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He bade him kneel on the end of the bed, looking away from him. It had been a convenient find, this natural shelf among the trees, and one which he had availed himself of at the first opportunity. He had tired of kissing and was now ready for the hard stuff. Clothes lay where they were strewn, and forgotten as slow and meticulous explorations were made. Smoothing his hands across his rump he held him by the hips and slid inside in one move. The dwarf gasped and growled.

Legolas froze. He sounded like a virgin maiden; not that he had ever had a maiden of course, but he had heard one or two. With elf hearing it was nigh on impossible to miss. “Your first time?”

Half moaning with pleasure, Gimli nodded.

Legolas smiled, “Beautiful,” he whispered.

Keeping one hand to his hip the other went to Gimli’s chest to steady him as he began to thrust in long moves. “Gimli,” he whispered, his voice thick with need.

Long, slow strokes in and out, breaths hummed and caught as the heat rose. Both elf and dwarf were panting with each thrust. Gimli was beginning to lose himself and his weight on Legolas’ arm increased. Legolas withdrew.

“Lay down,” he whispered in his ear.

Gimli rolled onto his back on the bed and Legolas followed him down, sliding between his parted knees and into his body before he could be missed. Gimli gasped only a little, and sighed with the feel of being filled again and again.

Legolas closed his eyes and thrust harder, pressing his hip closer. He could feel it building, his rhythm picked up, thrusting deeper and harder. “Gimli,” he grunted. He could feel his breath on his skin, his hands on his buttocks; hear his name in his ears. He half smiled, his efforts shuddering through his being.

He arched into his lover’s body, his grip tightening, breath quivering. He opened his eyes to see deep blue orbs looking back at him, wide and full of love and passion. He grunted in surprise and stilled, crying out as his seed left him.

Gimli suddenly roared and jerked with release beneath him. Panting breathlessly, they both sagged into the bed collapsing together, wrapped in each other.

Legolas kissed him gently. “I love you,” he told him breathily.

“I love you, too,” Gimli whispered.

Clasped in each others arms they fell asleep. That was how they were found the following morning.

Merry had been exploring the base of the tree trunks and had almost stepped on Legolas’ naked back. Aragorn, who had been giving them a small tour of the city before breakfast, pulled the hobbits up short and looked down into the hollow bole in surprise.

“That isn’t how it looks, right?” Merry inquired softly.

Aragorn smiled gently and waved the two away.

“They’re sleeping together,” an astonished Pippin spoke. “They love each other?”

“Yes, they do,” Aragorn replied.

“But, they are always fighting,” Merry put in, in confusion.

“That is because their feelings were unlooked for. Never before has elf and dwarf overcome such bitter hatred and protracted disharmony to love so deeply, so completely, that it made them both afraid to reveal it, lest the other not feel the same. Sometimes fear in a voice can be mistaken for anger.”

“There’s nothing sadder than unrequited love,” Pippin noted quietly.

Aragorn regarded him at length, surprised that such a young hobbit would understand. He brushed the long fringe from Pippin’s eyes and patted his shoulder. “That is true,” he said. “Come, we will go around and not disturb them.”

“What would you know about it, Pip?” Merry asked, disgruntled. “You’re not even full grown yet, and still in your tweens.”

“He is growing up,” Aragorn noted as he walked away. “He is not a boy any more. And by journey’s end you will both be men.”

Two hobbits started at the insult and ran after him. “Hobbits, if you don’t mind,” Merry groused gently as he hopped over tree roots.

“Or Halflings,” Pippin added. “Shire folk, periannath, little people . . .”

“My point is,” Merry interrupted, with a glare at Pippin to shut him up. “We will never be men.”

Aragorn turned and smiled. “I meant emotionally, mentally, not physically. All grown up, mature, greater than you are now.”

“Oh,” Merry said.

Legolas rose to a sitting position, soft voices having lured him from the gentle arms of sleep. Beside him lay the greatest love he had ever known. He smiled as he watched him sleeping, the gentle rise and fall of his chest. He smiled wider, his eyes wandering over his naked form.

Dwarves were not slim and lithe like elves, but shorter, more squat, strong and very passionate.

“Beautiful,” he whispered.

Eyes opened the instant he had spoken, and the smile that was meant only for him came out.

“I did not mean to wake you, my love,” Legolas spoke softly, leaning in to kiss his lips.

“I would have woken at any time of night just to see that smile,” Gimli replied.

Kissing long and slow, they embraced, moving closer, feeling the residue of the night’s heat still in their veins. Legolas pulled him into the curve of his arm and pressed his hips closer. Deepening the kiss, he slid into his welcoming body, taking them both by surprise at their mutual readiness. Sliding in very slowly, Legolas savoured the feel of him, pulling almost all the way out to slide back in again.

“Oh, Gimli,” he breathed. “I would never have believed it to be true had anyone told it to me.”

“Believed what?” Gimli asked, raising his knees to accommodate him.

“That dwarf flesh is so sweet and alluring,” he replied, arching deeply, eyes half closed. His thigh muscles trembled as his buttocks clenched and relaxed. He quickened the pace. “Very sweet,” Legolas whispered across his cheek.

Gimli shuddered to hear him speak like this.

“Very beautiful,” Legolas said softly.

Gimli moaned low.

Legolas smiled, relishing the shudder that rolled through the body beneath him. “Sweet,” Legolas whispered, just to enjoy feeling it again.

Gimli moaned in his throat, being driven mad by the husky voice.

“Sweet,” Legolas breathed across his skin.

It was enough to throw him over the edge. Legolas lifted his cry to join Gimli’s. For a long moment, they lay still, not wanting to break the connection. Finally, Legolas rose to his feet.

“We had better get washed and dressed for breakfast.”

“Breakfast?” Gimli voiced softly, sitting up to look around him. “How can you tell that it’s breakfast time?”

Legolas smiled widely. “Because after a night of love, I am famished . . .for something other than love.”

Amusingly, Gimli looked embarrassed.

Gimli sat in the boat feeling less than his best. His head felt woozy and his stomach was roiling. He had felt nauseous upon waking that morning and had declined breakfast. And even in the late hour of afternoon he did not feel hungry. He huffed out a breath and slumped over.

Startled, Legolas leaned over him, shaking his shoulder. “Gimli?” When there was no response, he paddled swiftly towards the bank, “Aragorn!” he shouted. The men, alarmed at his call and abrupt change of course, followed him.

Touching the shore, Legolas lifted Gimli’s head, slipping the helmet off him. “Gimli,” he urged him. “Open your eyes.”

Gimli groaned and his eyes slowly opened. “Has the world stopped spinning yet?” he muttered.

“Spinning?” Legolas asked.

“He’s boat sick,” Merry noted as they arrived. “Like Sam.”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Even I’m not that bad.”

“It is getting late,” Aragorn said, glancing worriedly at Gimli. “We will rest here for the night.”

Everyone disembarked and boats were pulled higher up the bank.

“Boromir, see if you can catch us something to eat. I would like to keep as much of the lembas bread for the hardships to come.”

Boromir nodded. “I agree. I will go and see if there is small game to be had here.”

Gimli sighed and dropped his fork into his bowl. The feeling did not subside, in fact after several deep breaths it only got worse. Quickly putting the bowl down, he jumped up and rushed off behind a few trees to empty his stomach.

“Oh,” he growled. “And a damn fine meal it was too.”

Boromir huffed and dropped his fork into his bowl. “So much for my efforts,” he cussed.

“I do not think it was your skills with the skillet, Boromir,” Aragorn said quietly.

Legolas gazed out towards the place where he knew Gimli to be, even though a large tree shielded him from view. He had not witnessed ill health before, it frightened him. Worse, being unable to help made him feel less than adequate, and that frightened him more.

A few moments later, Gimli returned, looking wan and grumpy. “I . . .er . . .sorry, Boromir. It was not your cooking. I er . . .actually, I thought it was good.”

Boromir tried a smile. “Thank you,” he replied.

“I think I’ll turn in, if you don’t mind. I’m feeling very tired.”

In silence the others watched him simply fall asleep right where he sat. In the morning he woke late, much to his embarrassment. Refusing another breakfast, he simply collected his weapons and climbed into the boat. Legolas was worried, deeply afraid that something was not right, but no matter how he tried, he could not find the words to voice his concerns. What could he say? How could he word it without offending the dwarf, whom he loved? Climbing into the boat behind Gimli he bent to kiss the lips of the one he loved and whisper his love to him, before taking up his oar and turning downstream.

“I love you, too, Legolas,” Gimli replied softly. “This is not like me, getting sick. I am at a loss. Being vulnerable is not one of my strong points.”

Legolas smiled, and squeezed his shoulder. “This journey is taking its toll on all of us, in differing ways. You will see, it will be alright,” he said, although deep inside he wondered how much truth there was in his words.

The day passed uneventfully and Gimli actually began to enjoy the journey. Legolas sang to him of tales of old, interrupting the lyrics on several occasions with words of love, until Gimli began to laugh.

“Interrupt one more time and I shall have to sing it for you,” he threatened.

Legolas laughed quietly. “Do you know all the words?”

“Well, no . . .but I could make them up as I go along.”

Legolas smiled widely. “Now that would be worth hearing,” he said. “As long as you don’t include the insulting name you called Haldir in Lothlórien.”

Gimli turned red. “I did apologise for that,” he returned.

Legolas chuckled softly to himself. “At the top of your voice, if I recall.”

“And who’s fault was that?” Gimli growled, remembering the moment vividly, his cheeks taking on yet more colour.

“Mine, I believe. Although I am sure he heard it, telling him face to face might have been better, on hindsight.”

Gimli chuckled. “If we could change things, eh? Would you have traded a night of rest for that night of love?” he asked.

“Never,” Legolas replied without hesitation. “And every moment since has been wonderful.”

There was a silent moment. “Even when I am not feeling well?”

“It is true that I am afraid of illness, it is something I have never faced before. But I have accepted you as part of my being, sickness as well has health. And while I cannot help you in anyway, I can be here for you, to comfort you.”

“And smile at me,” Gimli added softly. “That is the calming point of this entire journey.”

Legolas smiled, and gently rubbed a hand across his love’s shoulder.

That evening Boromir happened on a rabbit bolt hole, and after much laughter and missed bunnies, all the escape routes were watched and three rabbits were caught.

“Rabbit stew tonight,” Boromir smiled. “I promise this will not make you ill,” he added to Gimli, even though he understood that it was not his doing.

Gimli smiled broadly and finished off three bowls of stew, much to the delight of Legolas and the amusement of the hobbits. In the morning though, he was as sick as he could ever think it possible to be without keeling over and dying.

After passing out on getting out of the boat that evening, Aragorn suspected something was not right with the dwarf, and Legolas, too, was worried. He had eyes only for Gimli and did not take any notice of what Aragorn was doing.

“Sam? Your old sauté pan, you are not intending to cook with it again, are you?”

“No, sir,” Sam replied. “It’s good for killing orcs, but as a pan it’s now too dented to be much good for cooking with.”

“May I have it?”

“Yes, sir,” Sam agreed, although he looked surprised and confused. He unhooked it from his backpack and gave it to Aragorn.

Aragorn turned it in his hand, gazing at it contemplatively. It sported at least three good sized dents in its base, which rendered it unusable, but there were no cracks or holes that he could see. He rose and beckoned to Frodo, who stood up, at once wondering what possible connection he had with the saucepan. “Frodo, the herb methalas that the Lady Galadriel showed you. Do you know where to find it?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“Fetch me some, please.”

“Begging your pardon, Mr Aragorn, sir,” Sam put in, all of a sudden put out. “But why Frodo? Plants and herbs is my speciality, being a gardener and all. Does this methalas have another name? I’ll find it if it’s nearby.”

“Not this time,” Aragorn said gently. “This is no ordinary herb. Its knowledge is sacred and known only to a chosen few. Even I do not know its source, only how to use it.”

Sam nodded once, accepting this. He smiled at Frodo and his master smiled back. If truth be known, Frodo knew where it was, but not what it was used for. He stepped out of the circle of pilgrims and searched the trees round about. Some moments later he returned bearing a thin strip of seemingly nondescript bark.

Aragorn thanked him and roused Gimli, who was miffed that he was causing so much attention.

“Aaww, not again,” he grumbled with embarrassment.

“I am afraid so, my friend, but I believe I may have the answer.”

Gimli looked up at him hopefully. If he had been gifted with canine ears, they would be perked upward right now. Aragorn gave him the pan with the bark in it. “What do I do with this?” he asked.

“I need you to urinate in the pan and totally cover this piece of bark,” Aragorn replied.

Gimli stared at him as if he had gone mad. Then he realised that he was in fact deadly serious. “Is this some elf trick?”

“No,” Aragorn replied. “Well, it is elvish, but not a trick.”

Gimli was embarrassed, but Legolas was as flummoxed as everyone else. “If it is elvish, why have I not heard of this herb?”

“No reason for you to know,” Aragorn replied. Legolas lifted his chin, bristling at the implication. “Trust me,” he continued. “I need to know for certain what is troubling you, Gimli, or I might simply be making matters worse.”

Legolas nodded. “I agree. I trust Aragorn. He is a healer. If there is a way to make you well again he must first know what it is that is making you ill. Then we will treat it.”

“Alright, I’ll do it,” Gimli put in with great reluctance.

“I’ll come with you . . .”

“No . . .!”

“Legolas,” Aragorn cut in, noting Gimli’s heightened embarrassment. “Wait here.”

“But . . .”

“Legolas,” he urged him. “You are too close to this. You are allowing your heart to rule your actions.”

Legolas closed his eyes, and drew in a deep breath, trying to re-establish the control. “I will await your return.”

Aragorn lead the dwarf away from the group and Gimli reluctantly slipped behind a tree. Aragorn waited, hoping he was wrong. He could not see how he could be right, but he was not so arrogant to think it impossible. But if he was wrong . . .Gimli could be very ill and they might have to continue to Mordor without him. Legolas would return to Galadriel with Gimli, he knew that much. It would be a sore loss to the Fellowship to have to lose his bow.

Down by the river, they waited. Legolas tried not to pace. Pacing was not an elflike thing to do, and even less than princely. It seemed to be taking forever.

Gimli returned to Aragorn with the pan. He took the pan and looked into it, swilling it around for a moment. The liquid was beginning to turn blue. At first he thought he was seeing things, but then it was more noticeable. Aragorn stared at it for a long time before speech became possible again.

“What is it?” Gimli asked.

“Well, I . . .” Aragorn hesitated. He looked again. “It appears, Gimli, son of Gloin, that you are going to be a father . . .or should I say mother?”

Gimli stared at him on the threshold of laughter, it stopped as a mere gulp in his throat. Then his expression was one of hysterical horror. He felt a scream forming in his toes, which was rising rapidly. That would be very un-dwarvish to do. He turned away, unable to say a word. “I will return to the camp in a moment,” he voiced slowly, his voice so low it was heard to make out the words.

Aragorn, emptied the pan and squeezed the dwarf’s shoulder in support. “Please, be quick. There is an elf who will skin me if you do not return before he leaves to find you.”

With that he walked down the hill to rejoin the others.

Aragorn certainly attempted a grave look when he returned, but for the life of him he could not get passed the humour of the situation. Legolas took one look at his amusement and turned on him. Blade met blade with lightening speed.

“No, Legolas,” he spoke.

“I do not find this at all amusing, Aragorn. We have enemies enough, you and I. Let us not add each other to their number.”

“You have long been a friend to me, Legolas. To grieve me now, that you would take up your blade against my life for so little a trifle than a sweet thought I carry in my heart to lessen the burden of loneliness.”

Legolas stepped back, re-sheathed his blade and lowered his eyes. “Forgive me. I saw you smiling. I assumed it was because you found my distress at Gimli’s illness amusing.”

“Gimli has no illness,” a voice broke in.

Aragorn slid his knife back into its scabbard and looked up. Gimli had appeared, looking grave. Legolas went to him instantly. “What is it? What did the herbs tell? Is it treatable? Will I lose you to the darkness beyond the grave . . .?”

Gimli raised both hands to quiet him. “First of all, young Princeling,” he said, calling him that name only when Legolas amused him no small amount. “I have just said, I am not ill.”

Legolas stared at him, both confused and very afraid. “Then was is it that causes you to faint, remove all sustenance from your stomach and leave you more tired than a babe in arms?”

“That is precisely what it is,” Gimli replied, feeling very pleased with himself for his non-answer. Gandalf would have been pleased with that riddle, no doubt, he thought.

Legolas froze, only his eyes shifted, trying to work out what ‘precisely’ he had missed. “I do not understand,” he said, his soft voice belying his closeness to tears. “Gimli,” he called, almost pleaded.

Gimli suddenly smiled, although the truth had not really sunk in yet and their situation was not at all the best. “I am pregnant,” he said.

Legolas gasped. “What?” He stumbled backward, lost his footing and landed on his rump in the dirt. he stared, open-mouthed with shock. “I do not understand how this could happen,”

Gimli frowned. “Did you not learn about the birds and the bees?”

“Yes, but . . .” Legolas’ breath caught in his throat, his words coming out as a hiss. “I thought you were a . . .man.”

Gimli shuffled his toes through a tuft of reedy grasses and coughed slightly. “Well, er . . .so did everyone else, as a matter of fact. Dwarf women and dwarf men are so alike it’s difficult to tell them apart.”

Legolas, now completely speechless, lifted his eyes to Aragorn for help, begging him with his eyes that he was dreaming. “It’s the beards,” Aragorn whispered over Gimli’s head, and made a sign below his chin for emphasis. Legolas’ mouth twitched upward at one corner, but his shock nullified the attempt at a smile.

“Of course, if you’d prefer to have no part in its upbringing, I shall understand,” Gimli was saying in his deep, northern timbre. “My cousins Fili and Kili were raised solely by their mother, Dís. Dwarf children are quite a handful at the best of times.”

Legolas rose with grace to regard the others for a moment. “Would you please excuse us for a moment?”

Aragorn nodded and tapped Boromir’s shoulder, the son of Gondor was standing mouth agape and struck dumb. He and the hobbits followed Aragorn down to the boats to give the pair some privacy.

Legolas knelt before Gimli and cupped his cheek. “I love you,” he whispered. “Why would you think that I could walk away from you?”

Gimli looked at him. “Even now?”

“Especially now,” he put in.

“I was expecting you to be disgusted,” Gimli admitted.

“Never,” Legolas breathed. “It was a surprise. I did not expect this to ever happen.” He drew an uneven breath, attesting to how close to tears he was. “You have made me the happiest elf alive.” A single tear escaped and slipped down his cheek.

Gimli smiled and embraced him, feeling him succumb to tears of joy against his shoulder. Legolas lifted his wet eyes to his love.

“We have hard times ahead of us.”

Gimli nodded, knowing his fears and concerns. “I’ll be careful,” he promised.

Legolas looked deeply into the blue eyes he loved so much. “How long do we have?” he asked softly.

“Dwarves usually carry for six months,” he replied. “Given that we were in Lothlórien for an uncountable number of days, I can’t say exactly how far on I am.” Gimli had to ask. “How long do elves carry?”

“A year,” Legolas replied.

“Oh,” Gimli said under his breath. “I’m not sure I could last the distance if I have to carry that long.”

“And I would be out of my mind with worry.”

Gimli smiled a slow smile. “Something tells me that you will be anyway,” he noted softly, cupping the soft elven cheek in his palm.

Legolas smiled nervously. “You know me too well.”

Further down the river, just above the Rorus Falls, the stepped out of the boats for the last time.

“We should cross the lake now,” Gimli said. “Why wait for nightfall?”

Aragorn shook his head. “We rest now, friend Gimli. Recover your strength.”

“Recover my . . .?” He growled under his breath. “Recover my strength indeed!” he grumbled. “All this faffing around me like some china ornament, it’ll be the death of me.”

As it was, the battle later that day proved to those of the Fellowship still together that Gimli was still all feisty warrior, with child or no. He could still fight, but could he run?

Making a swift pursuit westward across the plains was difficult, he had difficulty keeping up, but he realised gratefully that the sickness had passed. It was the thought of having to go into Fangorn Forest that really tried him.

On the edge of the trees he sat down for a moment. Something felt odd. He gasped audibly, sending a wedge of horror and terror through the elf beside him.

“What is it?” Legolas asked.

Aragorn sighed gently. This was a situation that he did not like one bit. Time was running out, and it irked him. He knew that Gimli had kept up as best he could and every step of their forced race could have spelled doom for the precious child that grew within him. Or her, he corrected silently. Even now he could not quite accept it.

“Something moved,” Gimli huffed.

Legolas looked him over, not seeing anything amiss. “I do not see anything missing.”

“No, not outside, inside,” Gimli said. He lifted his shirt and tunic and Legolas placed a hand on his belly.

“I do not feel anything,” he said. “Although . . .I can hear a heart beating.”

“That will be mine,” Gimli noted.

“Not unless you have two hearts,” Legolas laughed a little.

“Let us keep moving,” Aragorn was loathe to break in on their moment, but he had to. “There are two other hearts that I hope are still beating somewhere in Fangorn.”

Legolas nodded and took Gimli’s hand. He needed some help getting to his feet, but he was still as swift on them as ever.

Gandalf had returned. Gimli very much wanted to get down on one knee as Legolas had done, but he knew he would be stuck like that forever if he did. He bowed, nonetheless, but felt disrespectful. He felt like an over-large plumb, and his breath was getting harder to manage. He sat down on a small rock and fiddled with his belt.

He grumbled low. “I am going to have to get larger trousers,” he complained, forgetting for a moment that there were elven ears nearby. And worse, Gandalf. Eyes were instantly upon him, but he could not meet them.

Legolas smiled and crossed to kneel before his love, to see if he could help. Aragorn quietly chuckled to himself, the stress of the chase falling away from his mind.

Gandalf frowned. “It seems that I missed something rather more than Boromir’s death,” he noted quietly.

“That, you have,” Aragorn replied.

Legolas unbuttoned the top button of Gimli’s trousers and adjusted the belt that held them up. He looked up at Gandalf, smiling with ill-concealed joy.

Gandalf’s eyes widened. “Gimli is with child,” he noted with astonishment, humour, disbelief and concern all rolled into one. “How ever did you manage that?”

Aragorn lifted an eyebrow, wondering if knowing the details were really that necessary. Legolas and Gimli looked at each other, neither of a mind to relinquish the details.

“Let’s just say, we did and be done with it,” Gimli returned, in his usual grumbling tone. Not even torture would force him to reveal so much as a jot.

“We?” Gandalf asked.

Legolas’ smile widened. “I am to become a father,” he explained.

Gandalf looked from one to the other and silent astonishment for a moment. “I see you have discovered the dwarves’ secret,” he noted. “My congratulations to you both, but . . .I fear there are dangerous times ahead. You must be doubly on your guard if this child is to survive.”

As they walked together through the forest, Gandalf was most put out.

“I always thought of you as a boy, as did your father,” Gandalf said. “It will come as a great shock to the old fellow.”

“Aye, that it will,” Gimli grinned to himself, imagining his father’s face when he told him. He let out a chuckle.

“What is more,” Gandalf continued. “We have to expect this child’s arrival at any time, including at the height of battle.” He turned so fast they almost ran into him. “You must understand, every man, elf and friend will be needed to be at his best, to fight as best he can. That includes you, Gimli. There are people counting on you.”

“Are you saying that we should have exercised more care?” Legolas asked.

“I doubt that that would have changed anything, since neither of you were aware of the possibilities,” Gandalf replied. Gimli and Legolas gazed at each other, considering options that could change the situation.

Legolas looked around, with the great pain in his heart much in evidence in his face. He knew that the only option might have to be herbs to make an end of the child they had created together. His breath caught in his throat with the onslaught of grief.

Gandalf smiled gently. “Life is a precious gift. Do not consider the what-ifs, or any other possible roads. This life is given to you by a power far greater than we can understand. Do not think of throwing it away needlessly.”

Legolas released a breath he had not realised he had been holding, it shuddered unsteadily. How could he not consider the what-ifs? On the other hand, how could he? It was a turning of the tide indeed. He battled with his inner turmoil for a while before he bettered it.

Gimli watched him, feeling those emotions wash over him. “Legolas,” he said almost under his breath, knowing that the elf ears would hear him. “Dwarves are not born of rock, you know. I too, thought of it, but I can’t do it. It is always an option, but not always the answer. I could no more kill a defenceless child than I could kill you.” There was a pause. “Besides, even if I could, I would not. To lose this child would kill you anyway. Why would I choose that option? So quit thinking of herbs, lad, and let us catch up with Aragorn and Gandalf before we get hopelessly lost in here.”

Legolas had to laugh then, suddenly filling the air with sound. “My dear Gimli, elves never get lost.” He stopped, looked around and then at Gimli, in all seriousness, a frown on his face. Under his breath he said, “Where are we?”

Gimli stared up at him in horror and then realised he was teasing him and suddenly laughed. Legolas smiled and they continued in the direction of the they others had taken.

Gimli sat behind him on the horse, holding on to him. “Don’t go too fast. I wouldn’t want to fall off,” he whispered in Legolas’s ear.

The elf shuddered. “And do not breathe on my ears like that, or I shall fall off.”

Gimli chuckled to himself. “Like how?” he replied, innocently, blowing upward to see what the result would be.

Legolas jerked and stifled a cry, but not quickly enough. Gandalf and Aragorn whirled in their direction in alarm. Legolas looked back at them in wide-eyed horror.

“What is it?” Aragorn asked. “Is something wrong?”

“Forgive me, Aragorn,” Legolas voiced uncomfortably. “Alarming you was not my intention.”

The muffled sound of dwarf giggles from behind his back drifted up, before the throat that uttered them was cleared. “Er, yes, it was not intentional,” he added soberly.

Aragorn rolled his eyes and continued onward.

“Gimli? You ever do that again while I am on a horse, I swear you will lose more than one night’s sleep,” he whispered. “If I had fallen then, it would have gone worse for all three of us.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I will not do it again.”

“One thing concerns me,” Legolas said after a few minutes of silence.

“Yes?”

“When we were together,” he began and then added, “intimately . . .”

Gimli smiled, holding him tighter for a moment. “Elves. Still shy even after they’ve been seen naked and loved into a coma.”

“I was not loved into a coma!” Legolas retorted loudly, before he could stop it. Eyes were on him again and he flushed red. He winced. “Gimli, I am trying to be serious. For a moment, please do not distract me, or interrupt, or change the subject.”

“Sorry,” Gimli whispered.

Legolas closed his eyes, and tried to bring some measure of control. “While we were busy . . .together, your body appeared to be male,” he said as quietly as possible, keeping an eye on the two riders ahead of them for signs of being overheard.

“Yes,” Gimli said, expecting to hear more, but he had to wait a while. This subject was obviously embarrassing the elf more than he realised.

“Unless my eyes were deceiving me, you are male. So, how is it that you are now bearing my child, which I can feel, by the way? It has been kicking me in the back for the past hour.”

Gimli smiled widely. “I thought you knew about dwarves,” he said quietly.

“Not that much,” Legolas admitted. “Intimate knowledge about dwarves is not written in books for all to read.”

“True,” Gimli coughed. “Actually, we are all male, unless and until we become pregnant. During that time our bodies change, a temporary growth as it were, to accommodate the baby and to give birth. After that, we return to our normal state.”

Legolas considered it for the longest time. “So, while you still look and act male you are, for the moment, a woman?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” Legolas asked softly. “I could have given you something to prevent it happening.”

“This information isn’t handed out with toffee apples at a fair, you know? Not all dwarves can become pregnant. Besides, I was not aware that elf and dwarf were compatible,” Gimli voiced. Then he added, “You can prevent it?”

“Yes,” Legolas replied. “We have known for a long time now that Sauron was gaining strength. After his appearance in Dol Guldur, we all decided that while continuing to love, producing children was out of the question. Instead, our people have been getting ready to leave for the Undying Lands.”

“That is very sad,” Gimli decided softly.

“Yes . . .I suppose it is. There has not been the sound of elf children for over sixty years. Most of the elf mothers and their children left about that time.”

Gimli held him as close as he dared without risking them falling off. The emptiness of the elven cities now made sense. In Legolas’ voice he could almost feel the despair and the separation of those left behind. “Have you an elf maiden and children?” he asked.

“No,” Legolas replied. “I am not yet of age.”

Gimli sat up straight. “Not of age?” He turned white as a sheet. “And you didn’t think to tell me before I screwed the . . .that is, slept with you?”

Legolas slowly smiled. “I was pulling your leg, Gimli,” he added with a chuckle. “I have had no maiden nor felt love with anyone before I loved you.”

Gimli’s eyes widened. “Then you were also a virgin,” he realised.

“Yes,” Legolas admitted. “And you are, and ever will be, my only love.”

“Confounded thing,” he grumbled. Dropping the chain mail so that it puddled around his feet, he added, “It’s a little tight across the belly,” he added. Legolas smiled, sharing it with Aragorn. A sound echoed from the world above them.

“That is no orc horn,” Legolas noted, as the thrill shuddered through his body.

Gimli groaned under his breath, hoping it had not been heard over the roar of the armies of Isengard. Legolas turned to him at once, knowing his every move, every sound. He was in pain. He found Gimli’s forehead resting against the stone wall, and that was more alarming than hearing the groan of pain.

“Gimli?”

“It’s alright,” the dwarf replied.

“Do not overtax yourself,” Legolas urged him gently. “If the child begins to make its journey . . .”

“It’s not that,” Gimli assured him. “It’s this armour. And the fact that I cannot see the battlefield from down here.”

Legolas smiled gently. “That was a calculated manoeuvre.”

“I thought as much,” Gimli grumbled in mock disgust, lifting his head. He smiled in reassurance. “I will be fine. Just help me out of this thing.”

Legolas was happy to do so. There was no noticeable difference in Gimli’s stature at all, even though the chain-mail coat did sit too snugly around his frame. Once free of it, he felt fine . . .until he felt the pain again.

His fear drove him to kill one orc after another. They were depending on him, he could not fail them now. Forty-three lay dead with his axe marks on their bodies. After the battle was over, he sat down on a rock in the quiet, and breathed deeply. He closed his eyes and simply let the feelings wash through him. A gentle gasp drifted up as the pain rolled through him for a few seconds. A gentle hand on his did not persuade him to open his eyes.

“Gimli?”

Still he did not reply, he simply breathed deeply and regularly. He felt a hand press against his gently protruding belly. There was fear in that touch. The pain returned, eliciting a sharp gasp from Gimli. He tensed and sighed loudly.

“Hold on,” Legolas told him.

“It’s too early,” he told him, finally opening his eyes.

Legolas gazed into his eyes. “I know. Maybe this will pass. It could be just an affect of all the fighting you have been doing.”

Gimli gasped again and moaned, unable to quell the writhing of his body. “It’s getting worse.”

Legolas grasped his hand. “Breathe slowly,” he soothed. He felt eyes on him and turned his worried face to the approach of Aragorn, Gandalf, Théoden, Éowyn and Éomer. “Aragorn, Gimli needs help. It is too early.”

“What is wrong?” Théoden inquired.

Gimli leaned forward in an effort to hide a cry of pain. “Please, we need herbs, something, or the baby will die,” the desperation in Legolas’ voice was clear. He had lost too many of his kin that night. To lose his child as well would be too much.

Theoden’s eyes widened in alarm. “Baby?”

“But, I thought Gimli was a . . .” Éowyn stopped the thought. “I will bring herbs,” she said. “But I cannot promise that we have the herbs you need. They do not grow near here. They grow near the walls of Isengard.” She rushed off to search.

Éomer swallowed. The look on his uncle’s face was more angry than he had ever seen it.

Théoden turned to Aragorn. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a pregnant maiden with you. I would have seen to it that we didn’t put her in such danger.”

“With all due respect,” Aragorn argued. “But this was Gimli’s choice to make. And far be it for me to remind you, he saved you life tonight.”

Théoden mouthed ‘he’ to himself, but did not understand. The dwarf’s condition was more important than explanations at that point. He could ask later.

Gimli breathed harder for a moment, eyes tightly shut. By this point he was leaning on Legolas. Legolas whispered to him, but his words were unheard by the others. He let out another cry as the next pain rose like a spear through his belly.

“Can you not do something?” Aragorn asked Gandalf.

Gandalf looked uncomfortable. “There are no incantations I can offer for this,” he replied. “I can heal matters of the mind, but this will need powers that I do not possess.”

Éowyn returned, breathless from the run, with a sprig of something akin to heather in her hand. “Here,” she urged him. “Chew this slowly.”

Gimli groaned loudly, taking the flower-covered sprig and putting it in his mouth.

“I am not certain that it will be enough,” she told them.

“Then we will ride to Isengard and fetch more,” Legolas told her, his eyes huge with fear and shining with unshed tears.

Gimli continued to moan for some time, but it seemed to gradually lessen, Legolas did not leave him, remaining on his knees before him. Éowyn stood watch over them, deeply worried. She glanced at Aragorn, shaking with terror. In a moment of great need she turned to Aragorn for comfort, and embraced him. He was glad of it, he needed a hug himself.

“Gimli seems to be feeling a little better,” Gandalf noted, feeling much more relaxed himself. “We can safely ride for Isengard, now,” he announced.

Théoden nodded in agreement, glancing at the two still locked together in silence.

They took a gentle pace towards the far side of the forest that had suddenly appeared in the valley north of Helm’s Deep, the same which had destroyed every orc fleeing from the battle. As they passed beneath the trees, there was no sign at all that they were anything other than normal trees, and no sign of the destroyed armies of Saruman.

Gimli sighed gently against Legolas’ back now and then. When it came to finding Merry and Pippin sitting on the wall waiting for them, he was as pleased as the rest. Éomer collected herbs for him, which grew as lichens on the stone wall. After eating as much of it as he could stomach, he joined the hobbits for a round or two of salted pork and ale. Legolas plucked the as yet untouched flagon from his fingers.

“Hey!”

“No ale,” Legolas told him.

“But why?

“Must I remind you?” he asked, sliding a hand over the bump that was barely visible through the layers of his clothing.

“No, you need not,” Gimli muttered. “I’ve had its feet in my ribs all day. Not to mention all that pain during the night. Do not turn mother hen on me and expect our love for each other to protect you.”

Legolas smiled brightly, undeterred. “Mother hen or not, you are not to drink ale.”

“And why not?” he demanded.

“Because it is poisonous to elves, that is why.” Legolas watched a bottle float by and lent over to fish it out of the water. He turned it deftly in one hand to read the remnants of the waterlogged label. “Winyard, 1209. A good year. You may drink this.”

Gimli fell silent, scowling as if it were going out of fashion. Several smiles of amusement wisely hid themselves.

After leaving Treebeard in charge of the management of Isengard, they made for Edoras. Legolas sung softly to himself, feeling relaxed enough to strengthen the hope in his heart, despite Gandalf’s warning of the troubles ahead. Gimli slept against his back, lulled by the herbs and the gentle sway of his body.

When they arrived at Edoras, Aragorn’s gentle pat of his hand roused him from sleep to lift him down.

Pippin had left in a great hurry, and Merry had cried himself into an uneasy sleep. Legolas lay down on the bedroll behind Gimli, tucking him into the curve of his body, the dwarf’s back against his chest. Gimli drifted into slumber while Legolas’ hand slowly drew circles over the now visibly swollen abdomen. With his tunic removed it was more obvious, soon it would be impossible to wear it at all. Éowyn had taken Gimli’s trousers away to alter them for him, for which he was grateful. He had angry red marks from where they had been digging into his bump from being too tight.

Legolas was happy just to feel him close, feeling the movements of his child within. Slowly running his hand over the bump, he smiled and gently kissed Gimli’s shoulder. Nearby he could see Éowyn comforting Merry through yet another nightmare. He was not taking the separation well. His fingers continued to circle, sleep being far from his mind.

Gimli shifted slightly, his breathing deepening. “Please, don’t do that.” he suddenly whispered.

Legolas was startled. “I thought you were asleep.”

“How can I sleep with you doing that?” Gimli asked under his breath.

Legolas frowned. “Doing what?”

“Rubbing my belly,” Gimli clarified. “It’s getting me all worked up here.”

Legolas lifted his head. “Are you joking with me?”

Gimli opened his eyes. “I wish I was, but my belly is very sensitive right now, and you doing that is making me very aroused . . .” He looked around to see if anyone had over heard, but no one had.

Legolas bit his lip. “Sorry,” he whispered. After a moment of stillness, he rose. “I need to take a walk.”

Gimli looked up in time to watch him leave the hall. He got to his feet as quickly as he could and followed him, dressed only in shirt and shorts. “Legolas?”

Legolas stopped walking, but did not turn to look at him.

“Are you ashamed to look at me?”

That made him turn. “No, I am not ashamed to look at you,” Legolas replied. He frowned at him in confusion. “Why would you think that?”

“Well, it occurred to me that I am not entirely the man you fell in love with. I am not even a man any more, and it occurred to me that it might trouble you somewhat.”

“It does not trouble me,” Legolas assured me. “I would love you, no matter what, but . . .”

“But what?”

Legolas did not reply at first. Instead he sat down on the low wall that surrounded the Golden Hall. Gimli joined him watching the stars above them. Finally, Legolas turned and kissed him deeply. He drew back a little. “The only thing that troubles me is that, until our baby is born, I will have to hold back from loving you as I would like.”

“Why?”

“You almost lost the baby, Gimli, and as much as I want to I will not risk it happening again.”

Gimli sighed softly, understanding his dilemma. He reached out and took his hand in his own. “What will you not risk?” he asked slowly. “Me losing the baby, or you looking at me and finding out you can’t love me as I am, a woman?”

Legolas lifted his eyes to his and stayed silent for a long while, the truth warring inside his mind. In the end, there was only one answer.

They quickly discovered that making love with a large belly, is not as easy as with a flat one. Legolas found his changing shape far more alluring that he had anticipated. His fears were meaningless. He loved the person within, nothing else mattered.

For over an hour, they explored old ground for the first time, everything familiar and yet not. Sleep came late.

Legolas stepped into the hall, a large vat of porridge bubbling over the central fire. He took the bowl Éowyn held out to him. She smiled and handed him a second and slipped a spoon into each bowl.

“Thank you, my Lady,” he accorded and returned to the place where he had left Gimli. He approached to find him still sleeping. Sitting down on the wall he placed the bowl and spoon down beside him to trace a fingertip down the furred face.

Gimli huffed on the edge of sleep and opened his eyes. On looking up he saw a smile. He returned it.

“I brought you some breakfast,” the smile said.

“Then it will be a second breakfast,” Gimli noted with amusement and sat up with a little effort.

The smile widened. “Lady Éowyn made this one,” Legolas warned gently.

Gimli’s countenance fell slightly. “Oh,” he said. “Well, I’m eating it regardless. After last night I’m as famished as a . . .“ He considered what to say while taking the bowl and wooden spoon and then it came to him. “As an elf who has been loved into a coma.”

Legolas’ eyes widened in alarm and embarrassment as at least three dozen pairs of eyes turned in their direction. Gimli sat wolfing the porridge down with relish. With his mouth full, he could not speak, which pleased Legolas greatly. The porridge was gone in less time than it took for the eyes to turn away. Legolas lifted his own spoon to his lips and ate. His face went hard and he forced the mouthful down. “Would you like more?” he asked Gimli.

Gimli smiled and took it. “Aye, I would. Thank you,” he said and ate it. “Hmm, this is good.”

Legolas winced, wondering how he could possibly say that. Suddenly, Aragorn rushed down the hill and flew up the steps several at a time. He stood up and tapped Gimli on the shoulder. Both alert that something was up, they followed.

“The beacons of Minas Tirith! The beacons are lit! Gondor calls for aid!”

Legolas’ eyes shifted from Aragorn to King Théoden. The King paused, and then he responded. “And Rohan will answer. Muster the Rohirrim.”

Three days later, Legolas and Gimli watched from a distance as Aragorn saddled his horse and prepared to leave. He would unknowingly pass right by them, any . . .second . . .now . . .

“And just where do you think you’re going?”

Aragorn stopped, looking down at him. “Not this time, Gimli.”

Legolas came up on his other side. “Have you learned nothing of the stubbornness of dwarves?”

“You might as well accept it. We’re coming with you, lad.”

Aragorn gazed at them both and at Gimli particularly. “I travel a dangerous road, Gimli. You can put your life at risk if you so choose, but your child has not the voice to make that choice.”

“Where Legolas goes, I go, and Legolas is going with you.”

Aragorn had to concede defeat, and together they left. It was not the last decision Gimli was to regret. For the first time in his life he was afraid to go underground. But Legolas had strolled in leaving him all alone. That was worse. On the far side of the mountains, the first battle had been fought for them, and the ships secured. Sitting down in the corsair to rest from the journey he fell asleep almost at once.

Legolas knelt beside him, and smiled gently. Resting a hand to the swell of his body he was concerned about the rate of growth. Elves grew at a much slower rate than dwarves and men, seeing Gimli so ripe so soon was a thrill and a worry at once.

Aragorn slipped beside him, concern creasing his brow. “He is close,” he noted. “He should not be so far on this soon.”

“I know,” Legolas replied. “It has barely been three months since conception, and already he looks like this.”

“There is a strange magic at work here,” Aragorn said, eliciting a look from Legolas. “It has to be said, Saruman had strong magic and his arm reached further than any of us expected, even into Gondor itself. And there is Sauron. We do not yet know how strong his evil is.”

Legolas closed his eyes, not wanting to hear the truth in that warning, but knew that he had to. “There is also hope. You said so yourself on the eve of the battle for Helm’s Deep. Do not despair, Aragorn. Never before has elf bonded with dwarf. We do not know the outcome.”

Aragon clasped his shoulder. “I will not despair just yet, my friend. It was just a stray thought, nothing more.”

“Nevertheless,” Legolas returned. “It has plagued my mind also.”

Legolas was shocked by Gimli’s behaviour. If he had been focused at Helm’s Deep, he was twice as brutal on the fields before the White City. He left him for a few minutes to dispatch a huge beast into the dirt.

“That still only counts as one,” Gimli grumbled as Legolas nonchalantly hopped off the end of its trunk, and stomped off to find something else to kill.

Legolas followed. He was afraid that Gimli would have another false start, or worse. He patted the pouch of herbs he had tied to his belt to reassure himself and took to a run, slashing this way and that. “Fifty-eight . . .fifty-nine . . .sixty . . .”

Gimli paused for a moment, leaning on another of the huge beasts, breathing hard.

“Gimli!” Legolas cried.

Gimli waved a hand. “I’m just out of breath,” he assured him. A shadow crossed his path and he raised his axe. “Eighty-two.”

An orc flopped dead before him.

Legolas’ head whipped round. “Eighty-two? When did you reach thirty?”

Gimli cleared his throat. “Well . . .er . . .”

Legolas half smiled and raised an eyebrow. “You are cheating.”

Gimli started at the implication. “I was not!” he replied. “I figured eighty-two sounds better than twenty-one.”

“You are cheating.”

“No,” he said, adamantly. “I added the two together, your score and mine. That’s not cheating. We’re working together after all.”

Legolas smiled tenderly. “Then I shall allow it.” A shape was rushing towards them and Legolas drew, pulled and fired in less then a second. The soldier of the Haradrim fell and slid in the dirt, unaware of his mistake.

Sucking in a huge breath, Gimli’s eyes widened watching the body slide towards them, but it stopped harmlessly before his feet. Gimli suddenly exhaled with relief and slumped unconscious to the ground.

Legolas dropped to his side, wondering if he’d been hit, injured, killed . . .but he could find nothing wrong.

“I think you scared him,” a voice announced quietly.

Legolas looked up to see Gandalf standing nearby. He glanced down at Gimli as the realisation hit. “I will not tell him, if you do not.”

“I think that must be the wisest thing I have heard all day,” Gandalf smiled. “I must meet with the king,” he decided and walked away.

Pippin, who had arrived with the wizard, stood for a moment, staring at Gimli. “My,” he whispered. “He looks like he’s going to pop.”

Legolas almost laughed and would have if he did not fear the reason so much, but as he looked up the hobbit had already gone. He heard his small voice calling for Merry dying away into the distance as he knelt there. He tried to lift Gimli, but gave up the task. He was too heavy.

A shadow fell across his shoulder and he looked up. It was Éomer. He was looking worried. “How badly is he hurt?” he asked.

“He fainted,” Legolas replied. “The heat of battle; the death toll he inflicted surprised him,” Legolas lied.

“How many did he kill?”

“Upward of three hundred,” the elf replied without hesitation.

The Rider’s eyes flicked from Legolas to Gimli and back again. “Then he has cause to faint. I would swoon at such a feat. I will buy him ale . . .when he may drink it again. Now, I must find my uncle. Have you seen him?”

Legolas stood and surveyed the battle field. “That way. Pippin ran that way to find Merry.”

“Merry is here?” Éomer blurted out, a sudden shudder of fear ran through his being. Merry had been charged with the protection of his sister . . .if Merry was here . . .Éomer abruptly ran off after Pippin.

Legolas did not understand the sudden fright and possible anger in the man’s voice, but his priority was Gimli. While waiting for his love to regain consciousness, he used the time to pick off stragglers, looking amongst the dead for the injured and dying. “Eighty-three . . .eighty-four . . .eighty-five . . .”

His inexhaustible supply of arrows flew at the ones to far away to smell, but their smell still increased. “Ninety-six . . .ninety-seven . . .”

Bow stashed, he defended the form of his soul-mate as an entire horde of brutes came upon them.

His blades dripped with their blood and the pile of bodies grew. “One hundred and thirty . . .one hundred and thirty-one . . .”

The number rose respectfully high be the time a movement by his feet caused him to stop. The dwarf groaned and sat up, and immediately regretted it.

“Lie still,” Legolas urged him.

Gimli looked up at him. “I did not do what I did.”

“Actually, yes you did. You fainted . . .”

“Legolas,” Gimli growled in warning tones.

“No, you did not,” he corrected quickly, suddenly fearing for life and limb. “I already explained to Éomer that you are alright.”

“Éomer!” Gimli squeaked and then growled under his breath.

“It is alright. I told him . . .a white lie,” Legolas admitted.

Gimli blinked.

“I told him you had fainted because the notches to your axe counted three hundred. He agreed that it was a just reason.”

“You told him that?” Gimli saw him nod gently. “What is the true number?”

Legolas paused. “Two hundred and forty-eight.”

“Then let us get to it, and make it the truth.”

Legolas helped him to his feet and they went in search of stragglers. There were many, and Gimli forgot to keep count.

Later that day, as they gathered together in the halls of the King, having eaten and rested, Legolas scowled as Gimli smoked his pipe. Gimli lowered his brows back at him, and dragged all the deeper.

“You have barred me from ale, but you will not take my pipe,” he vowed.

Legolas resigned himself to the truth. Axe, song and pipe weed made for one happy Gimli. Oh and a fair spattering of orcs to kill and a certain elf nearby as well, he thought, noting the tender gaze he was sending him. He smiled. If he had been told a year ago that he would meet a dwarf, that he would love that dwarf as his own soul he would have laughed, or scoffed.

The battle against Sauron would begin in the morning, under one banner. The air buzzed with anticipation. Gimli tried to rest, but was too worked up. The coming battle and the size of his belly made sleep an impossibility.

Legolas lay down beside him, despite not requiring sleep, and held him. In the vaulted hall of the king he began to sing, a soft melody of enchantment and love. The people there drew still to listen though few understood elvish and fewer knew the words. As the last lilted notes died away, Legolas lifted his head a little to look down at Gimli. He was fast asleep, as was everyone else.

Morning dawned to find everyone refreshed and already preparing to leave for Dagorlad. Gimli eyed the large white and pepper horse with less then a pleased eye. “There’s no way I’m getting up there,” he said.

Legolas nodded, understanding the problem. “You will have to. It is a two day ride and you cannot walk that far.”

“Do you have an elevation spell, Gandalf?” Éomer joked. “So we get him on the horse?”

Gandalf raised both eyebrows and said nothing at first. “If I were to do that, I would have him float all the way to Dagorlad like a bubble . . .”

“He already looks like a bubble,” Merry noted.

“A very big bubble,” Pippin added, quickly.

“My point is,” Gandalf put in strongly, silencing them both, much to everyone’s amusement. “I would be too tired to do much else when we got to Dagorlad and will be of even less help to you than a hobbit.”

The clamour was immediate, and ignored. Gimli chuckled softly and Legolas lifted him onto the horse, with help from Aragorn, who grunted no small amount.

“How many babies is he carrying?”

“One,” Legolas replied. “Although I have my doubts,” he smiled widely.

Gimli growled under his breath. “If our places were reversed, elf, I would be having twice the fun. Twice, mark me.”

“If our places were reversed, I would not be pregnant,” Legolas responded.

Gimli huffed under his breath, he had to concede that point. “No, probably not, but it would still have been fun to try and prove that theory wrong.” He slowly smiled and winked at Legolas.

“Gimli, please,” Legolas cried, both shocked and embarrassed.

Snickers mounted and rode out towards the road northwards.

The black Gates opened shortly after their arrival. Terms were exchanged and refused. Time had to be bought for Frodo and Sam, and the battle commenced.

“I never thought I’d be fighting side by side with an elf?” Gimli said.

“How about side by side with a friend?” Legolas suggested.

Gimli looked up. “Ai, and much more besides,” he decided.

Legolas smoothed a hand across the bump that was his child and smiled. “Much more. Stay close, Gimli.”

Sending their horses northward to protect them from the coming slaughter, they drew their weapons and began the bloodbath. In the midst of the fighting, Legolas heard a shout of fear. He turned his head and saw Aragorn fall under the foot of a troll. Legolas knew he had to act now, or it would be too late. Leaving Gimli’s side, he rushed towards the fallen King, slashing at orcs left and right as he went. He felled the troll with the same speed and success, helping Aragorn to his feet.

“Are you hurt?”

“No,” Aragorn puffed. “Winded, but unhurt.” He looked around. “Where is Gimli?”

Suddenly Legolas looked back at the place he had been occupying only moment before. There was no sign of Gimli. His blood turned cold. “Gimli!” Legolas almost screamed.

There was no answer.

Aragorn followed him to the place where he had left his love. Dead orcs were piled up like seaweed at high tide mark, but there was no sign of Gimli. Slashing and killing as they went they searched on. At every breath, it seemed, Legolas’s cries rose, but there was no reply.

“I should never have left him,” he berated himself softly.

“Legolas,” Aragorn comforted.

“I cannot . . .He cannot be . . .I should not have left him.”

“If you had not, Aragorn would have been dead, and Middle Earth lost,” a voice replied.

Legolas whirled round. “I know, Gandalf! But I should not have left him alone.”

Gandalf could tell that his friend was frantic. Tapping the slowly pirouetting elf on the arm as he searched the slowly widening battle front, he directed his attention to three smaller beings, two of whom were fighting. The third was sitting down against the back of the troll Legolas had just felled. The hobbits were shielding him.

“Gimli!” Legolas cried, in part for relief, and in part for fear that he was at death’s door. Leaping over the bodies of the dead he sank beside him. “You are alive. Are you hurt? I could not find you, and I thought . . .”

Gimli lifted his eyes and smiled softly. “I am unhurt, sweet elf, although I’m afraid I had to stop at thirty-three.”

Legolas frowned. “Why?”

Gimli hid a slight wince. “I had a little mishap,” he admitted slowly.

An orc stepped over Merry and Legolas dispatched it swiftly with an arrow to the throat, almost without turning from Gimli. “I do not understand,” Legolas said.

Gimli did not reply, drawing in a slow, long breath. A frown of confusion ghosted across Legolas’ face as his eyes looked him over. He could not see any sign of a ‘mishap’. There was no wound that he could see.

“Is something broken?”

Gimli winced and shook his head. “No,” he said, his voice pained. “Well, yes, in a manner of speaking,” he breathed. At that Legolas looked even more confused. He moved closer, feeling the ground wetter where Gimli sat, but he could not recall seeing any rain fall. “Oh, for the sake of Dorin, do I have to spell it out for you?” At that he clamped his mouth shut and moaned.

Legolas’s eyes went wide. He reached for the pouch of herbs, but Gimli’s hand stopped him. He shook his head, unable to speak for a moment.

“No,” he puffed. “No more herbs. You know as well as I do, if this baby stays where it is much longer I shall split open like a pea pod.” Gimli closed his eyes and sucked in a long slow breath.

Legolas rested a hand to the swollen belly, it was hard as rock. Gimli groaned and panted as it softened again.

“Is he alright?” Pippin asked.

“No,” Legolas gasped, as if he had not heard. He slipped his hand into one of Gimli’s relaxing fists. “Hold my hand.” He lifted his head to see the alarmed look on the hobbit’s face. “Keep fighting, Pippin.”

Wordlessly, he nodded, and turned back to Merry’s side. “Gimli’s having pains, Merry. What does it mean?” he asked between killing orcs.

“It means, the baby’s coming, Pip,” Merry replied.

“Now? He could have picked a better spot, and time,” Pippin complained gently, stabbing at yet another passing orc.

“You don’t get to choose, Pip,” Merry returned. “It’s not like going to Mother Brace-Girdle’s knitwear shop and choosing a pair of bloomers.”

Suddenly there was a shriek from beyond the Gate, a loud cry almost from inside their souls as well as all around them, making the ground vibrate and the very air shudder. All heads looks up. Sauron’s eye turned red as it convulsed in pain and anger. The screams echoed and overlapped each other.

“Frodo!” Merry cried.

Elation swept through the defenders of Middle Earth, but the orcs and trolls began to run. The elation was ended swiftly as they watched in horror as Mount Doom exploded into a pillar of fire. The ground shook and collapsed into the abyss beneath, leaving the armies of Gondor and Rohan standing looking downward into a black pit.

In the silence that followed, only Gimli’s breath could be heard. Finally he let his head drift back against the dead troll and relaxed. Legolas reached beneath his tunic for his water pouch. Pulling it free, he gave it to Gimli. Gimli drank a little and passed it back.

For a long moment, Aragorn stood unbelieving that they had won. Then he snapped into action. “Send for the horses,” he called. “Bring wagons, we have injured men.” Shouts of replies came to him. “Gandalf?” he called.

The wizard was looking up at what was left of Mount Doom. He called to the eagles circling up above their heads. “I must leave you for a time.”

“Why?”

“Frodo is alive,” he whispered. “But if I delay, that could change.”

Aragorn whispered his single plea, “Save him.”

With that, they parted.

Gimli writhed against the pain, groaning through gritted teeth. His hand gripped Legolas’ like the pinch of a blacksmith’s vice.

“Breathe, Gimli,” Legolas said gently. “Soft sighs, like you did in Lothlórien, when our bodies sang together.”

“I don’t feel like singing,” the dwarf groused.

“It will help you stay in control.”

The next pain rose and he tensed, groaning under his breath, but then switched to long, loud but gentle sighs.

“Keep going.”

The wagons rolled in and rolled away, most carried the wounded, one or two carried the dead away for proper burial. There was only one wagon left. Aragorn glanced at Gimli and knew there would be no getting him on a horse.

“Come, Gimli. There is a wagon waiting for you.” Legolas helped him to his feet and walked him to the waiting wagon. Inside there were piles of blankets and pillows. Gimli sat down on the blankets spread there for him and sank back against the pillows gratefully.

“We will need you undressed,” Aragorn noted.

Legolas helped Gimli out of his clothes, leaving him with his just his shirt and socks on. “You will feel better now,” he supposed.

Gimli nodded and moaned slightly.

Gimli lifted his head, his back arched as the pain grew in intensity. His sighs were coming more like cries now, no longer able to hold back the tide of agony. His hand gripped Legolas’, his other hand grabbed and twisted the elf’s tunic so tightly Legolas feared he might tear it.

“Laugh with me,” Legolas told him.

Gimli turned his disbelieving eyes to the elf.

“It will help. Please,” Legolas urged gently. “Soft and gentle, like this; hhu-hhu-hhu.” He had no idea if it would work, but anything was worth a try.

Gimli rolled his eyes and tried it, feeling foolish but uncaring. While not actually lessening the pain it afforded him a sense of control.

The sway of the wagon was interspersed with jolts as the wheels struck small stones on the road. Gimli didn’t seem to notice. Each pain rose almost on the heels of the last, giving him little rest.

“Little wonder so few dwarves are born,” Gimli muttered. The next pain interrupted what he wanted to add, and it was forgotten by the time it fell away

“It will soon be over,” Legolas assured him.

Soon the light huff-huff-huff of his breath changed to loud gasps of astonishment, getting increasingly louder.

“Keep going,” Legolas whispered.

Gimli struggled. Eyes wide, he stared up at the roof of the wagon and suddenly it was hurting more than the screech of a nazgul. His breath slowed but got heavier and louder.

“I take it back,” he cried. “Whatever I did wrong . . .just stop this . . .”

“Hold on,” a voice whispered, but he was beyond caring whose it was.

Gimli’s head dropped to his chest and he half pushed, half cried out.

“Hold on, Gimli.” Legolas lifted his frightened eyes to the driver at the front of the wagon. Aragorn peered back at them over his shoulder, looking troubled. “How much further to Osgiliath.”

“He will not make it that far,” Aragorn replied. He pulled the horses to the side of the road and stopped the wagon, waving the rest of the wagons and riders on. “He must deliver now,” he said, rolling his sleeves up and stepping over the back rest into the covered back of the wagon.

Gimli growled. “Go away.”

“You are going to need some help here, my friend.”

“Not you . . .just . . .out,” he spoke through the rising pain.

Legolas winced as his fingers grew steadily redder from being squeezed for so long. “I think he means it.”

Aragorn acquiesced with a sigh. “I will be outside. Call if you need me.”

Legolas nodded. They both remembered what Gimli had told them. Dwarves, more often than not, delivered alone, a close relative or friend nearby should they need something. Aragorn retreated, Legolas rose to join him, but Gimli did not release his grip. Legolas was staying.

Elven children had always been born amidst song and family gatherings. Gimli was all the family Legolas had this far south. Until now he had never attended a birth, no close kin had had children. For all his long life and experience, he had no idea what he was doing. For the first time, he realised the magnitude of what relying on instinct really meant.

As soon as Aragorn was out of sight, Gimli’s hand tightened, even though there was no pain. “You are never touching me again,” he grated. “If you want another one, you can carry it.”

Legolas stung at the embittered words, tears sprang to his eyes, but he said nothing.

Gimli huffed loudly, chin on chest, eyes closed.

“Hold on,” Legolas coaxed, wiping away a tear that had strayed from his eye.

“Can’t,” Gimli grunted. One long moan escaped before he sucked in a breath and pushed. He released the breath in a gasp of surprise. “Hhaa!”

“It comes,” Legolas realised. The thrill of anticipation again rose within him, as did the ever-present spectre of fear and uncertainty. By Dwarf standards, the baby was a month early. By elven standards, it was many months early. What if the child’s growth or even its existence had been influenced by Sauron? Would it now be destroyed along with everything else that had been created or influenced by his sorcery? Legolas could not bear the thought that the child could already be dead.

With every push Gimli gave, the child drew nearer. Legolas couldn’t look, but couldn’t keep his eyes turned away. This was his child, and he loved Gimli. No matter what the outcome, that would not change.

“I’m tired,” Gimli mumbled.

“I know. Soon you can rest, but for now you must keep pushing.”

“You push. I’ve had enough.”

With that the next wave rolled through him, and want or not he pushed. Breathless with the effort he sank back to wait for the next one. Legolas could now see to top of the baby’s head. Despite his long-held fears, he smiled. Leaning in close he kisses Gimli’s lips.

“I love you,” he whispered.

Gimli replied with another gasp. He pushed, but stopped. “Oh!” he gasped. “I’m tearing in two!”

“Hush,” Legolas soothed, ignoring the sudden appearance of a worried man at the rear of the wagon. Legolas ignored him. “Breathe, sweet Gimli.”

“Hhu-hhu-hhu . . .hhu . . .hhu . . .hhu . . .hhhhuuuu! What is happening?” he demanded.

“Do not be afraid,” Legolas spoke gently. “It comes.”

Aragorn could not see what was happening, and he quickly decided that some mystery in life should be preserved. They had not called for his aid and he moved away again. This was their time. Silently he wondered if he would want to put a woman through this. It seemed too much pain and effort for so little reward.

Legolas smiled suddenly as Gimli pushed one last time and sank back against the blankets behind him. His hand now free, he reached down for the blooded form laying curled up at Gimli’s feet. It had moved, he was certain of it, and as he lifted it up it cried.

Gimli placed a hand over the tiny form as it was laid on his chest. Breathless, he asked, “What is it?”

“It is a baby,” Legolas replied, his voice raw with the sudden emotions that filled his being. As the child’s cries lifted upward, Legolas’ tears fell silently. “I love you, Gimli,” he whispered and kissed him.

Gimli returned the kiss. “I love you too, but what is it?”

Legolas reached for a cloth and wiped the infant clean. “It is a . . .” He hesitated, taking in the soft elven hair that was the colour of rich copper, gently pointed ears and round face. This child was most definitely a combination of his parents. “I believe he is a boy,” he said.

Gimli smiled, exhausted but happy.

“When it comes to my love, I am like Pippin; always touching and looking,” he announced, much to the embarrassment of Legolas and the amusement of four hobbits.

Legolas smiled and wandered over to sit by Gimli. “Did you mean what you said?”

“About me touching and looking?” Gimli asked.

“About never allowing me to touch you again,” Legolas reminded him, tentatively.

Gimli smiled gently. “No,” he replied. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Legolas whispered, drawing back the shawl to gaze into his son’s sleeping face. “Both of you.”

El fin

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P.S. Forgive my ignorance, but can anyone tell me the origin of the term mpreg? I have not come across it before and it’s been mentioned several times in reviews.

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