Aragorn had arrived in Legolas’ rooms to invite them both to dinner. He had already been to Gimli’s room, and finding it empty he knew where he would find the dwarf. It amused him no end that they insisted on separate rooms, relying on good manners and appearances, when it was clear to him, if not to all, that they were meant to be together.

“Wait for me,” Legolas asked. “I need to change.”

Gimli rolled his eyes. It was barely six hours since lunch time and the elf had changed then, as he always did, and now he was changing his attire again for dinner with the king and queen. Was it always necessary to do so? No. Did Legolas always insist on such fastidiousness? Yes. “Has he always changed his clothes twice a day?” Gimli asked of their friend as Legolas began to strip before them, which was unusual. Legolas was a very private elf.

“Always, all the time I have known him,” Aragorn replied.

Gimli perked. “Well then, perhaps he will give us a view of his glorious chest.”

The elf froze. “The only thing you’ll be seeing is a glorious black eye looking back at you from the mirror,” he retorted.

Aragorn grinned. He had seen this many times and had long since abandoned any ideas of jumping in to stop them or taking sides. He valued his life, after all. He had learned that unless and until the blades came out, it was all teasing no matter how brutal the insult.

“At least I have a beard,” Gimli suddenly blurted out.

“I can grow a beard,” Legolas shot back. “It is simply that I do not wish it.”

“What a shame,” Gimli goaded. “And I was so looking forward to putting pretty ribbons in it.”

“And I thought you were going to wear them for the blessing of Aragorn and Arwen’s first child.” Gimli growled, but Legolas only grinned as he pulled on a fresh tunic. “What is it, Gimli? Run dry for ideas?”

“I have plenty of ideas, just none that I would like a real royal to hear.”

“Are you denouncing your lineage, Gimli?” Legolas wondered, a slight frown to his amused face. “Or are you revealing your mother’s lack of troth at your birth?”

Gimli snarled loudly and Aragorn jumped out of the way as the dwarf flew at Legolas. “I am . . .” he eyed them both and sighed as Legolas dodged several punches with ease. “I am going . . .now,” he said, but got no response. He made a backward beeline for the door and slipped through it without opening it more than a little, and then shut it again. Aragorn sighed and chuckled to himself.

“My lord?”

Aragorn lifted his head from the door frame to find one of the ladies in waiting coming towards him. “Yes, Eleth?”

“My lady asks for you, my lord.”

Aragorn straightened and followed.

“Do you think he suspects this is an act?” Gimli asked, moments after the door closed.

Legolas also dropped the stance. “It cannot fool many for long. Aragorn is intelligent. I am sure he has realised it by now that we are dear friends.” He clasped the dwarf’s shoulder in his hand and smiled warmly.

“That makes me feel better,” Gimli replied. “I had run out of jibes, to be honest.”

Legolas laughed softly. “So have I,” he admitted. “And even if I had not it would have been impossible to insult the dwarf I love more than a brother . . .”

Gimli watched his eyes become fixed and a frown flit across his face. “Meleth? Legolas?” he said when there was no reply.

Legolas blinked and focused on his face. His insides had suddenly turned to water for a second or two and he had no explanation for the sensation. “I felt strange for a moment. I am fine now.”

“Good, because you scared me.”

Legolas smiled. “I am sorry, Gimli. It was not intended.”

Gimli smiled. “How about a walk in the gardens before dinner? I hear it is going to be a clear night and the stars are in conjunction.”

The elf brightened. “Eärendil and Elbereth in one sky! That will be . . .”

Legolas again stopped in the middle of a sentence. That alone was enough to set off alarm bells for Gimli, the moan of pain almost sent the dwarf into apoplexy.

"Legolas!" Gimli cried. "What is it?"

"It has started," Legolas told him. Wincing, he sank into a seat and rubbed his belly.

"What has started?" Gimli asked, hopping from one foot to another.

"Labour."

Gimli stilled and suddenly lost the ability to breathe. "Labour!" he almost shrieked. "But . . .well . . .princeling . . ." He rubbed a hand over his mouth. "Forgive me if I missed it, and I am sure I would remember, but shouldn't I have gotten you pregnant first? You need to be pregnant to be in labour."

Legolas turned his head and looked up, his brows twitched in bemusement, then rolling his eyes he said, "Not me, you walking hairball!" he blurted out in exasperation. "The queen."

"The-the queen . . .?" Gimli's head turned to the door and back again. "What does that have to do with you?"

"Elves feel each other's pain when close. Arwen and I have been dearest friends for over two thousand years."

"Oh." Gimli mulled that over. "Anything you need to tell Aragorn about?"

Legolas snatched up a cushion and threw it at him. "Infuriating dwarf!" he retorted in jest.

Gimli smiled as he caught the cushion, but inside he was confused and a little uncertain. “Shall I call for Aragorn? Maybe he can give you something that will help you sleep.”

Legolas shook his head. “Aragorn will be with Arwen. We should not disturb him. Let us go for our walk.”

Gimli followed him into the hall. “Legolas? This elf thing is unknown to me, I have to say. This feeling each others’ pain, it . . .I’m not sure I like the sound of it.”

Legolas peered back at him over his shoulder as he stepped out into the walled courtyard almost opposite his chambers. “It is not solely an elf thing, meleth.” he replied. “I have heard it said that men also feel for their wives. Aragorn’s father felt his son’s arrival. He truly loved Gilraen and even though he was far from her side when she gave birth, he felt it keenly.”

Gimli hummed softly for a moment. “I have not heard of this among dwarves. Mind you, we don’t make so much fuss of our bairns as do elves and men, it has to be said. Or our women, for that matter. We view them as nothing better than gold, to be boasted about and guarded jealously. Nothing more.”

Legolas gasped and moaned softly.

Gimli was beside him in an instant. “Sit down,” he said softly.

“I am alright,” Legolas insisted breathily.

“Of course you are,” Gimli replied with irony. “You’re taking this harder than most, I can tell. All these centuries when you could have had children, grandchildren, and what have you got to show for it? Nothing.”

“Neither have you,” Legolas noted.

“I have you.”

“And I have you. Besides, our numbers are so few and we have never mixed our blood with other tribes or kinds before.”

Gimli smiled. “There’s always a first time.”

Legolas, watching the twin stars twinkling above him in the sky, turned to Gimli and noted the gleam in his eye. Whatever he had intended to say got lost in a soft moan of pain. “Perhaps I should go back to my rooms. A hot compress may help.”

“I’ll come with you,” Gimli replied. Legolas was about to argue, but Gimli was adamant.

They walked back to Legolas’ room and barely made it through the door before the pain returned. Gimli plucked a kettle that had been hanging over the fire and poured some water into a washbasin. Tossing a cloth into the gently steaming water, he picked up the basin and followed Legolas to where he had gone.

The Elf stood on the balcony, looking out over the portico wall. The sky looked amazing, even thought Eärendil was not visible from this side of the palace. Legolas moaned thickly, hands gripped around the top of the portico wall for support.

Gimli set the basin down and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “Strip to your waist.”

“Gimli!”

“No arguing, now. Do as you’re told.”

Legolas eyed him strangely, but complied. Gimli lifted the cloth from the hot water and rung it out. A few folds later and he pressed it against Legolas’ belly, just as he began to sigh as the sensations rolled through him.

“Does that help?”

Legolas nodded, wincing. “The pain is also starting in my back.”

“How long will this go on for?” Gimli asked. “Will you feel everything Arwen does?”

“I do not know,” Legolas replied. “Since I am not the one going through it, I cannot give you a frame of reference. I do not know what will happen. I have never felt this before, nor had I expected it.”

“You had better not be expecting anything,” Gimli smirked. “I shall be . . .upset with you.”

Legolas gave him a slow but warm smile. “You are a sweet friend, Gimli. I am truly blessed to know you . . .especially when you are jealous of even a perceived slight on your honour.”

Gimli chuckled. “You have blessed my life even from that first day when we growled at each other in Elrond’s counsel chamber.”

Legolas’ chuckle was cut short. Leaning forward slightly he pressed a hand to his back and hissed between his teeth.

Holding the cloth against him with one hand, Gimli rubbed his back gently with the other. “Are you sure it isn’t you in labour?” he said with some amusement. “This is like the real thing.”

Legolas chuckled softly. “I do not even look pregnant. More to the point, we have not even shared the same bed, Gimli, and I have not, nor would I, lie with another.”

“Who said anything about the bed?”

Legolas stared at him, open mouthed, ears turning red with embarrassment. “Further,” he put in, to change the subject. “How do you know this is like the real thing? Do you have something you need to tell me?”

Gimli laughed. “Now who’s jealous?” he replied in jest. “No, I have lain with none,” he said. “Although there is an elven Prince who takes my fancy. I dare say getting him pregnant will require some practice.” He grinned at the deepening red of the pointed ears. “As a matter of fact, a distant cousin of my father’s was visiting with us while my father and her husband were away in Erebor. She gave birth in my mother’s home. I was only a mere sixty years-old at the time, but I was pressed into attending her.”

“You are very attentive,” Legolas praised quietly. “Any woman would be pleased to bare you children.”

Gimli snorted. “Och! No! As if I would wish it. No, I am content with a love that cannot be named, for truly there are no words in any tongue of any kind that live in Middle Earth than can describe it.”

Legolas smiled warmly and cupped his cheek in his hand only to snatch it back to curl it into a fist as the pain returned. Gimli soaked the cloth again, pressing it to Legolas’ taut stomach. Legolas sighed with relief, eyes closed. If the elf had had a large, distended belly it would not have surprised Gimli at that moment. He tried to picture him great with child, but couldn’t quite manage it. The pain the elf was in, however, needed no imagination at all.

Legolas moaned, breathing heavily, bent almost double against the portico. He tried to hide it, but he was not very good at concealing it. He turned and walked back into the chamber and paced restlessly for a while, panting and moaning leaning against the furniture. In silence, the dwarf watched, lower lip between his between his teeth in concern. Finally, Legolas sat on the edge of the lounge by the fire and gently rocked.

Gimli approached and set the basin down, wringing the cloth out and reapplying it. “Remind me never to even attempt to get you pregnant,” he noted at last. “If you’re like this in sympathy, I do not want to see the real thing.”

Legolas did not reply, instead he leaned against him, forehead to temple, a wrist draped over the dwarf’s shoulder. Gimli held him and rubbed his back, rocking with him until the pain came back. Legolas gasped sharply and went rigid.

“You can scream, you know,” Gimli spoke softly against his ear.

Legolas shook his head and opened his eyes to peer at him without turning his head. At that close proximity, he knew that his large eyes must have been huge. “I should not want to scare you, meleth,” he whispered.

“Pain does not scare me,” the stoic dwarf scoffed.

“No,” Legolas agreed. “But seeing one whom you love in pain does,” Legolas noted astutely.

Gimli swallowed, knowing he could hide nothing from Legolas. The elf tensed against him and closed his eyes, breath coming in short uneven gasps. “It will be over soon,” he whispered.

Legolas nodded. “I shall be glad of it,” he spoke through another wave. Groaning horribly, Legolas clung to him. “I do hope this is not a reflection of how the Queen is fairing.”

“Do not think of it,” Gimli coaxed gently, a hand massaging his friend’s back. “Take time to be selfish for a change. No one would begrudge it.”

A thick groan was his only response. Legolas did not dare open his mouth. A dwarf hand rubbed his back, while his own gripped Gimli’s arm. It was going to be bruised in the morning.

“Even though we have not spoken of it, nor even implied that it was on our minds, it has been on mine at least, that a child would be nice,” Gimli admitted. “And in this moment, it returns foremost to my mind.”

Legolas groaned loudly, trembling with the effort to keep his cries to a minimum.

Gimli continued speaking softly, even though Legolas did not feel like answering. “I mean, Aragorn and Arwen will have a wee thing at the end of this, and you’ll just have a night of sour memories.”

Legolas did not reply, but groaned, panting against the thick dwarf hair.

“But, then I realise,” Gimli went on. “I would never bed a maiden and I know you wouldn’t. Elf and dwarf are most likely incompatible . . .er, that way, at any rate. It fills me with grief and sets my heart to pining.” He sighed wistfully. “If only . . .but I know it cannot be and I am content to hold you in my arms, my heart and my soul.”

Legolas’ hand smoothed up his back in tender agreement. He hissed a little, but remained relaxed. “Perhaps we can adopt,” he suggested quietly. “There is bound to be at least one orphaned hairy wildman whelp as ugly as you.”

Gimli drew back sharply and glared at him. Suddenly he chuckled loudly. “I take it, you’re feeling better?”

Legolas nodded, and cupped his cheek. “Thank you, meleth.” He took the now cold cloth from his belly and dropped it into the basin. “I am going to get dressed.”

“Humph!” the dwarf snorted. “Do you have to? I was enjoying the view . . .not to mention the feel of your . . .”

“Do not mention my skin,” Legolas warned. “I have not rubbed oils into it today and it is dry.”

“I’ll oil you,” Gimli offered with a grin.

Legolas cuffed him in the arm and got to his feet. “I am sure you are as capable as you are willing,” he said, picking up his clothing from the balcony as he spoke. “And I have no real reasons why I should not allow you to do so, except that we will be called at any moment to go and see the new baby.”

As if on cue, a knock came at the door. Legolas pulled his tunic down over his head and looked at him smugly, cocking his head to indicate that someone wanted entry.

Gimli sneered at him. “There’ll be no living with you for a while, I can feel it.”

Legolas grinned and straightened his clothing. “Race you,” he goaded and rushed to open the door.

“Pah!” Gimli grunted and shot after him, leaving a perplexed lady-in-waiting standing by the door, her message undelivered. “Infuriating elf!”

Aragorn lifted the infant from his sleeping wife’s arms and showed them. "We have named him Eldarion," he said softly as they both looked in. Aragorn smiled at their faces. He laid his son in Legolas’ arms and stepped back to admire the view of the three of them together. Legolas sat down in the chair by the bed to give Gimli a better view. Aragorn smiled at them commenting on the tiny thing; who would have thought it, two confirmed warrior bachelors going gaga over a baby. "Perhaps it is time for others to follow in my footsteps?" he suggested.

Legolas looked up startled.

"Absolutely not!" Gimli put in before the elf could speak. "I've had enough for one decade at least."

Legolas gazed at Aragorn. “I agree. Some things are best not repeated.”

Aragorn frowned, looking from one to the other, but decided not to ask . . .for now.

El fin

Author’s note : To the few who have asked and the many who have wondered and not asked; el fin is Spanish for ‘the end’ and I had not considered the possibility of it being misconstrued for ‘elfin’, but I think it fits either way. Thank you for the reviewers who pointed that out to me.