Now
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Disclaimer : How long do you need? (Aragorn, Two Towers)
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Author’s note : Inspired by String and Steel, written by Pasha ToH. Sweetheart, this one’s for you.
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Summary : Based on an actual event. A dwarf has seen many a horrifying day, war and death, but when it comes to a simple thing as fatherhood, he is terrified. (non-graphic Slash mentioned)
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Anglarod was a place of darkness, but also of laughter. Even if most of his kind saw this place as simply a hole in the ground, Legolas loved it. To him, the lanterns hanging from the walls looked like a collection of twinkling stars growing more and more faint in the distance. The crystals in the cavern walls looked like the skies of a thousand cloudless nights, all gathered together in one heaven. And, the sound of thousands of singing voices rumbling through the deep made his skin vibrate.
Whenever his duties in Ithilien got too much, Legolas would go there just to hear it. This visit had lasted a full year and a half, and soon he knew he would have to return to the southern principality, only the journey home would not be made alone.
Gimli lifted himself up the stone steps towards him and Legolas watched him with a smile. He had wanted to go down to the third level to help with the digging, but Gimli had been adamant.
“Absolutely not!”
Legolas laughed through his nose, remembering the look on Gimli’s face, and how it had looked when the dwarf had realised that he had been teasing him yet again.
“Legolas! You will be the death of me!”
Legolas had simply laughed. “That is not possible, meleth, and well you know it.”
Legolas could still feel the kiss upon his lips that had followed, and still feel the love they had made following that. Gimli was most annoyed, and pleased, that he had arrived late for work.
Gimli reached the top of the stairs and looked up. His face took on a wreath of smiles as he saw him standing there. “Oh!” he cried. “What are you doing down here?” he asked, coming up to him and enveloping the elf in a huge hug. Legolas knelt down to kiss him and smiled. “Are you sure that was a good idea?” Gimli suddenly asked. “You’ll not get back up again.”
Legolas smiled widely. “I shall. I have had plenty of practice.” Leaning a hand on Gimli’s shoulder he raised himself, with a little difficulty, to his feet. “There,” he said triumphantly.
Gimli grumbled good naturedly under his breath. “With any luck, that thing with be out soon.”
“Thing!” Legolas retorted with a grin.
Gimli grinned up at him. “Would you at least wear something a little looser? You look like a cannon ball tied to the middle of a flag pole.”
Legolas looked down at himself and laughed a little. He had to admit that his leggings had not fitted him for the better part of seven months. In truth, he wore them unbuttoned beneath his shirt. “I refuse to wear a dress,” he replied.
Gimli rolled his eyes. He had heard this argument before. But, he conceded at least Legolas had swapped his skin-hugging tunic and shirt for something more roomy. “You are as ripe as a fruit, meleth nîn, and lovelier every day . . .but you have to admit, your britches are not comfortable.”
Legolas smoothed a hand over his unborn son with affection and smiled. “It will not be long,” he said, with an assurance that made Gimli nervous.
“Och!” a voice retorted from the stairs. “Elven women are soft. She’ll be calling for the herbs afore the birth pangs get an hour old.”
Legolas was happy to let it ride, but Gimli’s axe sang from its holster before he could stop him. Gimli rounded on the dwarf so fast that his axe struck his helmet and stayed there, its leading edge just shy of cleaving the dust-smudged metal. The dead silence that followed was so deafening that Legolas was certain he had lost his hearing for a moment, except for the telltale sound of trickling water at the dwarf’s feet.
Gimli stood there, unmoving, his glare levelled at the impudent pup. “If anyone else would like to comment further, my axe will be the suggestion box!”
The silence continued.
Gimli gave him his best snarl and sent him on his way. He returned his axe to its bed and looked up at Legolas where he stood leaning against the cave wall, waiting for him, smiling gently.
“Thank you, kind sir,” he said with panache. “My honour, as always, has been preserved.”
Gimli growled. “I may be in love with you, elf, but the distrust and dislike among my people may take a while longer to vanish completely.”
Legolas nodded. “Come. Set the cares of the day aside. I have made you dinner.”
Gimli chuckled. “Turning into quite the wife.”
Legolas rolled his eyes. “Now, who is teasing?”
Gimli chuckled all the harder.
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Legolas’ eyes alone were the only clue as to his waking up, the glazed look left him more swiftly than usual. He sucked in a breath with a start, a dull ache in his back that seemed to fade again. His eyebrows twitched gently, not having felt pain before he was taking more note of it than his human or hobbit friends ever would.
He was sleeping naked because Gimli loved to gaze at him. Making the most, he called it. Secretly, Legolas liked it as well. Lying on his back as he was, he tipped his head to one side to gaze at his still sleeping companion. He smiled. The hour was still too early for rising. Legolas drifted back to sleep, but woke again not long afterward as again the dull ache warmed his back. Now he was more than taking note. He was worried.
The sensation was hardly worthy of note, if he was honest with himself. It was probably a lump in the mattress, or something unusual he had eaten the previous evening. The feast he had cooked had been made with ingredients he had never seen before, let alone eaten. He turned onto his side, hoping that would help, and vowed not to be so adventurous with food ever again.
He was just about to drift off again, when the dull ache was back. With one arm he pushed himself up and sat there in the half light, but to his surprise the ache was instantly gone. All that remained was a tight feeling in his insides. Now.
“Meleth?”
Gimli growled softly in his sleep, which meant he was dreaming of old times.
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I was glaring up at him with undisguised hatred. “No one trust an elf!” I had roared.
The elf in question glared back at me, no doubt remembering why a dwarf, in this case me, looked and sounded so familiar. My father had once been a ‘guest’ in his father’s dungeons. And he looked at me the way his father looked at mine, as some filthy creature not worthy of his respect. Sixty years on and they still had no idea how the dwarves had escaped, but he would gladly lock them up again at a moment’s notice, including me, no doubt. He returned my glare with equal measure.
I was well aware of what Legolas had been thinking at the time, I could see it in his eyes. An elf’s inner most thoughts and feelings are too easy to read. He had confirmed my suspicions later, of course, when we rested in Lorien for a time. But it was at the gates of Moria that he really vexed me. “The passwords are forgotten,” I noted.
“Why does that not surprise me?” the elf had asked rhetorically.
It was not my fault the dwarves had forgotten the password. I wasn’t even from Moria, but the slight irked me nonetheless. I behaved myself, growling low in my chest and bit my tongue when all I really wanted to do was pummel the smug pointy-ear into the ground.
I deny it not. It was Legolas’ unselfish move to save my life that had changed everything in my eyes. He had reached out as quick as lightening and grabbed me by the beard. The act was noted, I am alive obviously, but on a deeper level it was the beginning. And I knew it. Time and time again, Legolas has saved my life, and I have done the same in return.
“I never thought I’d be fighting side by side with an elf,” I said when we were standing outside the Black Gates of Mordor.
“How about side by side with a friend?” Legolas had asked in reply.
“Aye, I can do that,” I said. And I meant it, every word. I was not to realise how much until later.
It was during the War of the Ring that our eyes met and we realised with sudden clarity that it was more than mere friendship. There was a connection between us that was far stronger, far deeper than brotherhood. I realised that once this was over, Legolas would be leaving for Valinor, and that pained me to the core of my being. I looked up at Legolas and knew that he had realised the same thing. He would live for ever, and I would die, and suddenly it seemed as though he could no longer bare to face the future.
We had looked out for each other during the battles we had fought. Legolas had watched my back, and I had watched his, in the horror of war you did that. That we came from two opposing races of an ancient battle of wits and cold shoulders was nothing short of a miracle. We had been raised to despise each other, but in the end neither of us could do it. As the screams of a dying dark lord filled the air, I hugged him to my bosom. There we were, covered in dirt, blooded, breathless, but alive.
Days later, Legolas had been breathless again, beneath me, writhing, and tortured sweetly. I do not believe he had ever been loved like that before, in fact I know he hadn’t. He was a virgin and inexperienced beyond a shy kiss. Our first time is a memory that will stay with me forever. It had been unintentional, it just happened, but neither of us regretted it. In fact, Legolas had called me meleth so often that night and the following day that I almost forgot I had a given name at all.
“Meleth,” the elf’s voice whispered.
I smile. He loves saying it and I love the sound of it. No matter how many times I heard it, it always feels like the first time.
On the edge of sleep, he nuzzled the warm spot of his pillows and moaned in contentment.
“Meleth?”
Gimli opened his eyes. “What time is it?”
“About 4.30 in the morning,” Legolas replied.
Gimli moaned. “Then go back to sleep, Legolas.”
“I am afraid that is not possible.”
Gimli opened his eyes again and turned to regard him over his shoulder. “And why not?” he wondered gruffly. Gimli was not a morning person.
“Because I am in labour, meleth.”
If Legolas had not seen his agility in battle, he would have been surprised at the speed with which the dwarf could move. He watched him leap from the bed in a frenzy of terror and rush around the room like a headless chicken, crying out nonsensically. Legolas chuckled softly.
Gimli only stopped yelling when his lungs were completely spent of air. He stood before his spouse breathless and scared, but also concerned. “Alright, just breathe,” he said, although which of them he was talking to was unclear. “We have several hours to wait. I’ll have to fetch the midwife, the healer, the will keeper . . .nah, forget the will keeper, the leach that he is.”
Legolas smiled at him gently, which only made Gimli’s mood even worse. Legolas as calm as he had ever seen him, the love in his eyes all too visible. His hands resting gently on the swell of his body that would soon be gone.
“Are you alright?” Gimli asked.
“Yes, perfectly,” Legolas replied. He reached for his hand and pressed it to his stomach. “Feel that?”
“It’s as hard as granite!” Gimli looked into the serenely calm, and very frightening, gaze of the elf. He had never seen him look like that. “Is it supposed to do that?”
“We have about two minutes,” Legolas informed him.
“Two minutes!” Gimli panicked. “You could have given me a little more warning!”
“It had only just begun as I woke you, meleth,” Legolas replied, calmly. “Besides, I have been carrying for twelve months. How much more warning do you need?.”
Gimli panted with the horrors he was envisioning in his mind. “Well . . .well, aren't you supposed to be in pain, or shouting at me or . . .something?”
Legolas smiled at him and said, “Why? I am not in any pain.”
“Then, how can you possibly know it’s time?” Gimli demanded. “When Dwarf women are labouring they always make sure the entire cave system of Moria knows it.”
Legolas laughed softly. “I know it is time, because I can feel it. Our lhaes is being born right now . . .” He paused, a gentle breath escaped him. “It feels quite strange.”
“Strange?” Gimli peered at him quizzically. He watched Legolas shifted against the bed, sliding forward until he was afraid he might fall off it. He reached out with both hands to catch him, in case he did. “That is not a word I’d choose right now.”
Legolas rested his hands on the very edge of the bed on either side of him and gazed at Gimli. “Now,” he said softly, totally at peace.
A flustered Gimli stood there, wide-eyed. “Well . . .push then. At least, make it look like I can help with something.”
“Push?” Legolas frowned. His knees parted expectantly, and waited. There was nothing but joy and elation on his face. “Gimli,” he whispered. “Now.”
Gimli looked down and yelped. Legolas smiled gently, hearing the sound he had not heard since Gimli had been cornered by the Galadhrim in Lorien.
“Catch him,” Legolas said, and Gimli did so.
Clear fluid rushed over the dwarfs fingers as suddenly a baby landed in his hands. Legolas gasped softly. Gimli looked up. “Are you alright?”
“Yes,” he replied, breathily.
At first Gimli thought it was relief from a pain that the elf had denied feeling, but as he stood up and handed their son to Legolas, he realised it was wonder that he could see on his face. Legolas held the infant at once, curling his arms around the tiny form as he took his first breath. Then, with tears of joy in his eyes, he smiled at Gimli.
Gimli was speechless as he gazed from Legolas to newborn and back again. He leaned in and kissed him. "Now, sit back before you fall," he said finally. "I'll go and get a blanket." With that, he rushed from the room and bounded up the steps and was out of sight before Legolas could ask what he was doing or where he was going.
Legolas wondered where he had gone, since there were blankets were on the bed. He pulled one closer, wrapping it around his newborn son. A moment later, the horn of Helm Hammerhand sounded. Legolas laughed softly. Trust Gimli to let the world know that he was a father.
El fin
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