, Queen Evenstar of Gondor was assaulted, and her son, Prince Eldarion, heir of Gondor was snatched, but rescued moments later by Gimli. These facts are not in dispute.

“The first man was killed by the guard on duty, while forcing entry into the nursery. In the struggle to safeguard the children, Lord Gimli, standing alone against the nine remaining assailants, killed five of them. The others escaped with the Princess Haldaraina, despite the commendable efforts of her father and palace guards. The guard on duty identified the men as those loyal to Denethor, last steward of Gondor. A search was undertaken of the entire city, and aid was found in one Deremon, son of Hector. The four men with the peredhor child were then pursued and cornered in the home of the leader of the group, Ceremon. These facts are not in dispute.

“There they had held at knifepoint Mariam, wife of Ceremon, and Helspeth daughter of Ceremon, and Helspeth’s three small children, as well as the princess of Aglarond. Helspeth’s husband, Moss, was found murdered inside the home, killed while defending his wife and children. Deremon, brother of Ceremon, having aided King Elessar in locating the perpetrators hiding place, and was killed during negotiations for the peredhor’s release. Ceremon was killed, by a legitimate shot of an elven arrow in response to this action. These facts are not in dispute.

“The names of those ten men are as follows… Ceremon, son of Hector; Hekeles, son of Hector; Oram, son of Hekeles; Oramir, son of Oram; Deremir, son of Oram; Borom, son of Philip; Beren, son of Philip; Luth, son of Beren; Borin, son of Hansal and Hansal son of Hal. Of these men, only Hekeles, Oramir and Borin still live. No claim of innocence has been made, nor have the accused requested clemency or permission to speak in their defence or defiance, for they have waived their right to do so.” Faramir turned to face the king sitting slightly above him on the dais. “My lord and king, as is just and right in Gondor, the judgment passed on these men falls upon the bearer of the crown of Gondor, but . . .” He hesitated and licked his lips. “With all respect, Sire, the crime was not committed against Gondor, but against the Royal families of Aglarond and of Mirkwood. By the laws of Gondor, it is . . .suggested by this court that judgment be passed by a select party from those two countries.”

Aragorn raised an eyebrow at him, but dared not smirk. This was a turn of events he had not foreseen. He vowed to read more on Gondorean law when the opportunity arose. Nonetheless, it was a just request. “I deem that to be fair, although my wife was injured during the incident and my son was also taken for a time.” He thought for a moment. “I believe it prudent to allow this decision, provided that each country is represented in equal measure, including one from Gondor.”

Faramir nodded regally and turned back to the court. “By the authority of this court, I call upon six persons of good conscience, neither involved nor swayed, to stand before this court and chose punishment for these men’s crimes.”

Pippin passed to him a small sheet of paper, on which was recorded all the names of those in attendance. Faramir held it up, and the assembled held their breaths.

“Halam, son of Haith, of Dol Amroth; Eres, son of Eresnath, of Osgiliath; Bon, son of Brod, of Blue Mountain Hall; Mith, son of Helm, of Erebor. Thranduil, son of Orophir, of Mirk . . .“

“Faramir,” Pippin whispered. Faramir looked down. “That’s Legolas’ father.”

Faramir straightened. “The court has made an error. The last call will be dismissed as an interested party. In his stead, I call,” he scanned the list. “Ninelthe, daughter of Lórindas, of Mirkwood and Haldir son of Rumir, of Lorien.

Six people rose and converged in the centre of the room. Legolas shifted silently, wondering why Haldir had been chosen. Was he not an interested party? He felt the eyes of his friend and turned to gaze at Aragorn for am moment. It obvious why Haldir had not denied his assignment. If he had, the entire truth of Haldaraina’s conception and birth would be revealed. Legolas stilled. Haldir was a honourable being. His decision would be based on truth and not emotional attachment. That was something Haldir was good at.

“Under guard of the Rohirrim, these chosen few will decide the fate of these men,” Faramir told the court. A ripple of surprise flowed through the crowd.

Pippin lifted his head. “The court calls King Éomer of Rohan.”

The door, through which he had entered not long before, opened and the king of Rohan entered, with a company of guards. He bowed before Aragorn, who was most surprised by his presence.

“I came as soon as I received word,” he said, by way of explanation. “The court of Gondor requested the guard of an impartial country. I am here with two full regiments to honour that request.”

The King nodded and Faramir turned to the court. “The court will adjourn until word is sent that the chosen six have come to a decision.”

“All rise for the king,” Pippin called. He looked up at Faramir’s inquiring gaze and looked again. He had such a loud voice for one so small, and he knew it.

The assembled rose and the six were led from the room by the Rohirrim guard. The court bowed to the king as he rose and left via the other door. Instantly the doors closed the quiet chatter began again. Annastel fidgeted in Legolas’ arms and mewled gently, mouth open against his tunic. “I must feed him,” he voiced softly, and rose to find a secluded place in which to do so.

Gimli stayed him with a hand. “Feed him here. If anyone drools at the sight I shall have his head as a fruit bowl.”

Legolas sat down, and attempted to hide a blush. It brought back the memory of being in Lorien under Haldir’s care. No one, baring Gimli, knew him so intimately. It was not in an elf’s nature to be so open in company, family or otherwise. Dwarves, on the other hand, did not give a hoot.

Legolas quietly unbuttoned his tunic and let his long hair fall down over his shoulder to shield his son from view. He smiled at the tiny infant, and at the little face peeking in from his side.

“He looks like me adar,” Haldaraina said.

Gimli smiled. “Of course,” he chuckled. “It comes from your nanneth’s side of the family.”

Haldaraina gazed up at him, her grey eyes beginning to show their first glint of green. “I think you are wrong, because I have a beautiful adar. The best.”

Gimli beamed, a tear in his eye. “And I think I have the best daughter.”

Three men, chained together, watched them, and exchanged a glance. There had been doubts among them, planted there by elderly fathers, and by half-heard conversations. If their part in the conspiracy was not bad enough, their guilt played on their souls.

“I propose castrating the men and feeding their particulars back to them!” Mith the dwarf growled.

Halam of Dol Amroth smirked slightly. In all but eyes and hair he was identical to Haldir, calm and collected, almost elfish in manner. “While your proposal has certain merit, Mith, son of Helm, we should exercise some control lest we become like them.”

“Monsters,” Ninelthe put in. “They should be executed.”

The rousing chorus that followed was cut short by one voice. “Too painless. I have a proposal of my own.” The faces of the other five turned to Haldir. “These men forcefully removed the child of two royal families. If their actions had been successful, it would have ended the lines of two Houses. Thus is my thinking, their lines should also end.”

“How can you do that?” Eres of Osgiliath asked. “They have children.”

“Remove the children,” Bon added. “Send them away, never to return.”

“Change their names,” Mith voiced, wistfully. “Aye, that would do it. Strike them from the Book of Ages of Gondor, and raise them as children of other lands.”

“I agree,” Ninelthe said. “It should be far away from Minas Tirith and everyone they know, and have no contact with kin, or friend, no use of their own names or of old homes, and no chance of ever returning. If they were to do so, they would face the stain of their fathers forever.”

“Where should they be sent?” Haldir asked.

“Gorah on the shores of Rhûn.”

“Esgorath, on Long Lake.”

“To the woodsmen in Mirkwood.”

“Cräb in the Iron Mountains.”

“Edoras in Rohan.”

“Lond Daer in Eredwaith

“Fornost, Carn Dum, Bree, Sarn, Harlond Spit, Rivendell, Tharbad,” Bon listed, “There are plenty of places in Eriador.”

“What about Mithrim, where the Eskim People now live?” Mith suggested.

“Then there is Harad,” Eres spoke.

“We have only a tentative peace with them,” Halam noted. “Our aim is to punish the men, not kill the children.”

There was a unanimous ascent on that note. No one would be sent southward.

“How many children do these men have?” Ninelthe asked.

“I did not take the time to count those sitting in the stall,” Haldir admitted.

“We of Gondor generally have less than four children,” Halam replied. “If this is what we have agreed, then choosing forty towns and villages of good distance apart should cover that.”

They agreed.

“What about the three men who survived?” Mith asked. “Do they receive freedom to return to their wives, with the risk of having more children? Or worse, breaking into the palace again?”

“No,” Haldir said. “It would not be wise to give them leave to do either, nor have their freedom at all. Leaving them to rot in a dark hole has its appeal, but since we must remain impartial, I suggest servitude, until the end of their days, as slaves of the heaviest work duties.”

“Wise words,” Bon replied. “I agree.”

“Agreed,” came all their voices in unison.

Faramir watched the six council members return to the courtroom and let out a slow breath to quell the nerves he was feeling. From his early years he had studied law, but had been pushed by both his father and circumstances in to being a soldier. Now, here he stood in his old home, passing judgement on a group of men that had been his father’s finest. How they reeked of his father’s dishonour, it almost twisted his stomach. “Step forward the spokesman for this council,” he commanded.

To the surprise of several, Haldir stepped forward. He held himself proud and implacable as ever.

“Your name?”

“I am Haldir, son of Rumir of Lorien.”

“Has your council drawn a unanimous decision as to the fate of the named conspirators?”

“It has,” Haldir replied.

“Name your decision,” Faramir commanded.

Haldir regarded him for a moment longer and lifted his chin a little higher. “It is the ruling of this council that the men, Hekeles, Oramir and Borin be held in servitude in hard labour for the remainder of their days. It is also the ruling of this council,” Haldir continued, over the audible inward draw of breaths. “That the names of the descendents of all ten men be removed from the Book of Ages, ending their family lines as they tried to do with the Lords of Aglarond and Las Gaelen. It is the ruling of this council that these men watch as their children are removed from their mothers with the same consideration as they themselves used. Further, this council rules that these children be dispersed among the lands to the north and west under new names, and never be permitted to see, or speak of or with kin or kith, nor ever to return to Gondor.”

Beyond Faramir’s shocked face stood three chained men, who blanched to the point of nausea. He tore his eyes from Haldir’s calm eyes with difficulty and looked to the king. “This court recognises the word of the king.”

There was a horrified silence around the courtroom as eyes swivelled to the king, sitting speechless upon the dais. His eyes rose to the sky he knew to be above the ceiling that obscured it from view. He did not dare shed the tears that threatened to fall. He swallowed. It was an honour to be their king, an honour to serve their interests and furthering peace and justice, but dishing out that justice? This was one honour he would gladly have given away if only they did not look to him to do this. Suddenly he felt uncontrollably glad that he had not been asked to pass judgment. He doubted he could have been so cruel, so kind. “So be it.”

A cry of wordless abject despair rose from the families of the accused. The sobbing rose among them for a time as desperate mothers hugged their children to them.

Faramir paid them no heed as he spoke the final words. “Sentence is effective immediately. No harm will come to the accused or their families. No act of revenge against them will be tolerated.” He eyed the distraught families in the stand. “You are given one hour to prepare, under guard. Court dismissed.”

“A-all ri-ise for the king,” Pippin stammered. He stared wide-eyed at the families of the accused. There were babies, pregnant mothers . . .but it was justice, not of Gondor but of all Middle Earth.

Legolas also watched them, there was a young child among them, not much older than his son. His mother, Helspeth, was the widowed wife of Moss, the man murdered by his father-in-law Ceremon. Now even in her innocence, she would be exiled and her children taken from her, including the infant.

The courtyard of the Tree of Kings was thronged with people, most were sobbing or crying openly. To one side, a contingent of mounted Rohirrim waited upon their horses... each had been given a paper… the destination of the anonymous child which he or she would soon take from Minas Tirith. Eomer stood with them, giving them their last orders.

“This is cruel, meleth,” Arwen whispered. “Look at Helspeth. She has lost her husband to her father, who wronged you, and she will also lose her children in recompense for her father's crimes. Is that not like whipping the horse twice?”

Aragorn gazed at her, and pulled her to him, his head to hers. “I am sorry, my heart, but this is their decision. Not mine.”

Suddenly a scuffle below where they stood drew their attention. A gut-wrenching scream was torn from the throat of a man then another, thrice in quick succession, almost as if from the same man. Aragorn eyed the crowd, but the cry had not come from there, but from the direction of the guardhouse.

In the narrow side alley near the guardhouse off the street leading to the courtyard, a dwarf stood back from his handiwork, hand and blade bloodied. The chained man knelt gasping for breath, but the dwarf did not care. “That is just in case you escape and find a woman.” He tossed the removed private parts between the man knees. “And here they are, between your knees, to remind you of where they once were.”

The acrid smell of burnt flesh wafted from the alley as a searing hot broadside of a knife was pressed against the man’s wound and he dropped further onto his haunches. “That’s the last one,” Around them the mixed company of elves and dwarves looked on, unmoved. One of the elves clasped the shoulder of the dwarf.

“Well done, brother,” he spoke in Quenya. The elf kicked the man.

“Pain,” the man gasped, his clothing torn and his ruined body exposed.

“You do not know pain,” the elf replied, translated for him by the dwarf who held the knife. “It is nothing like the pain Haldaraina’s nanneth and adar suffered, but it is best that you live. A man could not suffer the pain Legolas and Gimli went through and not wish to die.” Orophin tugged brutally at the chains and the man was forced to his feet. “To the courtyard.” he finally said in common tongue.

The prisoners were dragged into view, all visibly in agony, but the guards acted as if nothing was amiss. “The men are hurt. Someone has defied my orders,” Aragorn whispered in anger.

Arwen watched the company lead the men to the square, her keen eyes saw the smear of blood upon the hand of a dwarf in the company... “Dwarven justice...” elves and dwarves mixed, all distrust had fled, “Or Elven...” she slowly spoke, as her eyes came to know what to look for, it seemed all had been involved... “As you said, melethron, this is their justice.” Elessar could only nod.

Faramir checked the time, the prisoners were present, though they seemed especially disheartened… even sick. He licked his lips, “Let justice be done.” He nodded to the Rohirrim… The children were taken from their mothers, sometimes less than gently as they tore them from the women. Each was stripped of all jewellery and identifying clothes, and taken to the brazier standing in the square and a small brand to mark their exile burned into flesh of the back of the hand. A poultice was applied and the person was wrapped in a blanket and led away to be set upon an already mounted horse. Each exile’s new name was sewn into the cloth.

The square was noisy and acrid with the smell of brands and noisy with screaming and horses hooves. It was not a place for children, but most of them there were children.

Not many were old enough to understand what was happening, the older ones were clearly upset and afraid. A few had children of their own, snatched from their arms and taken away. A young man was exiled, his year-old son ripped from his wife’s arms and taken to a rider as the innocent woman went to her knees. Women cried out, physically held back by guards, they struggled even knowing that it was useless. An innocent young cadet of the guard stood in silent agony as the girl he had hoped to wed was led to a horse and set before a man of Rohan. Helspeth gripped her son tightly to no avail as a guard took her newborn son.

Gimli’s daughter watched… remembered the kindness Helspeth had shown to the frightened peredhor in spite of her father’s treachery. Haldaraina looked up at Gimli, her large round eyes so like Legolas, on that day of their escape from Moria, minus Gandalf.

“Faelas, adar. Faelas, for her…” she begged. “Please.”

Gimli cupped her soft cheek, lifted his head and called out one word. “Hold!”

There was a sudden stillness that blanketed the courtyard that not many years passed had seen the ascent of Aragorn to the throne, and the wedding of Elessar and Arwen. Gimli alone moved through the assembled men, walking right up to the soldier holding the crying infant. He took the babe from the Rohirrim’s arms, and for a second held it to him. In his mind, his own fears from a few days ago rose to remind him of what his mother was feeling. Turning to the sobbing but surprised woman, placing the baby back in her arms. Clutching the child to her, she whispered “Thank you!”

Gimli lifted his eyes to the elf that suddenly appeared, anger flashing in his dark eyes. “Mercy, Haldir. This woman has lost everything already. Her husband was cut down defending her, he wanted no part of this. Hold me in contempt of court if you will,” he said, as Faramir stepped closer to see what was going on. “But my daughter was returned, and I return hers.” He waited, but no one moved and no word was uttered. Gimli turned to the woman and said, “His name is Ram, and yours is Juniper. Leave the city by nightfall and make for the town of Hobbiton in Eriador. Ask for Samwise Gamgee, and give him this.” Gimli pressed an enameled green and mithril cloak clasp into her hand. “He’ll know what to do.”

The woman could find no words to utter. She was leaving her home, seeing her other children taken from her, but her infant was still in her arms. Her eyes caught the look from her father, chained as he was, he struggled against them, not to escape but to hold her. This was not what he had envisioned.

“I am sorry, Helspeth.”

She stared up at him with nothing but contempt, and hawked and spat in his face. In silence, she turned away and disappeared into the crowd to return to her home. Behind her, the other women, copied her. Eventually, only two women remained in the courtyard, their bellies full, but instead of looking forward to the arrival of their babies, their arms would be bereft. They cried softly, not looking at anyone. Their husbands lay dead, axe clefts to their bodies, and well deserved they knew. They could not stay the hand of justice, nor would they.

Faramir turned his head toward Legolas. His eyes pleaded clemency, his mouth hung open unable to form words. Legolas turned his head towards Haldir, who’s own heart bled for them. He missed his mate and children, and he knew that he would see them again in Valinor, but these women would never see their children. Haldir closed his eyes and nodded to Legolas. It was his move.

Legolas gazed at them standing there, as large with child as he had been just over a week ago. Could he in truth stand by and allow them to be taken to the House of Healing and given herbs to induce birth, knowing they would be blindfolded and their babies never seen by them? That was what it would take. Legolas lowered his eyes. “Send them to Rivendell. Perhaps Lord Celeborn will . . .” Gimli gazed up at him quizzically. Legolas struggled to control a cry that threatened, “…Take them in, as he has been known to do in the past.”

Just inside the open gates, as the last rays of the sun fled the sky, Legolas pressed into their palms a small pouch each. “Ná Elbereth veria le, ná elenath dín síla erin rád o chuil lín,” he said, and vanished into the darkness as swiftly as he had appeared.

The two women looked at each other, sitting beside each other in the back of the wagon that stood by the unusually open gates of the city. Unusual, since it was now after dark. They opened the pouches to find them full of silver coins. It was enough to live on for quite a while, long enough to find a home, find work and have their children. They did not know what the future had in store. No sooner had he gone, than another figure appeared from the opposite direction.

“Here she comes,” a voice whispered in a northern lilt.

Helspeth hugged her sleeping baby close and shifted the pack against her back. As she turned a corner she was met, as secretly arranged, by two hobbits. She eyed them both surprised and wary. “What do you want with me?”

“We’ve come to take you home,” replied one, dressed in the livery of a Citadel guard. He nodded at the wagon behind him, with one horse before it, and one behind.

“Climb in,” the other told her, dressed in the colours of Rohan. “It’s a three week journey on foot, and alone with a baby you won’t make it passed the Druadan, say nothing of getting to Hobbiton safely.”

Helspeth, now known as Juniper, blinked. She eyed their uniforms, and their determined faces. She was as safe in their hands as any, and climbed into the wagon… the pony set off in a trot as the recently rebuilt gates of the White City closed behind them.

Gimli, Legolas and Aragorn sat side by side, against the wall of the palace garden watching the stars, each with a sleeping child in his lap. Their knees were drawn up a little to cradle their charges and all were relaxed.

Gimli leaned in closer to Aragorn, not quite at ear level, but he did not need to be. Legolas would hear him regardless. “What you said in the nursery was a pack of lies, wasn’t it?”

Aragorn turned to him, surprised by the sudden question. “What was?” he asked, although he knew what he was talking about.

“What you swore to Haldir…” Gimli stared straight at him. “Don’t lie to me, Aragorn.”

Aragorn’s eyes flicked to the elf over the top of the dwarf’s head. Legolas looked ready to bolt for cover like a frightened rabbit.

“Legolas has never said anything, but I know.” Gimli dropped the harsh tone and slowly smiled. “You have given me the greatest gift any being could wish for.” He kissed his daughter’s golden head and pulled her closer. “Aye, it’s a shame there’ll be no more wee things to add to our little family, but I am blessed with so much already, that my heart is fit to burst.” He laid a rough hand upon the elf’s smooth thigh. “Who would have thought… when we were already so close, having children would bring us even closer.” All three Lords of their respective realms sighed softly as one as Earendil sailed slowly across the heavens.

El fin