Gimli jumped. “What was that?” The flash of light faded as quickly as it had filled the air around them. Ârâgorn looked up at the clear blue sky. “We cannot be in for a storm,” he said.

Legolas looked up and saw a dot in the distance growing steadily larger as it descended through the air. His eyes widened in alarm as he realised what it was. Forcefully pushing Gimli and Ârâgorn out of the way, he set himself beneath it. They both turned muttering and cursing the elf, just as the object fell into his arms.

“Have you gone mad?”

“Confounded elf!”

Legolas said nothing as he gazed in shock at what had literally dropped into his arms. He flicked his eyes up at what appeared to him to be a hole in the sky.

“What is it?” Gimli said, changing his tune in an instant. He rose on the tips of his toes to get a better look and drew in an astonished gasp.

Ârâgorn, too, could not believe his eyes. “Where did it come from?”

Legolas regarded him pointedly. “What do you mean, ‘it’? It is not ‘it’, it is a baby.”

“It doesn’t look alive, does it?” Gimli noted.

“Of course not,” Ârâgorn scoffed. “No one could survive falling from such a great height. What was it doing up in the sky, anyway?”

“Perhaps one of the eagles carried it off,” Gimli supposed.

“It came from that bright hole in the heavens,” Legolas told them.

They looked.

“I don’t see a hole,” the dwarf said.

“That is because you lack elf eyes, my friend.” The hole closed up and vanished, as did a second flash of light. “It is gone.”

“Let us decided quickly what to do with it,” Ârâgorn urged them, indicating in the general direction of their drop-in guest. “We do not have time to waste on a dead infant.”

“It is not dead,” Legolas said.

“What do you expect us to do? Bury it?” Gimli wondered, Legolas’ words all-but unheard. “It came from up there. It’s a babe of the gods and not our concern. Legolas, put it down. We have hobbits to save, and Yavanna will most likely come and pick it up.”

Legolas was horrified. “I could not put an infant down on this cold, wet grown. It would die!”

“Is it elf-kind?” Ârâgorn asked, pulling back the cloth that it was wrapped in to find fine white-blonde hair, but round ears. He pulled the blanket away further to find the child dressed in soft pink cloth, something akin to velvet.

Legolas frowned and stepped back. “Stop poking and prodding. The child is not dead. It is asleep. And no, I will not put it down!”

“Now, who’s calling that thing an ‘it’?”

“It is not a thing!” Legolas cried. The baby suddenly jumped in astonishment at the strident tones and opened its eyes. Its face puckered up and it began to cry.

“Well, that was a clever use of elf wisdom,” Gimli grumbled. “Now it’s awake.”

The crying increased. Ârâgorn winced at the growing racket. “There is only one thing worse than a dead baby, and that is one making that noise. Shut it up! The Uruk-hai are bound to notice.”

Gimli leaned in and sniffed. “Oooh!” he choked. “The wee thing smells worse than a cattle barn with a case of bad grass.”

Ârâgorn groaned. “Oh, no. We should try and make for a village or something and ask a maiden there. She will know what to do.”

“And have this racket with us all across Rohan?” Gimli stressed. “I’ll not take that noise with me. I made an oath to protect the hobbits, not give our position away to every orc between Forodwaith and Far Harad. We change it now and then take it to a village.”

“In that we are of agreement,” Legolas said and passed the child to Gimli.

Gimli grimaced. “Don’t even think it, elf,” he grumbled. “You caught it, you change it.” And he passed it back.

Ârâgorn rolled his eyes. “Give it to me. Eru! You two are useless,” he scoffed. He took the infant and lay her on a dry rock, her blankets beneath her. He stared down at the strange velvet clothes and tried to find some buttons. “How do I get this thing off?” he wondered. “I doubt it was born with this - whatever it is - on.” He fingered the velvet all round, but there was no button to be found.

The baby looked up at Legolas and blinked. It wriggled, face spreading with a smile. Legolas couldn’t help, but smile back. “She smiled at me.”

“Nah,” Gimli huffed. “That’s wind.”

Legolas threw him a glare.

Ârâgorn continued to fiddle with the cloth at the infant’s shoulder where two pieces appeared to meet. Suddenly one half of the meeting point popped open. “Oh!” he said. “This strap popped. It is now undone.”

“Two hobbits will be undone, if we don’t get a move on,” Gimli urged.

Ârâgorn pulled the rest of the strap apart, and turned to the other shoulder. With a little wriggling he managed to peal the cloth past the child’s knees. “There . . .now what?”

“Take it off?” Legolas suggested.

“I know that, but . . .look. What do you think this is?”

They stared at the white thing wrapped around the baby’s lower torso covered in pretty pictures of bears and butterflies in unnatural colours.

“Those must be the strangest drawers I have ever seen,” Gimli noted.

“Elves do not wear drawers, nor do I think that is its name,” Legolas added. “I do not know what to call this.”

Ârâgorn leaned in to look at it intently, but quickly drew back and wrinkled his nose. “Whatever it is, it is not made of cloth. It is . . .ugh” . . .smelly.”

Legolas drew a blade and sliced through it at one side.

“Legolas!” Ârâgorn shrieked. “Put that away. You’ll cut the child in half. And as much as I like to share things equally, that would be going too far.”

Legolas sucked in his lip and nodded. “Forgive me, I did not think of that. I was trying to help.”

“I know,” Ârâgorn said quietly. With his fingers, he tore open the other side and pulled the strange cloth down.

“Eru nîn!” they grimaced as one.

“Leaves and moss,” Legolas suggested.

“A clean cloth,” Gimli said.

“Why me?” Ârâgorn finished.

Together they managed to clean the child up using leaves from a small plant nearby. With it finally clean and dry, they stared at it.

“It’s a strange looking thing. It doesn’t have what I have,” Gimli noted.

“Nor I,” Legolas said. “I have never seen an elf looking like that.”

“You pair of fools,” Ârâgorn spoke. “It’s a girl.”

“How would you know?” Gimli asked. “Seen many girls in a state of undress?”

“Good question,” Legolas praised. “Arwen might wish to know.”

“Of course I haven’t seen any girls undressed,” the would-be-king snapped. “Not since I was very small and came upon my mother bathing once.”

Legolas and Gimli exchanged a glance.

“We had better dress her again,” Legolas suggested. “I have moss.”

“Here’s a polishing cloth. It’s all we have between us I think,” Gimli offered.

Ârâgorn eyed him. “Your spare shirt will fit better.”

Gimli’s eyes shrank, but with the looks on their faces, he quickly relented. He pulled the spare shirt from a pouch on the back of his belt and passed it to Ârâgorn. “It’s my last and only shirt,” he grumbled.

Ârâgorn wound it around the tiny body and tied the arms up, tucking the rest under and over it. He eyed his handy work and sighed. “It will have to do,” he said. “Let us hope it lasts until we find a village.”

“We must reach the hobbits first,” Gimli said.

Ârâgorn nodded and pushed the pink velvet up over her impromptu diaper. He groaned softly. “Look, there are more of those pop things down the legs. If I had seen those I would not have had to take this off,” he grumbled. He pulled the cloth up her back, trying to get her to sit up, but she was too floppy.

Legolas frowned. “I do not think she is old enough to do that,” he said, lifting her into his arms and eyeing the strange fastenings on the straps. “How did these go together?”

“They were pressed together,” Ârâgorn said, and after much fiddling he managed to press two of them shut with a pop. Legolas turned her round to allow access to the other shoulder. “You are good at holding little ones. Have you had practice?”

“No,” he replied. “But I think she likes to be held this way.”

The infant fidgeted in the crook of his arm, nuzzling her face against his jerkin. He smiled a little. “She will be alright now.”

As if to call him a liar, the infant began to whimper. Legolas quickly wrapped the blankets around her, but it did not help. The baby began to cry.

“Oh dear,” Gimli groaned. “And so it begins.”

“Maybe she is hungry,” Ârâgorn suggested.

“What are we supposed to feed her?,” Legolas suggested.

“We could chew lembas for her,” Gimli said.

“She is far too young for solid food,” Legolas said.

“She needs milk,” Ârâgorn agreed. “Besides, we left all the bread behind on the banks of the Anduin.”

Legolas turned away from them, joggling the infant a little to make her stop. It worked, but not for more than a few seconds. “Perhaps you have some water?” he asked, but there was no answer.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes . . .unless Legolas slipped a bundle of wafers inside his jerkin.”

“He may have . . .who knows . . .maybe we should check?” Gimli suggested, with a gleam in his eye.

“She is not hungry,” Legolas said, as she began to shiver. “Just cold.” But he knew they were not listening.

“What man in his right mind would leave all the food behind?” Gimli demanded.

Ârâgorn sighed. “We had hobbits to save, remember? It was a snap decision.”

The crying continued to get increasingly louder with every passing moment. Gimli and Ârâgorn wasted precious minutes begging each other to do something to shut the crying child up before the orcs heard it and doubled back to attack them. The infant was now red in the face with crying, her fingers curling and straightening in an effort to find sustenance. Feeling increasingly upset at his helplessness, Legolas lifted his shirt and slipped the babe underneath, holding her against the bare skin of his body, thinking that shivering meant she was cold. The infant stopped crying almost instantly and snuggled against his warm chest.

“I still think we should leave it behind.”

“I could not condone such a move. Not and . . .”

Suddenly the argument came to an abrupt halt as Legolas let out a scream. Gimli and Ârâgorn turned to him in shock.

“Ai!” he yelled. “Get her off me!”

Gimli watched the elf hop from one foot to the other and covered his mouth with his hand. Ârâgorn, not in possession of such a follically-blessed face, grinned openly. “I presume the baby has found something to latch on to,” he said.

“On Legolas?” Gimli inquired quietly.

Ârâgorn nodded. “Think about it,” he said. “Elves are androgynous. Do they have breasts or not?”

Gimli opened his mouth and closed it, re-evaluating his initial response. “How would I know . . .well, when you put it like that, I would have say yes.”

“And, what happens when they get sucked?”

“On a personal level, I have no idea,” Gimli responded huffily. “I would imagine, it’s the same as for a dwarf woman or a woman of your kind. A baby is born, it suckles, the breasts do what comes naturally. They respond, they want to feed.”

Legolas gazed at them in horror. “Wha-I-well-but . . .that is easy for you to say, but it is I who is . . Oh, I cannot believe you two are discussing me in such base terms. I am not a cow!”

Gimli stifled a snicker and cleared his throat. “Never thought anything of the sort. Did you . . ?”

“No.”

“There you go.”

Legolas looked at them both unbelievingly. “Just get her off me!”

“Does she seem to want to let go?” Gimli asked.

“Does it hurt?” Ârâgorn asked at the same time.

“Actually, there is a pleasurable feel to it, kind of sweet and relaxing.” Legolas suddenly realised what he had said. “That is a personal question!” he burst out.

Ârâgorn grinned. “That is all I needed to know.”

Legolas moaned in frustration. “I will never live this down. The baby will be fine, but I shall be forever changed.”

Gimli is not so sure. “If you keep doing that, the baby will get even more hungry and cry louder.”

Legolas shook his head, a thought coming to him. “I do not believe so, Gimli. She will die without milk. If I can keep her nursing my body will produce milk.”

Gimli gaped at him. “You really are female?”

“Ârâgorn spoke the truth. Elves are neither male nor female, Gimli. I have simply never chosen to grow breasts. I think, now that there is a child in need of care, it would be prudent to do so.”

“And after we find its mother?”

“Then I shall have breasts for the rest of my immortal life . . .not to mention everything else an eleth has as well.” Legolas observed the dwarf fall silent. “This bothers you, does it not?”

“Uhm . . .well . . .” Gimli stumbled. “I always thought you were attractive before . . .this. I’m trying to work out how we are going to cope with you as a woman. I mean, two robust bachelors . . .”

“I am spoken for, Gimli,” Ârâgorn voiced a warning. “You’re on your own in that thought.”

“I gathered that from the outset,” Gimli said. “I was just trying to soften the blow on my fragile mind.”

“Talking of fragile, we must away. We have hobbits to rescue,” Ârâgorn coaxed them. “Who is going to carry her?”

“I suppose that will be me,” Legolas said. “If someone would be so kind as to fashion a backpack from my cloak to carry her in, I would be grateful.”

It was a quiet night and day, except that their pace was swift, despite having to stop every now and then to feed a hungry babe. Legolas enjoyed the contact against his skin, and although strange, the feeling of producing milk gave him a sense of buzzing that he was unaccustomed to.

“Is she getting enough?”

“I do not know,” Legolas said. “But she has fed fewer times during the night than yesterday. What concerns me more is whether we are gaining ground on the Uruk-hai. I am holding us up.”

“We are gaining on them. Do not worry, just concern yourself with her. Here,” he passed his a water pouch. “You need to drink.”

Legolas drank thirstily. “Thank you.”

Ârâgorn smiled at the infant. “Her ears wiggle when she feeds.”

Legolas smiled. “It tickles when she feeds, but it is a relief also. It aches until she does.”

“And you are now fully a woman,” Aragorn noted.

Legolas looked away. “I am,” he replied.

Ârâgorn smiled gently. “You look no different,” he assured him. “Except . . .where it counts.”

Legolas glared at him. “What do you mean by that remark?”

Ârâgorn considered carefully what he was about to say. “She needed milk.”

“We must press on,” Gimli said, fidgeting.

“We will,” Legolas assured him, the glare still levelled at Ârâgorn. “She is almost asleep.”

On the third day, their hopes for a village faded. Fangorn was not far away, and there was a red sky with the dawn.

“Blood has been spilled this night,” Legolas whispered, afraid for the hobbits.

“Keep going,” Ârâgorn called out over his shoulder.

Together they ran down the hill and across the brow of a hill. Thunder began to rise from the valley, rolling towards them at a frightful speed.

“Horses,” Ârâgorn noted.

“Warriors of Rohan?” Gimli asked.

“I do not doubt it. And if the rumours are true, they will not be allies,” he warned. “We cannot out run them, we are too fatigued. Rest here, and allow them to overtake us. We will better gain news of how it fares with their king.”

Within seconds the horses thundered past them. Ârâgorn rose, leaving them sitting at his feet, near exhaustion. “Riders of Rohan! What news of the mark?”

Almost like a flock of quail they turned and bore down on them, surrounding them, spears drawn. And that was only the beginning.

“What business does an elf, a dwarf and a man have on the Riddermark?” their leader demanded. “Speak quickly!”

“Give me your name, horse-master, and I shall give you mine,” Gimli threw back.

The man glared at him and dismounted. “I would cut off you head, dwarf, if it stood but a little higher from the ground.”

Legolas notched an arrow and within a second had it aimed at the Rohirrim’s face. “You would die before you sword fell!” Suddenly something shifted against his back. Without a moment to do more than hope the baby didn’t wake, she suddenly did. Legolas rolled his eyes as a cry rose thin and strident, and he lowered his bow. “A moment,” he said.

Éomer was too shocked to speak as he watched Legolas sit down and unclip his pack. Opening the top, two large blue eyes blinked out at him. The little chin quivered and the mouth opened again, grasping hands reaching for sustenance. At the second cry, the elf had unclipped his quiver. At the third, Legolas lifted the infant out and lay her in his crossed legs. With the forth cry he pulled his jerkin over his head. Unbuttoning his shirt, the infant let out another impatient cry and Legolas hushed her softly. He cradled her in his arm and pressed her to his breast and the mewling infant latched on.

There was a long silence.

“I suppose that rules out your being spies, then?” Éomer decided.

“We are not spies,” Ârâgorn said gently. “I am Ârâgorn, son of Arathorn. This is Gimli son of Gloin, and Legolas son of . . .of the Woodland Realm. I am a friend of Rohan, and of Théoden, your king.”

“King Théoden no longer recognises friend from foe, nor perhaps woman from man,” Éomer added, still eyeing the elf with undisguised confusion. “The white wizard has poisoned the mind of the king and claimed lordship over his lands. I and my company are loyal to Rohan and for that we are exiled. I am Éomer, son of Éomund.”

The conversation was brief, but certainly longer than they had initially expected, considering the amount of hardware aimed at the heads but minutes before. The loan of two horses was much appreciated, as was the gift of fresh cloth for the infant.

“Press on to Edoras and do what you can, I beg of you,” Éomer said. “It is you my uncle seeks, of this I am certain. I know not why, but it seems more than coincidence that our paths crossed. Look for your friends, but do not trust a hope. Hope has forsaken these lands, but in Edoras dwells my sister. A babe to care for may soften her to her womanhood, when nought else has worked thus far. I fear for her in the shadow of Wormtongue. Speak kindness to her, if you get chance to meet.”

Ârâgorn nodded and watched him remount.

“We ride north!” the king’s nephew called out.

They watched them ride off into the distance, and turned their eyes towards the fire plume rising from beyond the ridge in the distance.

“We have but one choice,” Ârâgorn said softly.

“We must rest soon. I am tired.” Legolas told them, the first time he had made mention of any regard for himself.

Ârâgorn pressed his hand to the elf’s shoulder. “Hang on a little while longer yet, mellon nîn. And I shall find you a bed myself.”

“And I shall warm it . . .if you get my meaning,” Gimli cleared his throat. “Give me a leg up on this thing,” he said. “I’d prefer to walk, but my feet are killing me.”

Legolas passed the infant to Ârâgorn while he mounted and took her to him again. “Make the pace slow, Ârâgorn, even in haste.”

Finally, they were able to cover the distance more quickly, finding the fire but no hobbits lying dead among the embers. It did not take long to realize, the sprightly creatures had escaped into Fangorn forest.

Legolas fiddled with the rag he had folded around her and smiled, satisfied. “There,” he announced and lifted her up. The cloth promptly fell off. “Oh!” he grumbled. He lay her down again and began again.

“Knowing the luck we have had so far,” Gimli grumbled impatiently. “Sauron himself will follow the trail of dirty clothes and find us ere we have chance to leave.”

“If someone not too far from me will not shut up,” Legolas responded tightly. “Sauron can follow a trail of blood, which will lead from where you are sitting, and find us all the sooner.”

“Enough of this,” Ârâgorn grumbled. “Legolas, use this and hurry it up.”

Legolas took the elven broach from his hand and snapped it over the cloth at the infant’s belly. He smiled and quickly dressed her again. He rose and joined them. He eyed the trees, creaking and moaning as they were, even without the aid of any wind. The air was stifling and crackled with emotions. It grew worse the further they walked.

“This forest is old . . .very old,” he muttered almost to himself. “Full of memory and anger.” It confused him, he did not understand why the trees would be angry.

“Angry trees,” Gimli muttered, eyeing the mass of living firewood with loathing. He was growing more wary by the minute. He drew his axe, feeling better for the feel of his weapon in his hands.

Several trees around them moaned all the loader, one after another. Legolas jolted with the feel of sudden fury filling the air around him. “The trees are speaking to each other.” He could feel who it was aimed at and whirled to face the dwarf.

“Gimli!” Ârâgorn hissed. “Lower your axe!”

Reluctantly he did so.

Legolas frowned at the dwarf. “The trees have feelings, my friend,” he told him. The infant whimpered in his arms and he tucked her beneath his chin. “Hush, little one,” he whispered. “The elves began it, waking the trees and teaching them to speak. ”

“Talking trees . . .what do trees have to talk about except the consistency of squirrel droppings? And the smell of a man-child among their root boles.”

Ârâgorn glared at him, but Gimli was less phased by that than the threat posed by the trees. “Dwarf bairns don’t smell like that,” he grumbled. “I don’t doubt that elf milk is upsetting her stomach.”

“How do you know it upsets her stomach?” Legolas asked. “You have never tasted elf milk.” With the look in Gimli’s eye, he instantly regretted the words.

“Watch it, elf, or I might take that as a challenge.”

Legolas swallowed. With the infant now quiet, he tucked her into the swiftly fashioned carrier and hoped she would fall asleep. He turned, feeling a change in the mood around him. “Ârâgorn! The white wizard approaches.”

They had barely begun the confrontation when it became apparent that the white wizard was not the Saruman they knew as an enemy, but Gandalf. A moment later, and the infant began to wriggle and cry.

This was not a sound Gandalf had expected to hear. Eye popping wide, he watched Legolas take an infant from the sling of cloth hanging from his shoulders and take off his clothes.

Legolas sighed gently. “Impeccable timing as always, little one,” he whispered, and began to feed her.

Gandalf exploded, and the first thing out of his mouth, “Why, in the name of all that is holy, did you not mention that you were pregnant!”

The infant jolted at every stressed syllable and whimpered.

“With respect, Gandalf, please lower your voice. She is sensitive to raised voices.” Legolas blinked and looked up, registering what the wizard had said. “She fell from the sky.”

Gandalf stared at him for a moment more. “If I had heard those five words from any other soul I would have dismissed them as mad, or a good liar. But I know you, Legolas, and you are not even a bad liar. What in the world made you bring it with you?”

“She is not an ‘it’,” Gimli retorted, before Legolas could so much as open his mouth.

“She fell from a hole in the sky, Mithrandir,” Legolas told him. “What else could we do but take her with us? She would have died. We struggled to quiet her for a long time before it was possible. She wore clothes we did not understand. She was shivering and I tucked her beneath my shirt to keep her warm. She needed milk. I had none to give her until she began to feed. Now, I have milk.” Legolas lifted his eyes to the wizard. “I will be forever female, but I do not begrudge the gift. She would have died,” he repeated softly.

Gandalf smiled reassuringly. “Indeed, you did save her life,” he replied. “Do not allow guilt to mar your choice, but understand . . .once you have made that choice it cannot then be unmade.”

“I do not know how I will cope with her care and obey my oath to the fellowship,” Legolas admitted. “As we press ever onward, war will come upon us, and what shall I do then? And after the war, what will my father say when I bring home an infant who is not our kin?”

The wizard frowned. “You cannot possibly keep her. You must know this to be true?” Gandalf spoke softly. “She has a mother somewhere, who loves her and wants her back.”

Legolas swallowed. “I am aware of that, but until a way can be found to return her, she needs my care.” The baby shifted against him, and Legolas drew her up against his shoulder to refasten the buttons of his shirt. The infant’s face nuzzled against his neck and a tiny hand cupped his cheek. Legolas stood up. He tried not to respond to the light touch, but the thoughts burned through his mind and pooled at the corners of his eyes. Something tore at his heart and he turned away.

Gimli reached out and touched his arm. Neither he nor Ârâgorn could deny the bond the elf had formed with the child, nor that it was now more than simply a one-way thing.

Gandalf sighed gently. “We must make for Edoras. It goes ill with the king.”

“We have heard,” Ârâgorn agreed. “Théoden’s nephew, Éomer, entreated us to make haste and help all we could. It is fortuitous that we find you here, now.”

“Fortuitous indeed,” Gandalf replied. “Let us be on the road. Fangorn is no place to be. The trees are about to wake up and find that they are strong.”

“Strong trees . . .oh, that’s good,” Gimli muttered, not feeling good about this at all. “Can’t have weak trees,” he said sarcastically. “They don’t make good axe handles.” The trees groaned at him. Gimli moved on, following the now retreating Gandalf. “Are we to abandon those poor hobbits to their fate in this dark, dank tree-infested . . .”

The response was immediate and loud. The tree beside him gave a heave and roared. Gimli smiled, nervously. “Nice forest . . .very . . .very nice . . .Legolas, wait for me!”

Éowyn watched the sight of her uncle and king stagger down the steps, lurching towards the grovelling figure of Wormtongue. She shuddered, but something jolted through her, a strident noise. She turned in surprise to see the elf standing there. She watched him unclip a cloth sling from his shoulders. With what she could only describe as exaggerated care, he lowered it to the floor, before drawing the flap open.

She looked inside and gasped. “You have a baby?”

Legolas took her out and snuggled her against his chest. Rubbing her back for a moment he tried to decide what she would need. Changing, feeding? At that moment, all she seemed to want was a cuddle.

“She is not elf-kind,” Éowyn noted. “Whose baby is it?”

Legolas seemed to savour the feel of the little body against his chest as if it would not last long enough. Éowyn could see the empty pain evident in the elf’s eyes.

“We found her while we were crossing the Mark,” he replied. “She fell from the sky. I am caring for her until a way can be found to return her to her mother.”

“You will need milk,” Éowyn said. “And changing rags. I will get them for you.”

“I have milk, but she will need changing cloths, thank you.”

Éowyn frowned. “You have milk?”

Legolas nodded. “I am feeding her myself.”

Éowyn opened her mouth, but the ability to speak had suddenly left her. She lifted her hands up, a gesture to make him stay there, and she rushed off. Legolas smiled, gently settling his chin against the infant’s crown. A few minutes later, interrupting a tune he had been humming to lull the child to sleep, Éowyn returned with a large bundle of cloth squares in one hand and several pieces of twisted metal, something akin to cloak pins but less ornate, in the other.

“Here,” she offered. “May I?”

Legolas hesitated, but remembering Éomer’s plea he relinquished his hold on the tiny child. He watched mesmerised at the change in her countenance. The careworn resignation eased from around her eyes and a smile lit up her mouth, pealing the austerity from her being. He wondered if he looked like that whenever he looked at the baby. He decided that if Ârâgorn’s and Gimli’s expressions were anything to go by, he probably did.

He smiled. Éomer had been right, his sister was visibly changed by the presence of the small being that needed so much care.

The baby opened her eyes and looked up at her. “Hello,” Éowyn said softly. “I am Éowyn. There, you are so beautiful.” She cooed to it softly as she walked back into the hall. “It is far too windy out there for such a little one,” she said. “Let us sit by the fire and warm our selves.” She eyed the courtiers removing the bodies of Wormtongue’s henchmen and caught the eyes of one of them. He hurriedly set to work relighting the fire.

“There, we will soon have you warm,” she said, fingering the tiny fingers, which were warm enough, but the child followed her every word, entranced. Éowyn sat down and smiled down at her. She infant did not smile back, but watched her intently. Suddenly, she sucked in a few breaths, lips pursed together. She whimpered and looked round at another face that swam into her periphery.

Éowyn smiled as a smile spread across the infant’s face. She looked up at Legolas. “She thinks you are her mother,” she said. “It will be hard for you to give her up when she goes home.”

Legolas pressed the tiny hand to his lips. “It will be difficult, but it must be done. I hope it will be sooner rather than later.” He regarded the woman for a moment. “Would you be willing to care for her for the next hour?”

Éowyn seemed delighted. “I will bring her to you when she is hungry. She will be fine.”

Legolas did not doubt that for a moment. He got to his feet and strode to the doors to find his friends. He had work to do. There was war brewing, and his job was first as warrior. As much as it pained him to walk away, he did not look back. Once outside, he paused, closed his eyes and clenched his fists.

Night had fallen and the hall was in quiet sombre mood. There was little joy about the place, although the king was now quite recovered he was still addled by the poison that had stolen his mind. His son was buried in the tomb he had set for himself, beside his father and brother. Now his nephew would take his place on the throne, but no one knew where he was.

But Theoden’s eyes were not filled with loss for his son at that moment, nor were they too centred on the two half-starved waifs from the West Fold. His gaze was locked on the bundle his niece had been carrying around with her all day. His eyes narrowed as it began to make a sound that had not been heard within the walls of Meduseld for more than two decades.

There was a tenderness in her manner with the children, but it was wooden, duty, nothing more. But with the infant, he could clearly see that the bundle was indeed a young baby, his niece had changed. Gentle, nurturing, alive, a woman.

He could not hide the smile that rose from his lips to warm the cold, tired eyes as he watched her. He wondered who the child belonged to. Surely he had not been ‘gone’ for so long the he had missed a wedding? Or even the birth of a new member of the royal House?

Suddenly the elf, who until a moment before had been little more than a statue against the pillar, turned and lifted the child from her arms and cradled it in his own. He watched as buttons came undone, but saw little if any skin exposed. The elf was discrete, but still attuned to the discussion at hand.

“I will not leave my people unprotected. We will make for the fortress of Helm’s deep.” The king had spoken.

“Uncle?”

Theoden looked up. She had addressed him not as one of his subjects, but as his kin. “Yes, Eowyn?” he replied.

“Lord Ârâgorn and his friends have travelled a long way without rest. I would ask that they be allowed to rest for one night . . .”

“No,” Theoden replied and rose to his feet. “There is no time. We ride the moment we are able. A delay could cost more lives.”

Éowyn turned to glance at Legolas where he sat at the table. Legolas tipped his head to one side and rested against the ornately carved pillar, but said nothing. He was exhausted. Sleeplessness he was used to, but with nursing an infant, his usual endless strength was not quite up to par. His eyes closed for a moment and reopened to find a dwarf staring right at him. He lifted his head as Gimli smiled. He smiled back.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“I am well,” Legolas replied.

Gimli’s smile widened. “If you stay where you are, you’ll fall asleep.”

Legolas smiled tiredly. “Get Arod ready.”

Gimli looked sceptical, but nodded and straightened, sending Ârâgorn a look before turning away.

They rode at a steady pace for the rest of the day. Gimli noticed an eye peeping out at him along the journey. He smiled. A gurgling sound came from within the backpack, proof that a thumb was planted firmly in her rosebud mouth. Gimli grinned. Again the infant peeping out at him squealed.

Legolas turned his head. “What are you doing?” he asked, aware of several amused faces turned in their direction.

“Nothing,” Gimli replied innocently. He peered into the accidental hole in the sling and the sound came again, a laugh worming its way around the digit. The infant nuzzled against Legolas’ back, lulled to sleep by the gentle sway and roll of Arod’s gait.

Gimli sighed. “Makes me yearn for bairns of my own,” he noted, almost to himself.

Legolas stiffened, a jolt of something he had never felt before rolled through him. He was a maternal now, and uncertain thoughts washed through his mind. He did not know what to think, nor how to react.

It was growing dark by the time Théoden called a halt. Gimli left Legolas to fetch water and food. When he returned he found the elf lying on the ground, on his side, one arm curled under his head and the other around the infant.

Legolas was so still and quiet that Gimli decided that he must have fallen asleep. The elf had snatched moments of rest as and when they arose, which had been few and far between, and short when they had come.

Gimli knelt down in the quiet, watching them together. The infant nursed contentedly, fingers meshed together, ear wiggling in time with her jaw. He smiled. Legolas’ eyes were glazed over in sleep. “If I had but the skill to paint this moment,” he breathed.

The baby stilled for a moment, on the edge of sleep. Gimli smiled again, and reached out a hand to cup her soft downy head. Her hair was barely visible except where it was at its thickest. “Beautiful mother,” he whispered. “Beautiful child. If only you knew how much I would give for this child to remain here, or what I would give for you to love me as I have found myself loving you.” He sighed. “Such is life that I was born dwarf and not elf.”

Unnoticed, elf eyes shifted slightly to regard him for a moment before slipping back into the depths of slumber.

At Helm’s deep, preparations were under way. Ârâgorn had barely returned and he had thrown himself into the defensive needs. His wounds still oozed when he moved, and he had forcefully rejected any aid Legolas had offered.

“Ârâgorn,” Legolas urged him. “You must rest. You are no use to us half alive.”

“You should talk!” Ârâgorn threw back under his breath.

“My lord? Ârâgorn!” Éowyn’s voice called out, silencing anything further he might have said. “I am to be sent with the women into the caves.”

“That is an honourable charge,” he replied.

Legolas frowned. He opened his mouth to speak. The king had sent him to the caves as well. He needed to tell Ârâgorn that. He, a warrior of his father’s realm, relegated to this . . .

“To mind the children, to find food and bedding when the men return? What renown is there in that?” she demanded.

“My lady,” he soothed. “A time may come for valour without renown. Who then will your people look to . . .”

“Ârâgorn,” Legolas suddenly spoke up. He unclipped the child from his back and cradled her. Kissing her forehead he passed her to Éowyn. “Watch her for me.”

“You are supposed to be in the caves,” she began. “My uncle said . . .”

“Guard her,” he said softly. “And all of Rohan’s children. Let us be the first defence. If we fail, they will need a strong leader to rally the second . . .”

“Or flight,” she murmured, looking down at the baby. “ . . .To fight another day . . .”

Legolas nodded as she turned away, baby in arms. The parting pained him, as much as it angered her that he could stay and not her.

Ârâgorn sighed as he watched his friend’s face. “You should be with her. You need to rest.”

Legolas frowned angrily. “You should talk!”

The battle was fierce and the dead were too many to count. In amongst the cries of pain and victory, Legolas moaned softly.

Gimli looked up. “Are you hurt?” he asked, at once deeply concerned.

Legolas shook his head. “I do not think so.” He looked up and began walking in the direction of the caves.

Gimli, most surprised, followed him. “Legolas?” he called softly. “What is it?” But a healer of Rohan barred his way.

The dwarf’s grumbling melted into the background as Legolas walked on. Beneath the fort a thready cry rose from the caves below. Éowyn stood in the entrance, trying to sooth a distressed infant. She looked up as a shadow crossed her face.

“Legolas,” she said with much relief. “I cannot calm her. She is hungry.”

Legolas smiled and patted her arm. “You have done well, my lady,” he praised. “I had to come. I am so in need of feeding her I feel about to burst.” He took the child and lowered himself to the bare rock where he stood. There was no time to find somewhere warmer or dryer. The fractious child latched on and began to feed vigorously. Legolas’s eyes closed and his head drifted back against the cave wall. It was blessed relief, almost bringing him to tears. “Elbereth,” he breathed. “That a woman should feel such pain.”

Gimli shooed the healer away. One small cut was not important when so many needed much more. He looked around and his eyes settled upon the elf sitting cross-legged in the mouth of the caves even as his stride quickened.

He reached Legolas to find him eyes closed, head leaning against the cold stones, breathing deep and slow. The elven member of the fellowship was exhausted. Gimli knelt beside him, his axes finally coming to rest.

The baby nuzzled the breast, which willingly gave her life but slowly drained the elf of his, who should have been doing naught else, especially not racing across the plains or fighting battles. No wonder women did not fight, he thought as he saw the raw fatigue on his love’s face . . .love? Where did that come from? He nodded to him self, yes, love.

Legolas’ eyes slowly opened to find the dwarf once again smiling at him. “Gimli,” he managed as a woman brought a plate of food to him.

“Lady Éowyn bade me command you to eat.”

Gimli looked at her, taking the tray. “I will see it done,” he spoke gruffly. “Tell your lady, Gimli will attend to it.”

The girl bowed nervously, never having seen a male nursing a babe before, atop the uniqueness of the elven warrior itself. At least, she thought he was male. He had fought upon the walls, had he not?

Gimli chuckled. Nimble fingers tore apart the cold meat and fed a bite into the elf’s astonished lips. He made to protest, but Gimli would have none of it.

“Hush elf, you will upset the babe, eat. Besides, you need strength, Princeling, if you are to keep up with a dwarf.”

That was all it took. Legolas snapped playfully at the bite, catching the dwarf’s fingers as well, causing him to laugh.

“By the way,” Legolas murmured between bites. “Final count, forty-two.” He grinned.

“Forty-three,” Gimli said quietly, wiping the grin from the elf attempting to be smug.

Legolas chewed the meat for a moment, considering yet another personal defeat. “I heard you speaking the other night, while I lay upon the ground.”

Gimli hesitated with another morsel, and decided to withhold it, to hear what he had to say. There was an ominous foreboding to the elf’s words, but then he was deathly tired, that could have disguised it.

“I do not deny what I said,” Gimli replied. “Forgive me for disturbing you. I thought you were asleep.”

“I was awake,” Legolas replied. “Why did you not tell me ere this moment of your feelings?”

Gimli looked away. “We may be allies for the quest, oath-brothers, but what about after it? When the ring is gone, you and I will return home, and continue as before, glaring at each other across the River Running until the day you leave for the sea and be gone forever.”

Legolas swallowed the morsel of food. He knew this to be true. What hope was there? In silence, he turned the child over, and offered her the other breast. Another morsel came and he accepted it without question or play, the moment forever lost.

Gimli picked at the plate, finding the best bits of roasted vegetables and most tender bits of meat. Now and then a chunk less than desirable found its way between his own lips, but the best went to Legolas. The elf sensed that this was a subconscious act, the dwarf genuinely cared. Gimli lifted a goblet of water to Legolas lips, urging him to drink deeply the much-needed liquid.

“Perhaps, if things were different,” Legolas voiced softly.

“You would love me no less,” Gimli finished, picking up another vegetable and popping it into the elf’s mouth. “Eat, and then you shall sleep.”

Only Legolas’s eyes could see the huge eagle flying overhead, and he knew that time was up. He did not dare look at the wizard for confirmation. The eagle followed a parallel course for most of the journey back to Edoras before taking on a burst of speed, in order to reach the destination first.

Legolas urged Arod up the hill to the stables. On the road, voices were already rising in celebration of their victory. He swallowed, feeling his heart constrict. Waiting for Gimli to slide off from behind him, he dismounted, pausing to press his forehead to the white stallion’s shoulder.

“Legolas?”

It was Gimli’s voice. He had never failed to ask after his needs, took care of him, looked out for him. Legolas lifted his head. “I am fine,” he assured him and smiled. “There will be a lot of noise tonight, with more drunks than you can wave an axe at.”

Gimli laughed loudly. “Very likely, and I plan to be among them, Legolas, mark me well,” he grinned.

“I shall join you in a moment. I must attend to Arod . . .”

“I will tend to him, my lord,” a stable hand put in.

“And the baby,” Legolas added, without missing a beat.

Gimli hesitated. There was a look in the elf’s eyes that he had not seen before, almost a silent plea and yet reluctant resignation. The elf wanted to be along, and yet not. Gimli frowned. Had he done something wrong? “Alright, princeling,” he bubbled jubilantly. “But if you don’t join me in a round or two by sun down, I will personally search every nook and cranny and drag you to the party. And I shall have the entire Rohirrim army along side me.”

“Aye!” the men crowed.

Legolas wanted to smile, but did not think it possible without breaking. Not a thing to do before a horde of warriors. “I shall be there in an hour, dwarf, so do not eat too much or there shall be none left for me.”

“Never mind the food. I can out-eat and out-drink you, elf, any time, any hall,” Gimli postured. “It is a well known fact that elves cannot hold their liquor.”

Legolas gave him what he approximated was his best mock scowl possible given his pain, recognising that Gimli was trying to boost his flagging spirits. “Actually, I would not know. I do not drink ale, nor have I ever drunk it.”

Gimli chuckled wickedly. “This aught to be fun. See you in an hour, and not a minute more.”

Legolas stood for a moment, watching them become increasingly rambunctious the further up the steps to Meduseld they went. He remained alone. He unclipped the sling from his back and held the child to him, he was relieved to note that she was asleep. It would have been impossible to go through with it had she been awake and smiling at him.

A breath hissed in his throat as he turned away. In the growing gloom of evening he passed the stables and stepped behind the great hall of Eorl. There he found Gandalf already waiting, eyes lifted to the sky as if meditating. The wizard turned and beckoned him closer.

Legolas drew the child tighter beneath his chin and stepped forward, slowing his steps to prolong his last moments with her. The baby squirmed in her sleep, but did not wake. He came to a stop a foot or two from the wizard, eyes empty as a keen wind blew up from nowhere, throwing his hair up and over one shoulder, teasing it for a few seconds before dying down again.

“Give me the child,” the wizard said. “I must send her home.”

Legolas hesitated.

“You must give her up,” Gandalf spoke gently. “For where you road lies, she cannot follow. She must go home to her mother.”

“How?” Legolas asked, his voice nought but a whisper.

“Gwaihir, Lord of the Eagles, will carry her to the place where she came from. Eru himself will send her back to her rightful place in the Great Song.”

“I saw him,” Legolas said. “I knew . . .I knew why he was here.” Legolas could feel the sharp gaze of golden eyes, but refrained from looking up. He turned the infant in his arms, carefully removing the elven cloak to reveal her own blankets. “I wish she would remember me. I wish that her own mother could know the care I have given . . .what it took to . . .”

“She will see a happy child, clean and well fed, and you will hold the joy of knowing her in your heart forever.”

“Gandalf . . .I cannot replace her,” the elf said.

“Nor would you try,” Gandalf replied.

“There will never be another chance to love as I have loved her,” he whispered. He closed his eyes, savouring the feel of her warmth for a moment more. Finally, he pressed a kiss to her hair and set her in Gandalf’s hands.

Gandalf turned and placed the bundle in the huge but gentle talons that rested behind him. Legolas tried not to shudder at the thoughts that raced through his mind. A second later a great shriek filled the air about him and the wind again blew his hair in disarray from the downdraft of the enormous wings.

Legolas looked down at his empty hands, a strangled sound in his throat threatening to erupt into a scream. He closed his eyes, measured breath followed measured breath.

“Legolas, if you lose it now, I cannot say how it will go for the others. They need you. They need your strength.”

Slowly the elf gathered what control he had and opened his eyes. “I do not wish to die,” he said limply, more to convince himself than to reassure the wizard. Without another word, he turned and walked back the way he had come.

Moments later he joined a drinking game in an attempt to drown the pain, but it did not work. Even drinking a dwarf under the table did not dissipate the sorrow. He doubted that even a soothing balm from Elrond’s herb cupboard could ease the empty gulf that seemed to want to swallow him whole. He had to live, he could not allow the Halls of Waiting to claim him.

He had returned to the celebrations to seek Gimli, the calming influence in his life, strangely as it may seem, but Gimli and Éomer had been adamant, and now Gimli was in an ale-induced coma and beyond even the most insistent rousing.

He stepped outside seeking the peace of the stars, searching the skies in the vain hope, perhaps, that Gwaihir could not find the hole and had returned her to him. But it was a false dream. The stars above him offered him the peace that he would not find below them.

He did not stand on the courtyard to gauge the nearness of the enemy, but to remember his little girl. Not really his, he knew, but in his heart and soul there would always be a special place for her. Already his arms missed her, his heart called for her and his breast ached for her. Never again would he know that joy, the feel of something so unique, so beautiful.

No one noticed him slip from the hall. Alone beneath the eyes of heaven, he allowed the tears to fall, silent and hot against his cheeks. He heard a door click shut behind him and Ârâgorn’s soft booted steps approach. Again, the quest came first, and actions were at hand. He wiped the tears away and drew in a calming breath.

“The stars are veiled. Something stirs in the east.”

Disclaimer : “What happened to her?” (Frodo, Fellowship of the Ring)

Summary : Co-written by Pasha ToH. For CapriceAnn Hedican-Kocur; a sequel to Unexpected Arrival. She has gone, but not been forgotten. Legolas finds the separation too much to bear and contemplates death.

Galadriel had arrived in Minas Tirith to attend Arwen’s wedding, the courtyard was hot beneath the summer sun, but she waved Celeborn’s fussing hands aside and opted instead to walk across the stone courtyard. Something drew her there, and she soon found Legolas standing at the point of the citadel, overlooking the world. He was not simply overlooking, she noticed first, but looking down, as if gauging the distance.

“What troubles thee, wood elf?”

Legolas’ start almost caused him to fall. He stepped back from the gap and turned, bowing his head, slightly breathless as if only just realising what he had intended to do matched what had nearly happened. “Greetings, my Lady. I did not hear your approach.”

“Indeed,” she replied lightly. “Considering the state of your mind, a balrog could have overtaken you with little effort.” Legolas would have blushed, if it were not for the turnings of his mind. “You grieve, little one.”

He nodded. “I know your power is broken . . .I mean . . .” He gulped.

“I know what you intend to ask, and I cannot grant it, but perhaps I can ease your mind as to the decision you made.” She reached forth and took his hand. He felt the warmth of the Eldar flow through her to him and suddenly, as if he were caught in a swift tide, the world around him shifted.

He heard a familiar squeal of joy and spun. He stood in a forest, but one cultured and tended, not unlike Rivendell, and yet it felt more akin to a garden than a borderless expanse. A young woman sat upon a bench and watched her toddler child chase a butterfly across the grass.

Legolas’ heart lurched. She was taller now, but he knew who the child was. She had aged some three years by the count of man. Her golden hair fell to mid back and her eyes the colour of a winter sky. He heard a voice near him.

“She has your eyes,” Galaldriel whispered. “And life only an elven mother can give.”

“She is of Eldar?”

“Nay, but she will be closer to Númenor, than has been in this world for many ages.”

Suddenly, the baby’s mother called to her. “Come, Leaf, it is time to go.” She swooped the giggling child up and held her close. “I thought I lost you, Sylvia. I am only grateful to whoever cared for you, and let you come home. Thank God,” she murmured.

“Thank Eru,” Legolas said from his place hidden in the shadows of the trees. As the woman turned, he saw upon the girl’s dress a small broach of glittering mithril and jade; a leaf of Lórien was upon her. Legolas gasped, and remembered. The pin had been used to hold her napkin in place when she had been taken from his arms.

Gently, his fingers rose to his throat as if in a dream. His cloak was held beneath his chin with a pin of Rohan, a napkin pin to remind him. Silent tears swept down his cheeks and a sob almost tore from his throat before he swallowed it. The woman turned back, as if she had heard something. A frown flitted across her face. Legolas reached out a hand as if to touch a painting of one beloved, as if it could be possible with something so lovely as to paint a rainbow. His hand reached out as their eyes met . . .and he faded from her sight

As swiftly as it had enveloped him, the reality of Gondor crashed down around him and the image was gone. Legolas sank to his knees, tears seeping from between his closed lids. “That is torture even in kindness,” he spoke softly.

“The window will be forever open to you, until her last breath. You can speak, see but not touch. It is all I can give, for more is not permitted before Eru,” Galadriel told him.

Legolas lifted his eyes. “Please . . .Gimli . . .he loved her also. Let him see her.”

Galadriel hesitated as if listening. “It is permitted.” She pointed to the pool beneath the white tree. “That is your window, permitted to no other.”

The day seemed never to want to end, too many people milling around the pool when all he wanted to scream and make them leave so that he could look into the pool. Finally darkness had fallen and the cool of night replaced the day’s heat. Legolas looked into the pool of water, glistening as it was in the rising moonlight, and he heard the faint approach of laughter. He did not lift his head, instead he lowered it to peer more fully into the water.

An image swam before his eyes, a young child in a pinafore dress, a jade green bow in her long white-gold hair. She was laughing, playing with a small boy in shorts and short-sleeved shirt. The girl stilled for a moment, beside a chair where her mother sat painting at an easel.

“What are you painting, mother?” she asked.

“Well,” the woman smiled. “Why don’t you come and see?”

The girl walked round behind the chair and looked. Her face was one of surprise and then of dreamy remembrance. “That’s her,” she breathed. “The woman who took care of me.”

“I saw her, only for a moment. Do you remember her?” her mother asked.

The girl nodded. “In my dreams, she smiles at me. Whenever I am afraid, it’s almost as if I can feel her there, just beyond sight. Does that sound silly?”

Legolas sat still gazing at the picture of himself, standing beside the tree he could see just beyond the easel. She had seen him, and the girl did remember him.

The mother smiled. “I will always be grateful to her, for giving my little Leaf back to me,” she said, cupping the child’s cheek in her palm.

“Is that why you call me Leaf, instead of Sylvia?”

“Yes, it is,” the woman replied. Her hand dropped. “Your teacher in school wrote to me again, and bade me speak with you concerning this . . .fantasy, as she called it. That is why I had to paint her, to tell them that it was not a simple case of ‘imaginary friends’. This woman did exist . . .or does still somewhere.”

The girl smiled at the painting. “My guardian,” she said. “But mother, she wasn’t really a woman, not like you . . .I mean, she was like something else.”

“What do you mean?” her mother asked, although she had sensed it as well, something not quite human about the figure standing by the tree.

“She had pointed ears, mother, like an elf,” she said. “And, her eyes were like the depths of the sea, gentle and yet very sad. She wanted very much never to let me go, but she knew you were crying for me and sent me back.”

The woman gazed at her for a moment more before looking up at the tree where she had seen the person, elf, or whatever she had been, and there she stood as before, now dressed in different clothes. As before, a frown ghosted across her face as she stood and stepped closer.

Legolas stood in the shadow of the tree, the darkness of night around him like a halo, and the moon just beyond his left shoulder. It was not the moon of Earth, it’s pale face a mere featureless disk if silver, unless it was as it had been before meteors had carved its surface into the craters that she knew.

The girl smiled widely. “It’s her,” she breathed.

Legolas remained still, love and sadness in equal measure in the eyes of grey-green that she remembered, and there were tears on his cheeks. “Why do you cry?”

“Because we forever remain apart,” he replied. “I am gifted with this window, and no gift brings me so much joy and yet grief than this. You have grown fair and lovely.”

“She grows, because you saved her and gave her back to me,” the woman replied. “My gratitude is and always shall be yours.”

Legolas smiled and wiped away a tear.

The woman stepped a little closer. “You are not human,” she realised. “What are you? And your moon seems so strange.”

“I am elf-kind,” Legolas replied. “I am not within your world, and can never be, just as your child, Leaf, could not remain here.”

The woman nodded, accepting. “I feel more was done to save my daughter than children should hear. Saving her cost you something dear, didn’t it?”

“I am your child too,” the girl said. “You mothered me; you changed because of me,” she said.

Legolas gazed at her, and swallowed. “It appears that she already knows that which you would spare her knowing,” he said. “Yes, I was changed by your coming, and changed by your leaving.”

“Do you regret caring for her?” the woman asked.

“Never,” Legolas replied without hesitation. “I will always love her, always watch over her, and always miss her.” He hesitated, but decided that he could not hide this from her. This woman would understand how he felt. “There is an emptiness which takes me, that sometimes is too great to bear, even after so long it touches me keenly. But I know this is where she belongs, and I am content.” He did not add that he had wished to die, could not, not in front of the child he had loved.

The woman tilted her head, her keen emerald eyes searching his face. There was more, she could tell. A sad smile came over her face. “You suffer for my daughter’s sake. Is there nothing in your world, or mine to ease your days?” she asked. “Do you not have a love?”

Legolas’ gaze drifted away for a moment, thinking of all he could wish for, but which were beyond him. “I would wish for a painting of her, as you have done for her of me, that I might carry with me always, to ease the pain of parting. As for love, I have Gimli. He and I are together, but cannot conceive of our own.”

She bit her lip. “I am sorry. Perhaps time or a doctor can help?”

“A healer, you mean? Nay, it is Eru’s will, and he has deemed that we are to remain childless.”

The woman looked behind her at two children who raced among the trees, and another who napped on a baby blanket, and beside her stood Leaf. The woman’s heart rose to her throat, she had so much, and yet this elf had nothing. “You are to remain thus untouched by the joy of motherhood because of your care of my daughter?”

“I am,” Legolas replied.

“If I could speak to this Eru person,” Leaf glowered. “I would tell him leave you alone, and go find something else to do then be mean to elves.”

Legolas suddenly laughed softly. “Eru is god, little one, not one to question and change the mindset of. His will is eternal.”

She put small hands on her hips. “If he’s really god, then he can change his mind if he wants to.”

While Leaf and Legolas spoke, her mother seemed busy with something in her hands, a glitter of gold and a slight click and she held a small heart shaped pendant of gold out to him. Legolas smiled, his head turned as someone approached him across the courtyard. “Gimli come. You must see this.” Legolas reached out to capture the object with his fingers as Gimli appeared and looked at her. “Gimli,” he said tenderly, with tears in his eyes.

“Oh! ‘Tis the wee thing!,” he said in delight. “You have grown so fair, and so tall,” he said

The elf looked down at pendant in his hand, and pushed the tab on the side. It popped open to reveal a small picture of Leaf grinning at him, and on the other side a picture of her when she was tiny..

The girl’s mother smiled. “You must be Gimli, my . . .” She stumbled for words. “The husband of my Leaf’s saviour.”

“I am he,” he replied. “Though in truth we are not wed. I suppose other matters got in the way and there was no time for such things.”

There was a silver band across his forehead and without thinking she bowed slightly. “perhaps there is not,” she said.

Leaf went to hug them, but Legolas held up a hand. “You cannot touch us,” he said. “For this is just a window.”

“But I want to,” she said softly. “Mother, Gimli is so furry and warm, like a rabbit.” Her mother smiled. Leaf turned thoughtful. “You should marry each other. Then it would make you my . . .uhm . . .if she,” she pointed to Legolas, “is my other mom, then he’s a dad . . .sort of.” She frowned, then grinned.

Gimli chuckled. Through it all Legolas sat gazing at the tiny paintings in his hand, one was of Leaf as he remembered her, one was of her now. He looked up and smiled. “He always looked upon you as his little girl,” Legolas recalled. “It hurt us both for a long time after you left.”

“Some, more than others, have been greatly affected by your leaving,” Gimli added. “Grief is a very difficult thing for elves to live with. But we took comfort knowing that you were home and safe, and that Eru looks kindly on you.” Gimli added.

A silvery voice behind them called, both looked back sadly. “We must go,” Legolas told them. “But we will look in from time to time.”

“Please,” the woman called. “There must be something I can do, to repay you . . .” But the window had faded leaving behind only the trees and her garden.

They had loved deeply, and yet it was only for love, for their union would come to nought, except to love each other. Legolas had visited the pool again, but there had been nothing to see for three nights. He wondered if perhaps the magic had faded with the leaving of Galadriel for Lórien.

He wondered also how much time had passed. Had she grown up and moved away? Had she found love and had children of her own? On the fourth night he stood alone in the courtyard, and the pool began to glow.

The hammock swayed between the trees powered by a slim foot. She was humming slightly as she wrote in her journal. To normal eyes, the jewel in her hair looked like silver and emeralds, but the silver seemed brighter as it lay against her long, delicately curling hair, keeping the silver blond strands from her face. Mithril it was and jade, but to her it was everything. A silent shadow fell across her book, and she grinned but did not look up.

It had been but a few weeks to Legolas since he had held her to him, but Leaf was now near sixteen years old, and as tall as he. To her it had been years, and yet she accepted his presence as if it had been but hours since they had last spoken.

“Tell me of what you write,” he said.

“I am writing about the boy I met in my new school today. He pulled my hair. He told me that I should cut it, or he would do it himself. I told him he would not dare, for my mother has a bow and two white blades,” she grinned wickedly.

Legolas looked at her aghast. “And what was his answer?”

Leaf chuckled softly, dimples forming in her cheeks that were more Legolas than her mother. “He left me alone after that.” She giggled softly and sobered. “But he did say, if my mother was that strong and frightening then it’s no wonder why my father is never around.”

“Oh?”

“The boy said you scared him away, but you didn’t.”

“What happened to your father?” Legolas asked. He had never seen the man, but he had sensed that he was away from home often.

“He went to war,” she replied. “And never came back.” She looked up at Legolas, who from her now stilled hammock looked as though he was standing beside her, but in truth she knew he was far away. “You have been to war, haven’t you?”

Legolas nodded. “Many times, and many times more I do not doubt.”

“Will it be with the screamers again?” she asked.

Legolas frowned. “Screamers?”

“I remember them screaming, when I was with that woman in the caves. I hated the noise, but you weren’t there to take away my fears. Where did you go? Was it war?”

“Yes,” Legolas replied, finally understanding. “It was war. We lost many that night, but we gained victory even though our numbers were so few. I did not expect you to remember it. You were but an infant.”

“I remember,” she replied. “I was angry that you had left with her . . .for a time. She was nice, but not like you. But now that I am older I understand why you had to do that . . .now that my father is dead.”

“I am sorry for your loss, Leaf,” he managed.

She smiled softly. “I know,” she said. “You lost me and I lost him. In a way, that makes us equal.” She paused for a long time. “But I still love him, and I know he loved me . . .or still does, I suppose. Some say death isn’t final.”

Legolas let his gazed drop for a moment. "No, death is not final. At least, it has been told to me that death is not the end. There have been times when I have wished that it had been, but that time is gone.”

Leaf smiled gently. “How old are you? Mother said one time that I am a lot like you.”

Legolas lifted his eyes again. “You are like me in many ways, but you are like her as well. I am as old as the oaks . . .I believe for you that is an exceptionally long time, thousands of years.”

“But you have not died,” she noted.

“I am immortal,” he replied, and decided that the truth should be told. “But after you had gone, I almost died for the loss of you.”

Leaf looked at her journal, slowly flipping back through the pages until she found what she was looking for. Her voice became low as she read carefully. “Last night a dream came to me . . .odd it was, but I was comforted to see my other mother. He sat speaking with a man who wore a crown like silver and pearls with a single star between his grey eyes. He spoke to this king of a world where something called the Númenor had returned . . .” Her voice trailed off.

Legolas breathing stilled as her eyes lifted to his.”

“What is a Númenor?” she asked. “Why does it feel like you were speaking of me?”

Legolas swallowed. “Númenor . . .well . . .yes.” He paused. He remembered that discussion with Ârâgorn. He had asked after the child at his coronation. It had grieved him deeply that Legolas had been in such pain. “That man was Ârâgorn, a man of Númenor and king of a good portion of my world, save for a few elf, dwarf and perian parts.” He was stumbling and she seemed to know it by the smile upon her lips, but she allowed him to finish. “Númenor is a realm far across the sea. They came to us when enemies took their lands. They are half-elven, sons of Eärendil, and Elros was their first king. Ârâgorn, now known as Elessar, is now king. They live a long time, but are not immortal.”

“And what does that have to do with me?” she asked.

“You were made half-elven by my nurturing, and Ârâgorn knew this.” Legolas shifted slightly. She was bright, quick to get to the heart of matters, and so like a famous elf he once knew.

She looked at the house just visible through the trees, her grey eyes thoughtful. “So, I am to live longer than normal?”

“Four or five hundred years,” he said.

“And those I love will die.”

“Not all,” he said. “I will not. Nor will Gimli for a while yet, for his people can get as old as the Númenoreans.”

She took a deep breath. “People treat me differently. I feel so different, and yet . . .this is my home, my mother . . .my sibs, such as they are.” She made a face and chuckled. Pests they may be but she loved them. “How do I face it, mother?” she whispered. “How do I bury my mother, my siblings, their children and mine . . .grandchildren . . .”

Legolas longed to hold her, but she seemed merely thinking aloud, and not so much sad. “You will have more then they, more than just long life. There is strength in you, magic also, wisdom only time can teach . . .”

“ . . .But, alas most humans do not live long enough to gain it,“ she finished his sentence. Leaf looked up at him and smiled gently. “Gimli will not die, mother, nor, I think, do you believe he will.”

Legolas chuckled. “You talk more like us with each passing day.”

She smiled wider. “I will speak how I will,” she grinned. “Besides, it is your fault that I live to do so.” Legolas grinned. “Cheekiness was also my failing, when I was but as young as you,” he admitted. “And ‘tis true. Gimli . . .I pray is granted leave to travel west with me.”

“West?”

He nodded. “Valinor, where elves live in peace forever.”

“Do Númenoreans go there?”

“Only one was granted that right, Leaf, but who knows Eru’s plan for you?” His eyes darkened. “Those of Númenor are not numbered among elves, unless they are half-elven and choose the life of the elder, which is in their blood from their parents.”

“Oh,” she said softly. “Then, I cannot be with you when you leave.”

He sighed. “I do not know, child.”

Leaf gazed out over the garden, the sunlight creating a golden haze over the meadow-like lawn. “I wish you could be here instead, but I think you would live for as little time in our world as I would have in yours had you not saved me.”

He could only nod at her wisdom for one so young.

As teen moods are want to, she brightened. “I suppose if I see a great eagle swoop down at me I will see you in Valinor, or perhaps in your world.” She turned reticent just as quickly. “Time has passed here, and yet the tree behind you has still to open its first leaves since being dead.” She looked at him keenly. “If I were to return to you now, how old would I be?”

The pain that burned within him burned all the brighter for a moment as he sucked in a breath. “It has been but four months for me, since you left,” he replied.

She looked back across the lawn to the house, now darkening as the sun slipped behind the trees “And I will have lost what I have here,” she said wistfully. A breeze lifted, teasing her hair in the warm air.

He frowned. “What do you mean?” he said.

“To be a babe again. Here, I am in high school, into music, and journalist for my school paper . . .and mother . . .mother would grieve again. But once all I love is gone . . .” She paused. “I, too, would have to move on, to hide my age . . .or lack of . . .or perhaps there is another way.”

Legolas shook his head. “No, Leaf, do not do what you are thinking. Eru forbids it . . .”

“I do not come under Eru,” she said. “Here, god is god. Your Eru is not god.”

Legolas did not like this talk. It confused him and made him feel uncomfortable. “Leaf, my sweet child, I forbid it. Please, think of your mother. Besides, I have read the Great Book of your kind. Eru may have a different face, a different name, but he is still the Creator. No being under his gaze can gainsay his will. You must remain in your world.”

Leaf rose, looking petulant as she had that day when she was much smaller, but now it was companioned by determination. “I don’t care who or what he is called. He took me from your arms without asking me what I wanted. And look at you. You were a warrior once, now you barely have the strength to stand up to a kitten. Who is this great creator if he makes you suffer to deaths door for my sake?” she demanded.

Legolas swallowed hard, eyes closed for a moment before opening again. “I . . .” He fell silent.

“My mother prays every night for you and Gimli, for god to bless you with the child you want so badly, and here she is with six. Every time father came home, she had another, and your arms remain bereft. What god, pray tell, would allow his own children to suffer?” Her anger began to mount with each passing moment. “It was his fault I fell into your arms, and his fault I had to return. It is all his fault!”

“Leaf, please,” he begged, but a teen’s wrath was no more controllable then a storm, and each word twisted the sword thrust into his heart. “No, child, do not turn so against Eru who sent you to me. By fault or by design, I do not regret your coming, and nor does your mother regret your return.” he managed. “And Gimli and I . . .we can live with that.”

“But, you regret my leaving,” she said softly. “And Gimli regrets that he cannot dampen the suffering you go through.”

Legolas looked at her in surprise. “How do you know about my suffering?” he asked. “Gimli has not said it to me.”

“I am not so young, mother, not to see the pain in his eyes for you, any more than I can avoid seeing it in your eyes. I am not blind, nor am I immune to it. You became a woman for me, and yet you remain in limbo, neither one nor the other.” Her rage calmed, but the pain that bore it to the forefront still simmered in her eyes by way of tears. “Why? Why would Eru be so cruel? You cannot bear a child, and I am as much yours as any. Why, then, does Eru insist I stay here? I am not human anymore.”

Legolas sucked in a breath, unable to answer her.

“I can and will seek my answers, even if I have to walk into his palace myself and demand to see him, all puffed up with pride on his throne. He cannot be god without compassion, without feelings. What is he if not a father himself?” she said boldly. “He calls you all home to this Valinor, and yet he makes you leave me behind.

Legolas almost smiled at her, such a fierce love and determination. “Leaf,” he said softly. “Only one has ever gone before Eru’s Seat before and she was never seen again. If you ever find a way, which is very unlikely, you will be lost forever, and both I and you mother will be without you.”

“Then who can intercede for those Eru created?”

“The Valar,” he replied, without thinking. "But . . ."

Leaf grew ever more determined. “Then, I shall sing to them, until they can bare my voice no longer, for I shall have happiness for my mother.”

“How can you sing to them if you know not their names?”

Leaf looked at him, and turned a page in her journal and began to read, smiling wickedly. “Yavanna,” she said. “Namo, Vaire, Manwe . . .”

Legolas eyes widened as she recited them all, one by one.

“You gave me more than sustenance and comfort, mother dear,” she told him gently.

The elf nodded, or tried to. “So, I see.” He could not dissuade the wave of foreboding that filled his being. “What do you have in mind?”

She did not smile as their eyes met again. “Lúthien,” she said calmly. “I will sing until I am heard.”

Legolas gasped. “No!”

The window closed abruptly, and Legolas ran towards the doors in horror. “Gimli!” he cried. “Elbereth, help me!”

The doors to the hall of kings opened before he reached them. Out came Gimli, almost running into him. “What? What is it? Is it war?”

Legolas could not stem the tears that coursed down his cheeks. “Leaf is gone!”

Elessar approached swiftly. “What is going on? Leaf was here? What has happened?”

The words spilled forth from his mouth like an unceasing torrent, words crushed beneath sobs, as he managed to tell them what Leaf had sworn to do. As Elessar held the elf to him, he could only feel the despair, the loss of hope and his life ebbed yet again.

Elessar held him as he collapsed. “No, Legolas. Stay here. Stay with us!”

He refused to lie down, despite his weakened state. He refused to sit idly by when there was nothing he could do . . .nothing to do, but wait. His friends waited with him. Legolas paced, but could not be comforted by their words. In his heart he feared something he could not name, something he could not utter. In his fingers was entwined a gold pendant, the locket clasped firmly within his palm.

Legolas paced, knowing full well the consequences of the girl’s return. She would be an infant again, almost as if she had never left. And he would have to nurture her, he would not begrudge that. She could become like the elves, Celeborn had warned, and he could become like Galadriel. He paced some more. There were just too many ‘if’s’. Lúthien had beseeched the Seat of Eru, but she had never returned, even in victory she was forever lost to the world, and to her people who loved her so dearly.

He could feel the love and care of his friends, and of Gimli. Most of them did not know of the window, yet none of them questioned Legolas’ sudden terror and pain of a child he had given up months before. Neither did they speak as they gathered in silent vigil in the inky blackness of night. A slight breeze began to blow, but quickly grew strong enough to make them fear being blow to their deaths over the wall to the city below.

The clouds gathered in the increasingly angry sky. Something was happening, either that or they were in for an unforeseen storm of enormous power. Overhead, thunder arced across the sky, lightening crackled purple, blue and white.

Suddenly an object fell into his arms, knocking him to the ground. Against his chest an infant wailed, red faced and angry, shuddering in deep wracking sobs. Legolas rose and looked at it in astonishment.

Above him, around him, even within his body, a deep roaring voice made him cover his face in terror.

“Silence that child! How am I to hear the Song with that noise?!”

As swiftly as it had appeared the storm rushed from view, and the moon reappeared. Around him his friends stood in silent disbelief. Gimli approached the elf still sprawled on the cold stones. “Legolas?” he called softly.

Legolas parted the cloth to reveal a whimpering infant that lay there, looking up at him, blinking. “Eru sent her back,” he breathed.

Leaf’s mother watched her sing, her heart filled with warmth, surprised that it was not sadness. Her daughter was choosing to go, to make amends for the elf’s sacrifice, and if that was her will, she was happy for her. She had prayed all these long years for an answer, had long since wished for Leaf to return. Her days of mothering the child caught between worlds were over. Now, she simply prayed that the god she was singing to grant her plea and made her happy.

And did it soon. For lovely though her voice was, her smaller siblings she had talked into helping with a bass guitar, drum kit and a mike, did nothing to help the neighbours sleep. The whole house trembled, and yet no one had come to complain thus far. She covered her ears against the noise, and only briefly saw the flash of light that she had seen once before all those years ago. The little ones were sleeping where they had been standing, amongst the instruments and saucepan lids. All was silent.

When Leaf was gone, she sighed. The teen’s room was a tornado touchdown zone. Slowly, she began to clean it, why she was unsure. Leaf was alive, all her things were still here, and, she thought, perhaps she would see her again.

Her foot gently nudged something solid. There on the floor was a small Leaf shaped broach lying on top of a thick book. It was Leaf’s journal, filled with words and pictures as well as the painting of her other mother.

She smiled and gently she lifted them to her chest . . .keepsakes.

Legolas lay back against the mound of pillows and smiled, eyes closed. He savoured the feel of her nursing at the breast and could not name another feeling that filled him with utter joy and contentment. The milk had been quicker to come in this time, and he was as full as he had been then.

He opened his eyes to gaze at the infant, fingers laced together and ear wiggling gently as she fed. Legolas smiled. Lifting a hand he traced a finger around her ear, feeling the gentle tip at the top. It was barely noticeable to anyone other than him. Gimli found that amusing.

Legolas watched her pause for a moment, a smile appearing briefly on her sleepy face. He smoothed the finger across the top of her downy head, her soft white-blond hair had the beginnings of curls at the ends.

He smiled gently, watching the half-closed eyelids drop all the way down. She was beautiful, he noted. She continued to nurse for a while before letting go. He turned his head as the door behind him clicked open and Gimli entered.

Legolas smiled. “What perfect timing.”

“Is she asleep?” Gimli asked, leaning in close to have a look. He smiled tenderly. “She is beautiful, Legolas. I do wonder though . . .”

“About her home after her leaving?” Legolas said.

Gimli nodded. “Her mother must be overcome with grief.” He lifted the infant into the crook of his arm to allow Legolas to rise and adjust his clothing.

“It is Eru’s will, that the window is forever closed,” the elf replied. “I do not believe we shall ever know, but I believe she had let her go, or else she would still be there.”

“And, you would be dead,” the dwarf added. He saw Legolas’ countenance fall. “Lord Elrond was most surprised, not to mention a little put out, when you did not meet with him at the gates, say nothing of rushing off up the steps and into his bedroom.”

Legolas’ jaw fell open. “This is his room?” He glanced around him at the modestly understated room. “Oh . . .is he very angry?”

“Not angry, no, but he is demanding an explanation.”

Legolas swallowed. “And you told him?”

“I told him that you would explain yourself when you came out.”

Legolas pursed his lips and glared at him. “A fine friend and spouse you are, Gimli Oakenshield,” he groused.

Gimli grinned. “You’re very welcome,” he replied.

Legolas stood and took Leaf back into his arms and strode towards the door. “Perhaps, if we are blessed with another, you should carry it, and I am not talking of a backpack arrangement,” he said confidently.

Gimli glowered at the grin that rounded the door and disappeared. He followed and they teased unceasingly along the colonnade and down the steps to the main level. As they approached, heads turned and grew silent, watching them. Elrond’s eyes widened in surprise and he moved towards the steps.

“Forgive me, Lord Elrond. It was not my intention to be rude, nor to intrude on your private rooms, but Leaf was . . .”

“Who is this?” Elrond spoke softly, a smile of gentleness not seen in his face since Estel was small came to him.

“May I present to you Leaf Oakenshield?” Legolas announced.

“A little young to be presented at court, Legolas,” the lord of Imladris responded tightly, but there was amusement in his dark blue eyes. Elrond suddenly frowned and lifted them to Legolas’ smiling face. “If I judge this to be accurate, and I am rarely wrong, she was born around the time you arrived in Lórien.”

“Yes, Lord Elrond,” Legolas replied.

“But you neither appeared to be with child, nor did you mention it at the council,” Elrond said again, his voice turning hard. “Did you conceal the fact beneath your robes? That was very unwise.”

Gimli cleared his throat. “Leaf was not born to us, but was a gift from the sky,” Gimli told him.

“’Tis true,” the elf beside him rejoined. “She appeared from a hole in the sky when he entered Rohan. I had to sacrifice my birthright to save her life. Leaf was taken back to her mother at Edoras. I struggled since that day, and she was returned to me.”

“How is this possible?” Elrond asked softly.

“I do not know how she first came to be here,” Legolas told him. “She returned this time of her own volition, having reached the age of consent in her world. She . . .” He hesitated, his voice wavering a little at the memory. “Luthien,” was all he could manage to say and he watched Elrond’s eyes register the meaning and grow dull with pain for the prince. “Forgive me, my lord. It still grieves me how close we all came to losing her.”

Elrond smiled gently, clasping his arm gently. “In the Hall of Flames, you shall tell the tale in full, in tears if need be, but I must hear how my nephew became my niece and brought such a beautiful child into my home.”

Legolas struggled not to blush, but nodded. “I shall tell it, my lord, if it will appease your anger at my usurpation of your bedroom.”

Elrond’s eyes flicked up the stairs for an instant. “Oh? Is that where you went?” he replied innocently.

“Come,” he turned to the assembled. “It is time to eat and tell our tales.”

As one they moved towards the Hall of Flames.

Gimli took the brush slowly through the fine gold hair. He smiled as the elf shivered and turned his face away, embarrassed. “Your hair has grown longer and thicker these past few weeks,” he noted. “It’s also beginning to curl in places.” The elf said nothing. Gimli drew the bush downwards, gently taking the soft bristles down the centre of his back. The elf jolted, swallowing a yip of surprise. Gimli chuckled softly. “If your hair keeps growing at this rate it shall be as long as Elrond’s by the time we reach Mirkwood.”

“That will surprise my father, if nothing else,” the elf said, eyes flicking to the sleeping babe in the crib nearby. Legolas lifted his chin. “It is not Mirkwood now. The darkness that befell it is now gone.”

“Hmm . . .what will your people call it now?” Gimli asked.

“I do not know,” Legolas replied. “It was once called Greenwood the Great. Perhaps it will be the forest of green leaves it had been when I first saw it as a small child.”

“Your father founded the realm, did he not?”

“In popular tales perhaps,” Legolas replied. His gaze grew wistful as he turned his eyes to the dwarf he had taken in eternal bond. “We crossed the mountains a weak and dissolute people. None of us had eaten for weeks, and there was little or no water. We had fled, what few of us had survived the war, even few of us survived the fall of Beleriand. My grandfather was weak, he stopped at the top of the mountains and looked down on the forests below us, and he said . . .” Legolas voice broke as he recalled that moment. “Greenwood . . .then he died.” He did not say anything more for a moment. “My father kept us in the mountains for a while, but there was evil there that we could not live with. He took us into the forests and built the tunnels we had found into the palaces they are now. Greenwood was later overshadowed by Sauron and became Mirkwood.”

Gimli reached out and thumbed away a tear. “No tears,” he said softly. “Mirkwood is not a place of darkness now, and your father is in for the best surprise of his life.

The journey to Mirkwood was uneventful, but Legolas became more and more nervous the closer he came to home. As predicted, Thranduil was not available to greet them when they arrived. Affairs of state were of pressing importance even now, as skirmishes with orcs continued to be a problem in the northern kingdom.

Legolas noted the surprised looks of the elves, seeing him with a dwarf and a child. He smiled, but there was something that bothered him no small amount. The dwarf, as astute as ever, noted it instantly.

“You are looking pale, meleth,” Gimli said as they dismounted. “Are you alright?”

“I am not feeling very well,” he said. “I need to lie down.”

In the solitude of his private rooms, Legolas winced as pain rolled through him. The second thing he noticed was the long line of red trickling down his leg. In surprise he watched it roll towards his knee before he sought a cloth with which to clean it up. To his horror there was much more on the towel than he had expected to see.

He gasped, and looked around. “Gimli?” he rasped, his voice deadened in horror.

Gimli was in the next room with a giggling tot on his knee. Legolas could hear them together. He would have smiled, but the ache in his belly kept the frown firmly in place. His mind turned to wondering what it was that was wrong with him, but nothing came to mind.

“Are you coming out soon?” Gimli’s voice rose.

“Yes,” Legolas blurted out, but did not recognise the shriek of terror that shot out of his mouth as his own voice.

There was silence from the other room, and then the sound of approaching footsteps. Legolas cringed. He did not relish the idea of Gimli seeing him in this state, but they were wed. He had to know. The door opened and Gimli stepped inside. Legolas remained motionless, doubled over on his knees on the floor, eyes closed.

Gimli surveyed the scene and noticed the blood almost from the first moment. “You’re bleeding,” he said without a trace of emotion.

Legolas nodded, too afraid of how his voice would sound if he used it a second time. He sucked in a breath or two, but found that his voice had deserted him altogether. “I fear, I am dying of something,” he said finally.

“Och! No,” Gimli rejected. “It’s quite normal.”

“Normal?” Legolas shot back. “I am bleeding without injury. How can that be normal? And my belly feels like someone is churning it with a blade . . .from the inside.”

“Did your father never tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

Gimli huffed softly. “Well, that answers my question,” he decided. “But then, you grew up in a house full of male elves, why would they tell you anything.”

Legolas frowned tears filling his eyes and the dwarf‘s apparent insensitivity. “Gimli, what does my father have to do with this? I am sick. I need herbs and a healer. The singers will be lamenting me and you will still be standing there!”

Gimli smiled and gently kissed him. “No, you are not sick, my love, just female. What you need is a hot water pouch and a little tender care.”

Legolas trembled slightly. “You know what ails me?” he whispered.

Gimli nodded. “I know what ails you,” he confirmed gently. “And when Leaf grows up, you will be able to tell her all about it, so she will not be frightened by it as you are now.”

“Then . . .I shall not die of it?” he asked. “It will stop?”

“No, and yes,” the dwarf replied. “And return again every month . . .or however long an elf’s cycle is.”

“An elf’s . . .what?” Legolas breathed.

Gimli had stepped away from him to place a kettle over the fire. “After the first two of these, you’ll barely notice them,” he continued. “I’ll teach you how to bind yourself, or if you wish I could call for one of your father’s maids . . .”

“No, please,” Legolas broke in. “I do not want anyone knowing of this.”

Gimli smiled. “They are likely to notice anyway,” he said. “Unless I can sneak into your father’s medicines without him noticing.”

Legolas considered this. “I see your point. I need something for this ache.”

“That will ease as well. By morning it will be gone.”

“And the bleeding?”

“A few days, again that depends on elf cycles. I know very little of such things.”

“And I know less, it seems,” Legolas huffed. “Tell my father that I shall be a little late for dinner, that I require something for a mild ache, but do not tell him where it is. I do not, could not, live with the shame if he was to find out.”

Gimli removed the warmed kettle and poured the water into a pouch. He set the kettle aside and pushed the cork into the opening before passing it to Legolas. “Lie down and hold this against your belly. I’ll take Leaf with me and speak with your father. You will be needing a dress,” he added. “Your leggings will feel too tight at this point in time.”

Legolas nodded. “I had noticed that. I do not know how I will look in a dress,” he grumbled. He curled his arms around the water pouch and found that it did indeed help. “Gimli? He called as the door clicked open. “How is it that you know so much?”

Gimli smiled gently. “Dwarves are not as closed-minded about such things as elves,” he replied, and the door closed behind him.

An hour later, feeling a little better, Legolas entered the dining room, Leaf in his arms. Thranduil rose to greet his son with a smile and a hug.

“My lord,” Legolas greeted.

“My child,” the king said. “You look well. Are you feeling better?”

“Yes, ada,” Legolas replied. “I apologise for the . . .dress.”

“Why apologise?” Thranduil asked. “Your gown matches mine.” he smiled and looked at the child in Legolas’ arms. “So, are you going to introduce me to this child?”

Legolas suddenly glowed with pride. “Ada, this is Leaf. Leaf, this is your grandfather.”

Thranduil chucked her under her chin. The infant grinned and hid her face shyly. The king laughed softly. “Does she eat food yet? Perhaps you would like me to fetch goat’s milk and a maid?”

“Thank you, but that will not be necessary,” Legolas replied politely. “She is not fed goat’s milk.”

“Then, pray tell, what does she drink?”

“I feed her myself,” Legolas replied.

Thranduil’s pale brows rose in astonishment. “I . . .need to sit down.”

Legolas paled as he turned his gaze to Gimli and followed the king to the table. His father’s long, gently-curled hair swung slightly as he moved smoothly back into his seat. He wondered silently, what would his father say? Silently he sat down at the table. He watched his father deep in his thoughts.

“I was under the impression that you had adopted the babe, not given it birth.”

“She dropped into my arms, literally, ada. There was no one else. I could not leave her to starve. She would have died,” Legolas explained.

“Did you not consider giving her back to her own mother?” Thranduil suggested tightly.

Legolas stared at him, unable to hide the pain his retort brought to the fore. “I did,” he replied.

“The separation almost cost your son his life,” Gimli put in. “Does that not bother you?”

“Do not question my feelings, Gimli, son of Glóin. Thus matter does not concern you,” the king shot back.

Gimli’s eyes darkened. “Oh, but it does concern me,” he growled quietly. “This is the prince of the Woodland Realm you are talking to, sworn brother of the king of Gondor, and royalty though you are, so am I, and you would do well to remember it.” He chewed on a chunk of salted pork, regarding the king with a stony stare. “We were crossing the lands of Rohan,” he began, his voice risen enough so that the whole assembled could hear. “A hole in the sky appeared above us and an infant dropped into Legolas’ arms. We cared for her as best we could until we could reach a village of the horseman, but she needed food, and we found no village. Legolas offered her the only sustenance we could offer, and so saved her life. A shameless gift of life, would you not agree, King Thranduil?”

The king was silent. Gimli went on.

“We entered Fangorn forest and Gandalf himself gave his blessing, but he warned us that the child would soon have to return to her own place in Eru’s Song. Legolas accepted that without question, although it hurt him greatly. After the battle of Helm’s Deep the child was duly taken from us and returned to her mother.”

“You say ‘us’. What does this have to do with you?” Thranduil asked, this time more confused than confrontational.

“Legolas is my wife. She and I plighted troth in Lórien, and were joined in Minas Tirith,” Gimli replied, and took a long drink of ale before going on with his story. “After Edoras, we made ready for war and took the Dimholt Road. I was more afraid for Legolas, bereft of the infant, than I was for Ârâgorn, indeed all the rest of us put together. But we made it and Legolas barely pulled through the fog he seemed so desperate to give in to. I watched your son slowly dying before my eyes, King Thranduil. Even on the night of our joining, he was less in this world than he was in the next. That is not an easy thing to do when you have given your oath not only as sworn brothers, but as spouses, to watch your dearest love waste away with want. Do not presume to be the only one who loves Legolas,” he warned gently. “It was his oath to Ârâgorn alone that kept him alive through the war. At the wedding of Elessar and Úndomiel, he said good bye to me.” He paused for a moment and added. “He walked to the pinnacle of the courtyard and got ready to jump off it.”

Thranduil’s mouth opened, but he said nothing, could not find the words, nor the breath with which to feed his voice.

“It was by a mere stroke of luck that Galadriel had been passing and reached him in time. She gave us a gift, a window through which we could watch the child we had loved as our own grow up in her own home. Time for her passed much more quickly than it does in this world, and upon her sixteenth birthday, she demanded that Eru give us what was due.”

“She remembered everything,“ Legolas put in. “She knew who she was, who the Valar were and demanded Eru complete what was denied me by her return to her birth mother.”

Gimli nodded. “She did not just beseech that Eru give Legolas his due, but for her also, that she had been denied a happy mother. Leaf was angry that she had been taken from Legolas’ arms, leaving him unable to be either male or female by his own choice. In her anger, she chose to reject her home and face Eru herself.”

“Lúthien,” Thranduil breathed.

“The same,” Gimli replied. “I have never heard an elf scream in terror until that moment, my lord, nor do I ever wish to hear it again. I would not wish that sound on my worst enemy, not even Morgoth himself. Do not presume to know that sound. It tears through you like a knife, sends you cold and makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end more keenly than the wails of the damned from hell’s halls itself.” He took a breath to quell the shudder that ran through him. “We waited, fearing the same fate on Leaf as had befallen Lúthien. We waited in silence for hour after hour before the sky turned dark with Eru’s anger. He threw the child back into Legolas’ arms and demanded that he quiet her. She is no less our child than if we had been blessed by the Valar. She is no less our child than Legolas is yours.”

“I presume with her return, your transition was made complete?” Thranduil asked.

“Yes, ada,” Legolas replied, waiting for some sign of his father’s thoughts. “I am sorry, ada,” he said softly. “I have shamed you.”

Thranduil shook his head. “No, there is no shame. On your part at least. It is I who should apologise, and I do so. Without reserve, I offer it. I should have trusted you, allowed you to tell me before giving in to my own feelings. Forgive me?”

Legolas smiled gently. “It is forgiven and forgotten, ada.” Leaf sat in his arms regarding Thranduil from the corner of her large blue eyes, thumb firmly planted in her mouth. “Would the king like to hold his granddaughter?”

“Oh, I would dearly love to,“ he said, a smile spreading across his face.

Legolas passed Leaf to his father, who looked up at him, thumb lost among the folds of her gown. He watched him with her, Leaf gazing up at the king with something akin to awe on her face. He head turned to regard her mother for a moment before looking back again at the king. Suddenly she let out a soft whimper and she stuck out her bottom lip.

“Hush, little Leaf,” he said softly. “It has been many an eon since I held a child this small. I am rusty, I am sure, but are you forgiving enough to allow me a moment to remember?”

Legolas smiled, watching his father with the infant. Leaf gazed up at the stranger and suddenly rubbed her eyes, settling her head down against his shoulder.

“My son’s child is tired, I believe,” Thranduil said. He sighed softly. “Only . . .I no longer have a son,” he said. Gradually a smile lightened his face. “I have a daughter.”

Legolas smiled a little. “I am still getting used to that part,” he admitted.

“It will come,” his father said. “There are some quirks that I never told you about, but I am sure you are aware of them now, if not they will be apparent to you quite soon. In the meantime, eat,” he said changing the subject. Taboo forbade any further discussion. “You will need to keep up your strength. And if my old friend’s son is anything like his father, there will be other more voracious appetites than a suckling babe to cater for.”

Legolas turned red.

Gimli choked on his ale, coughing loudly. “Ah, so it is true, then?” he spluttered.

“Is what true?” Thranduil voiced innocently as he cupped his sleepy granddaughter’s head in his hand.

“That, on your wedding night there began a friendly rivalry between you and the king of Nargothrond?” Gimli reminded him, though it was obvious none was needed.

“Oh . . .that.” Thranduil hid a grin.

Legolas frowned. “What is this?” he asked.

“Well,” his father began. “We had a contest, Dúrin and I . . .to see which one of us would emerge from our honeymoon rooms first. Little was I to realise that all of the dwarves would take it so literally.”

Legolas considered the week and a half he had spent ‘busy’ in their bed, and turned to Gimli. Gimli looked up at him innocently. “Who won?” she asked.

“We did,” came the response. “By six days.”

Thranduil spat his wine back into the goblet and put it down carefully before he could drop it ill-manneredly to the table. “That may be more information than I need, ion nîn,” he said, accepting Gimli as his son-in-law without question.

“You’re just jealous,” Gimli crowed, puffed up with pride, and grinning like a buffoon.

“I do not deny it,” Thranduil returned without hesitation. “I hope that it bears more fruit than I had opportunity for,” he said.

Gimli smiled gently. “I hope so,” he said, clasping Legolas hand in his.

Legolas and Gimli arrived in Lórien, their daughter asleep in Legolas’ arms. It had been many years uncounted and yet only a moment in his mind since the day Legolas had fled north across the bridge that crossed the Anduin between Lórien and Mirkwood. The last time they had been within the borders, it had been as members of the Fellowship. Now he, or rather she, was riding south across the bridge to be met not with the sound of fighting, but with the sweet sound of a harp.

There was no reason for anyone to be watching the road. There was peace here, and no one knew they were coming. No one in Lórien knew of their troth, let alone that they were married, save for Galadriel. No one even knew that they had a child, say nothing of the fact that Legolas now wore a dress.

Haldir sat in the warm afternoon sunshine, delicately plucking on the harp, eyes closed, lost in the melody. It was some seconds before he realised that the accompaniment was the sound of hooves upon the road. He lifted his head and opened his eyes. The horses in question were closer than he had expected. He rose to his feet to see who it was. The instant smile faded into a look of astonishment at seeing two horses moving towards him. He noticed that the elf’s hair was long and flowing freely about him. He also noticed that the clothes upon the prince were . . .Haldir dropped his harp and stared.

He stood, watching the approach of the two horses, one bearing Gimli, and the other who was definitely Legolas, though Haldir narrowed his eyes trying to discern whether his eyes were cheated by a spell. He widened than again. Most definitely, the prince was wearing a dress, and no weapons, save a delicate dagger at his - her belt. Haldir could see Legolas’ Galadhrim bow and quiver of arrows tied to the pommel of Gimli’s saddle, and the dwarf's own axes at his back. Haldir’s eyes went again to the one he had known as prince. He swallowed, his mouth and throat turning dry.

As the horses moved through the dappled sunlight beneath the shady trees, he continued to stare at the elf on the grey horse. She was beautiful, a beauty that could rival Galadriel herself. A subtle breeze gently lifted her golden hair, which caught his eye as much as her face. Legolas was smiling gently and Haldir suddenly realised his mouth was open. He closed it as the horses drew to a halt.

Gimli dismounted first, chuckling to himself. He was well aware of the effect his wife had on others. He reached up to take a small bundle from Legolas to allow her to dismount. They waited for a moment for the march warden to find his voice.

“We-I-you-ah . . .mae govannen, Legolas Thranduilio-iell,” he amended quickly.

Legolas smiled sweetly. “Mae govanion, Haldir,” she replied. She missed the warrior’s greeting, her hand almost coming up to clasp her old friend’s shoulder, but she was no longer as Haldir remembered her. The realisation was sudden; no longer would they drink mallorn wine long into the night together as friends, or run through the forests and hunt deer. Legolas looked at his bow. How she loved it, but she could no longer wield it, a fact that had become painfully clear at practice soon after Leaf’s return. The string had struck flesh, tender flesh that a male did not have, full as it was with milk for her infant, which had worsened the problem. Legolas had collapsed in agony.

Her knives were ever useful, but the bow was a weapon of her past, one she would cherish, but never use again. She winced at the memory of her last use of it, and mentally rubbed the thick lump still evident on her breast. “How does an old friend greet an elleth?” she asked.

Haldir understood that this was as new to her as it was for him. “It is unseemly for an elleth to act like a warrior, unless in times of war, or to touch a male who is not close kin.”

Legolas swallowed. He had once been the great warrior prince of Mirkwood, now Princess Legolas Thranduiliell, even Legolas o Eryn Lasgalen.

“If you had been as you are in my memory I would hug you; if you were kin to me, I would cup your cheek, but you are neither, and I must be content with a bow,” he said, and did just that.

“As must I,” Legolas replied.

“How is it that this change came to be?” Haldir said, the confusion and pain in his eyes evident in Legolas’ as well, and he could see it, but there was no regret in the green eyes before him. “It was perhaps something unlooked for?”

“Aye,” Legolas replied. “There was a child in need of care . . .if I had not, she would have died,” she added. She turned as Gimli stepped closer, a sleeping baby curled up in his arms. He passed her to her mother and clasped the shoulder of the warrior of Lórien. “You remember Gimli? He is now my husband.”

“Forgive me for not warning you before hand,” the dwarf said as the elf gasped audibly.

“I . . .I will get used to him-her as a mother,” he said. “But married to a dwarf?” He wrinkled his upper lip in mock disgust.

Gimli laughed loudly and embraced him. “Good to see you, too, Haldir.”

“Welcome back, my friend.” Haldir smiled warmly at them both, and gazed at the child in Legolas‘ arms. “She is beautiful. What name does she bare?”

“She is Leaf,” Legolas replied.

Haldir nodded thoughtfully. “A good name. I will have to be content to wait until she wakes to catch her smile. In the meantime, come. There is a feast in the making, and you are most welcome to join us.”

Upon the upper flets, they were met by Galadriel and Celeborn. Galadriel was not at all surprised by Leaf’s return, but lifted a brow at her mother’s choice of attire. She had never wagered on seeing him as a woman, even less in the garb of one. “Welcome, Legolas Thranduiliell. And to Gimli Elf-friend, and to your child, leaf.”

Celeborn’s eyes darted from Legolas’ dress to the child and mentally counted the months, or lack of, since they had passed through his home during their last visit. He sucked in a gasp and dropped to the floor in a faint.

Galadriel lifted her brows at the prostrate form beside her and turned back to her guests. “I do not think he expected to see you thus,” she said softly.

The welcome feast was relaxing and joyous, if tinged with sadness. The elves were leaving. It was their last days in the woods of Lórien, and they would not see Legolas and Gimli for a while before they sailed west to join them.

Celeborn recovered his senses and welcomed Legolas warmly. “Forgive me, it was a shock.”

“As I have been told,” Legolas replied. “Perhaps it will sit well with you once the surprise has worn off. It will take me a while to get use to the change myself. I think of things differently than I used to, and I can no longer use a bow, much to my annoyance . . .not to mention discomfort.”

Galadriel laughed softly, a sound unheard for Ages. She winced in sympathy. “That is why I favour the sword, Legolas,” she said.

“I will need to practice,” Legolas said. “I am not so skilled with the sword as I am with the blade.”

Celeborn smiled. “I believe your skills lie with your daughter for now, Legolas,” he said. “War does not go kindly upon men, and less so on women. An eleth should not worry herself with such things while she has babes who need her.”

“I know,” Legolas replied. “But I still have my oath. That does not waver beneath so a minor thing as gender. No matter where I am, there is danger.”

Everyone nodded. Orcs still roamed freely, and the Easterlings and the Haradrim still thirsted for Gondor’s lands, even more so with the promise of healing now that Sauron was dead.

“If it be upon you to go to war,” Galadriel said. “Take this.” She held out a woven-leather shield, small and curved round into a gentle cone shape. Leather straps came from it and looped round to a buckle. “My days of war are at an end. I will not need this where I go now.”

Legolas smiled and accepted the offered breast plate. “Thank you, my lady.”

“I believe you have had enough,” Legolas decided and removed the bowl.

Leaf continued to make splat marks, clapping her hands and blinking as some landed near her eyes.

Legolas shook his head, smiling at her. “You are a mess, little lady,” she declared, fetching a damp cloth. She began cleaning her hands, but Leaf just as quickly put them back into the glop on the table top, spreading it left and right.

Legolas grinned. This was as much fun as watching her sleeping. She loved her daughter, finding joy in every moment with her, even the messy ones such as this. “You like painting, I see,” she spoke softly. “Nana loves paintings. Can you say nana? Say nana.”

“Mmmmmmm,” Leaf replied. “Ptptptptptpt!”

Suddenly the door opened and Gimli appeared, exhausted, covered in rock dust and smelling sweaty.

Leaf looked up and grinned, her single tooth showing. “A-da!” she half-squealed, half-growled.

Gimli revived in an instant, grinned, and roared with joyous laughter. “Hey! She said her first word, my little Leaf,” he crowed as he scooped her up, glop and all, and kissed her slobbering face. “Ada is home, little one. What have you been doing today?”

“Ptptptptptpt!” she spluttered in his face.

“Really?” Gimli replied in mock astonishment.

Legolas smiled widely. “She has been painting mashed pear pictures,” she told him proudly. “Though she ate very little of it.”

Gimli looked at the table and gasped in exaggerated awe. “It’s a master piece!” he declared.

Legolas rolled her eyes and chuckled softly. “And she said her first word,” she agreed, trying to keep the disappointment from her voice.

Gimli smiled gently and kissed his wife. “No nana yet?” he asked softly. Legolas shook her head. “It will come, my love. Then you’ll be sorry.”

Legolas hid a grin. “I will not.”

“It’ll be nana this and nana that, and you will not know what to do,” he said.

“I shall love it just as much. Every day I have with her is a blessing. Nothing will make me regret my time with you, either.”

Gimli sobered. “Ah,” he voiced. “You may have want to retract that, meleth.”

Legolas frowned as she wiped the table top. “Why?”

“My father is in Aglarond and has requested that we join him immediately.”

Legolas straightened, staring at him, and sank into her shoes. This would be one reunion she was not looking forward to.

Five days later they arrived at Helm’s Deep. Legolas watched in silence as Gimli and Glóin met in typical rowdy dwarven style. They had much to catch up on, and she found herself ignored for several minutes. Regardless, she watched them together with a smile, one copper haired, the other crowned with hair like the driven snow.

Gimli was holding his daughter in his arms, and it had been a calculated move. She hoped this meeting would go well, but she doubted it.

“Father, meet your granddaughter,” Gimli invited proudly.

“Scrawny little thing,” Glóin perused nonchalantly. “Who’s the mother?”

“This elf here,” Gimli responded. It was the usual way a dwarf would introduce his wife, as a piece of property, but nonetheless it stung a little.

Glóin looked up at the elf and frowned as his eyes widened. “You look somewhat familiar. Have we met before?”

“We have met.” Legolas smiled softly. “But I did not look like this,” she added.

Glóin stared at her intently for some time before it clicked. “If you were still a man, I would cleave you where you stand.”

The smile on Legolas’ face evaporated.

Gimli growled under his breath. “And if you were any but my father, you would be dead before your axe was in your hand, but for you, I would give you until you raised it.”

Glóin’s eyes flicked from Legolas to his son and back again, and hummed in his chest. As he turned away, he spoke again. “You will be hungry, then?” he decided gruffly.

As predicted, dinner was a loud affair. Dwarf manners, Legolas remembered, were more frightening than no manners at all. Food flew about in a seemingly haphazard way, piled high like a hobbit feast, and half of those present were roaring drunk.

Leaf shifted in her arms, and her breast ached. It was her feed time, but Legolas sat quietly, trying to pretend nothing was wrong. She had barely spoken, and after a live rat was offered to her for her meal, she did not dare move for fear of the escaped animal jumping out at her from a dark corner.

“Gimli,” she whispered. “Leaf is hungry. I need to find a quite place to feed her.”

“You consider our hospitality too low for you, elf?” Glóin demanded.

Legolas swallowed. The old dwarf had razor-sharp hearing, she realised.

Gimli smiled to her gently. “Feed her here, meleth.”

Legolas hesitated. Hesitantly, she opened the buttons of her gown and allowed her hair to hide the rest. Gimli squeezed her knee under the table. He was well aware of how difficult this was for her, but it was a dwarf thing, to see how the elf would flinch. But he knew his father, no harm would come to his wife, whatever her race. His father respected his choice, however grudgingly it was given in the beginning.

The rambunctious frolics continued unabated, but the dwarves were more careful around her until the child’s head bobbed back up again some thirty minutes later, surrounded in a veil of gold threads of gossamer. The small child peered through it to find a pair of familiar, yet not, eyes staring back at her.

As Legolas flicked her hair back over her shoulder, Leaf hid her face against her hands, cupped as they were in her mother’s shoulder. Surreptitiously, Glóin shifted back a tiny amount and saw an eye open and look round at him. A grin appeared and the eye vanished.

Glóin straightened and looked around to see if anyone had noticed, and took a long swig of malt beer. His eyes turned to see if the little thing was looking. She had turned her head to regard him from where it lay on her mother’s shoulder. Suddenly she grinned and wriggled, kicking her little legs.

Glóin turned away, pretending innocence, cleared his throat and tore of another large chunk of red meat from what had until that morning been an elk. Legolas frowned, wondering what had set her daughter off, but she had stilled again before the source could be determined.

Leaf lifted her head and looked at the being who looked like her father, save for the white hair. His eyes again turned to her, and she squealed loudly with delight. Silence sank on Aglarond like a rock fall.

Glóin feigned annoyance and huffed, thinking himself discovered in his one weakness; babies. “Elven brat!” he muttered.

Gimli did not dare grin as he turned his jubilant eyes up to his wife. Legolas recognised the look and smiled hesitantly. At least her daughter had been accepted.

“I suppose you are both wondering why I called you here,” Glóin began, mouth full of elk.

“It had crossed my mind,” Gimli agreed. “It is not like you to be in a hurry about much at your age.”

Glóin glared at him. “My age nothing, young-un. I could still best the elk you feast on!” he growled.

Gimli grinned. Posturing, that was all it was, and they both knew it, but they were dwarves, gentleness was not an accepted trait. Besides, Gimli doubted his father had actually been the one to ‘best’ the elk, more likely he was out of breath from catching the rat. He eyed his father with undisguised adoration, and dwarf manners be damned.

Glóin huffed at the look and grinned behind his tankard. He drank and wiped his mouth with his beard. “It is time to pass on my crown,” the old dwarf announced.

Gimli sucked in a breath. “You’re not that old, father,” he grumbled.

“Ah!” Glóin spat and set the tankard to the table top with a loud thump. “Do not be impudent enough to think you know me that well! I am as old as I feel, lad, and older. And whether you like it or not, it is time you took my place.”

Gimli swallowed. “Me? Rule Erebor? But that would mean . . .leaving my wife.”

Gloin’s eyes shifted from his son to the elf and back again. “Who said anything about divorcing her?” he demanded. “You do that, boy, and I’ll give my crown to the rat!”

Gimli choked on his own breath for a moment. “I am honoured, father, but I could not leave Aglarond, and my work is in Gondor.”

“No matter,” Glóin retorted. “There is a large portion of the dwarves there who are tired of those seams. They hunger for richer halls. I have granted them leave to join you here in Aglarond. They will follow your rule in my stead.”

Gimli remained silent for a long time. “When are you leaving, father?” he asked quietly.

“In the winter to come, perhaps,” he replied. “Aule’s calls are ever louder these days. I cannot go on hearing them forever,” he dismissed it as of no consequence. “I heard you had married,” he continued. “An elf, no less. Never expected it to be the son - or rather daughter - of my jailer. I suppose you have a sweetener for me, to offset this insult . . .besides this beautiful daughter of yours?”

Gimli raised his eyes and gradually the smile grew. “I have. Twelve days,” he said slowly.

Glóin choked on his meat and thumped his chest. Gimli grinned unashamedly as he watched his father struggle.

Finally Glóin had collected himself, his eyes watering. “You broke the record by six days!” He looked at his daughter-in-law in awe. “Well,” he suddenly laughed aloud. “That deserves a mention in the Song, if nothing else.” Legolas’ cheeks flushed red. Glóin clapped his hands twice and a dwarf rushed forward with a box in his hands. The dwarf lord opened it and took out a thick silver necklace and held it up. “This was gifted to my forefathers from Finrod of Nargothrond. It is now yours, Legolas, my daughter.” He slipped it around her throat with care not to wake the now sleeping child or to catch her mother’s hair in the clasp. “And don’t you take any nonsense from that son of mine,” he said boldly. “Tell him what for at least once every day and keep him in line.”

Legolas grinned at the advice being offered. “Yes - ad - uhm . . .Lord Glóin.”

“Och, child!” Glóin groused. “Call me father. Gimli does.”

“I call you many other things, too . . .”

“But, not within earshot,” Glóin put in knowledgeably. “Nothing has made my last days more welcoming than going home and visiting old Thranduil and boasting that his son is now a naugress.” Glóin’s gallows laughter filled the hall, and Legolas could not help but find that incredibly amusing, picturing the look on her father’s face at Glóin’s teasing.

Legolas laid her daughter in the crib Glóin had gifted to them. Gimli had slept in it as an infant, and it surprised Legolas that Glóin still had it, and that it still survived. Wood had a tendency to rot in their home in exile. Many dwarves had suffered with it. But to discover that Glóin had carried at least a part of it with him wherever he had travelled was perhaps the biggest surprise. The old dwarf was not has gruff and standoffish as he had been at the battle of the five armies, but them he had barely escaped from his father's dungeons at that time. Animosity was at an all time high.

She lifted her head at the soft caress of a hand. “Time for bed,” she said.

“I am not tired,” Gimli replied.

The passion rose in the stillness of Aglarond until sleep claimed them, tiredness or not.

A little wriggling later and a three year-old’s head appeared between her mother and father. An arm curled around her and Legolas smiled. Their daughter was more often to be found in their bed come the dawn than her own. Exactly when she padded across to their bed, they had no idea, but she was not unwelcome. Gimli smiled on the edge of sleep and opened his eyes.

“We have been invaded again,” he murmured. “Should we blow the horn and summon the armies?”

“I think it prudent,” Legolas replied, in mock seriousness.

Leaf giggled helplessly. She knew what was to come next.

Gimli suddenly sprang up from the bed. “We are being invaded!” he cried. “Orc attack!” And with that, he began to tickle her mercilessly.

Legolas smiled gently. “We should break fast, my love. We have a long way to go today.”

“We do,” Gimli replied, but did not stop his game. “Archers, cut them off at the flank!” he cried and tickled the child’s ribs. He paused to allow her to breath.

“Where we going?” the child asked, catching her breath.

Gimli kissed her forehead. “To your uncle’s house in Minas Tirith, little Leaf. The new prince of Gondor was born last night and today we are going to journey there to see him.”

“Baby?” she gasped.

Gimli nodded. “And after that, he must return to Ithilien for a while. Your mother has duties there.”

She loved the trees, scaring her father almost to death with her acrobatics in them. Gimli gasped, rushing about beneath the branches in case she fell, which had never happened yet. She was most definitely her mother’s daughter. Though Legolas worried, she looked calm and serene as she watched.

Suddenly Leaf launched her self into the air. Gimli shrieked in terror, stepped back and reaching out. Tumbling back, he caught her and landed on his back in the deep pile of leaf litter.

Leaf giggles helplessly. “Again!” she cried, grinning from ear to ear.

Legolas caught her before she could bound out of reach. “Come, now, little one. It will be dark soon, and the forest is still not a place to be after nightfall.”

Leaf came quietly, reaching for her mother’s hand, looking out through the trees. “Why do we stay inside the city at night, nana?”

“Not long ago, a war was fought here. Many died, and many enemies ran away and hid themselves here and there,” Legolas replied.

“Is that why you and ada go away sometimes?”

“Yes, sweetheart. Still we must fight to keep Gondor safe,” Gimli said, scooping her up. “You are almost as big as me,” he announced.

Leaf grinned and giggled. “Will I be like nana when I growed up?”

“Oh, yes,” Gimli said. “As tall and as beautiful as the beech trees.”

Leaf grinned. “That silly, ada. If I big like a tree, I not get in the door.”

Legolas smiled gently and gave her husband a look. “Never lie to a child, melethron nîn.”

Gimli cleared his through. “An analogy, that’s all it was, not a lie. My daughter will be as tall as she likes and as beautiful as she likes,” he added, with a note of pride.

They reached the gates of Osgiliath to be called at once to the palace of Prince Faramir. Éowyn had borne him a son, another cousin for Leaf. Another ache for her mother.

Legolas sipped the hot tea and gulped. Rosie and Sam grinned. Ârâgorn hid a grin within his son’s curly hair. Arwen looked away hiding an irreverent chuckle.

“We shall see, little leaf,” Gimli said.

The five year-old was in to everything, inquisitive and pleasing to the eye. She was growing every bit into the adventurous child they had seen through the window playing with her younger brother in the meadow-like garden. Leaf had no memory of her past life, and at her age was almost at the same level as the two-year old prince of Gondor. She was pure elf, aging at the same rate as an elf, but she was an only child, for none had been born in Ithilien.

“Sometimes I wonder when I bring her here, what will come out of her mouth,” Legolas added.

Rose smiled warmly. “They are all like that,” she replied. “And it does not get any easier the more there are of them.”

“I think, if you are to have another one,” Sam said. “You should have one soon, so leaf can grow up with a sibling close to her age.”

“It is usual for elves to raise one to adulthood before having another child,” Arwen said.

Ârâgorn looked up at her. “I do hope I shall not have to wait that long, my dearest. I shall be close to death’s door before I see another child.”

Arwen smiled mischievously. “You will not,” she assured him. “Will next spring be early enough for you?”

Ârâgorn grinned. “I will agree, only if Legolas and Gimli conceive as well.”

They gazed at each other, a solemnity they shared almost tangible in the half light. Gimli smoothed a thumb across the back if his wife’s hand. He reached out and blew out the lamp.

“Lie with me, and not let it bother you, my love,” he whispered.

Legolas hesitated and climbed in beside him. “I could not tell them,” she said.

“You did not need to,” Gimli replied, and rolled against her. He felt her accept him and smiled, leaning in to kiss her. “It will happen when Eru thinks we are ready. Leaf is no longer feeding from you, but is independent.”

“She likes to think so,” Legolas smiled.

Gimli chuckled softly. “So, what is stopping us from asking for Eru’s blessing now? Or just taking our fill of love?”

“We asked six months ago. It did not happen,” Legolas reminded him.

“True, but we were at war. It would have been inconvenient at that time.”

“Who can say that in six months from now we shall have war again?”

“No one can, melleth,” Gimli said. “But I would like to have another child, before we both get too old.”

Legolas chuckled. “You mean, before you get too old?”

“That too,” he grinned back. “I want to try for another child. Please say yes,” he said softly.

“Yes,” Legolas breathed.

The dawn broke to find their bed dishevelled and abandoned in favour of the rug before the hearth. The fire had burned low, but the heat in the room remained high. They had loved all night, and now lay sleeping, still entwined.

Tiny feet padded across the floor towards them, tired eyes rubbed with the back of a hand. Leaf yawned and blinked. Seeing her parents still asleep, she turned for the door. It opened with ease and she stepped outside.

Moments later, Gimli opened he eyes, feeling a cold breeze dust his naked back. He opened his eyes and lifted his head. He disentangled himself, waking the elf beneath him instantly.

“Is it morning?” Legolas asked softly, stretching to rid her body of a few kinks it had acquired during the night.

“I think so,” Gimli said. “There is light behind the drapes, so I would say it is quite late.”

Legolas quickly stood. “Leaf will be wanting her breakfast.” She reached for the kettle of warm water and began to wash before donning fresh clothing for the day. Behind her, Gimli went into the other room to rouse their child from sleep.

Legolas felt a cold breeze from somewhere and looked about her for the source. Then she saw the door. She straightened, looking at it for a moment more, before it registered to her that the door was open. “Gimli, did you leave the door open last night?”

Gimli re-emerged from the other room. “Leaf is not in her room.”

Legolas’ eyes swivelled from the dwarf to the door. “She got out!”

“Get dressed, I’ll call the guard.”

Legolas threw on her slippers and reached for her robes. Panic began to seep into her mind, dulling her ability to think clearly enough to master the button’s of her gown. Gimli pulled up his trousers and wriggled into his shirt and shot out the door, barefoot and frightened.

“Where is she?” he demanded of the guard who stood in the long hallway.

“Who, sire?” the guard asked.

“My daughter, Leaf. She’s this high, golden haired and in a nightgown.”

“I saw a child, sir. She went that way towards the courtyard, sir.”

Gimli’s eyes popped wide. “The courtyard . . .!” At a headlong sprint he tore down the hallway and flung wide the doors of the hall of kings. Without losing speed he shot out of the doors and down the steps. Save for the four guardsmen with their ornate helmets, the courtyard was deserted. “Leaf!” he cried out.

“Are you looking for a small child, sir?” the doorman inquired.

“Yes, have you seen her?”

“She took one look at the tree and went back inside, sir. You couldn’t have missed her by more than a minute, sir.”

Gimli waved a thank you and ran back through the hall of kings, searching every column and statue. “Leaf!” he called, his voice echoing around the marble hall. There was no answer. At the far end, on the opposite side of the throne a door gently moved. Gimli took on another burst of speed, calling for his missing daughter as he went. Gimli had never been down this wing of the palace. It was all disused function rooms, offices and the Steward’s suite.

“Leaf?” Gimli called out, slowing a little in the unfamiliar place. Feet caught up with him and he was joined by Legolas and Ârâgorn.

“Where is she?” Legolas asked, almost frantic.

“I think she went in here,” Gimli said.

“I have the guards all looking out for her,” Ârâgorn said.

“Why did she leave?” Legolas wondered. “She knows not to go out on her own.”

“This is not her home,” Ârâgorn reminded her. “She might have been afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“Small children do not think as we do. Try to think from her perspective.”

Legolas paused. “I would want to find something to eat and explore.”

“What is down here, Ârâgorn?”

“I do not know,” he replied. “Since I took the throne, no one has been in here except Faramir.”

Corridors and hallways turned further and further into the mountain, leading to many windowless rooms, and those with windows were dreary, cheerless places. In the layer of dust along the floor wove the prints of tiny feet. Not much further on, a tiny voice rose up from somewhere.

“Leaf,” Legolas spoke softly.

“You heard her?” Gimli said.

“Yes, she is here. She is talking to someone.” Legolas’ heart rose into his throat. “Who is in here?”

Ârâgorn gazed at the prints and searched the remaining floor, but there was no accompanying marks. “There is no one here,” he whispered low.

“But nana won’t have a baby,” Leaf said. “She said Eru did not wish it.”

Legolas froze, and something within her died. Gimli lifted his eyes to hers. “She knows.”

“She knows what?” Ârâgorn asked.

“We can’t have children,” Gimli replied. “At least, we tried, but it has never worked.”

Ârâgorn looked at them both. “And you allowed the conversation and my challenge yesterday without so much as a word,” he realised. “I am so sorry.”

“I am not concerned with that right now,” Legolas said. “I want to know who my daughter is talking to.”

Ârâgorn stepped in front of the them and peered into a room cluttered with old objects and furniture. He saw the child standing on a chair at a table, looking at a round object that looked horribly familiar. “Oh no . . .” he breathed. “That explains how Denethor knew of me before my arrival.”

“What do you mean?” Legolas asked.

“Take a look for yourself,” he invited.

The couple peered around the doorway and saw her standing there, her face light up by an image from a large round ball set on a dark velvet cushion. Legolas sucked in a horrified breath. Gimli shrank into his boots, hand covering his mouth to quell a cry of terror.

“Do not fear, my friends,” Ârâgorn whispered. “The dark lord and Saruman are long gone. Whoever she is talking to must have found a palantir quite recently.”

“I thought they were all dead,” Gimli said.

“There is one in Valinor,” Ârâgorn reminded him.

Leaf finally looked up and smiled. “Look nana, is a pretty lady,” she said.

Legolas rushed to her and hugged her against her. “Leaf, I was so worried. You should not have run away like that. I was so afraid I would lose you again.”

Leaf wiggled. “The pretty lady, nana,” she repeated.

Legolas looked in and saw a familiar, if much older, face. The first thing he noticed was the leaf on her collar. “It is you,” she gasped.

The woman smiled, and sniffed back a tear. “I always hoped I’d see you again,” she said. “She looks just as I remember her.”

Legolas frowned. “You are old,” she noted gently.

The woman smiled. “Yes, very old. And I never regretted letting go. Leaf is where she belongs, never knowing the life we have had here.” She brushed back a lock of grey hair, hooking it behind her ear.

Ârâgorn frowned. He could not understand, but decided that perhaps the woman was someone they knew. “Leaf’s real mother?” he whispered.

Gimli nodded. “Hello again,” he said. “How is it that you can see us?”

“I do not know,” she said. “I woke up this morning to a voice, telling my to look, and I got up and found this ball on my bed. A woman’s voice told me that it would not be here very long, that I would see someone I knew and loved. And then Leaf appeared.” She smiled widely. “You are so beautiful,” she said.

Leaf smiled softly. “Is a nice lady, nana?”

“Yes, my sweet child, she is beautiful,” Legolas agreed.

“Why does she call you nana?” the woman asked.

“It is our word for mother,” Legolas said.

“She does not remember me,” she said, still smiling.

“I am sorry,” Legolas replied. “The window we had was destroyed and Eru returned her to us as an infant.”

The woman nodded slowly. “That is just as well. Leaf did the right thing and I have never regretted it nor been angry at her choice. Our world has changed for the worse here. Had I known, I would have appealed to your god to send all my children with her.”

“What happened to your world?” Legolas asked.

“The people in power waged war on each other, but the ones who paid for it were the civilians. My husband often said it would come to this, one day someone would push the right buttons and it would lead to the wrong button.”

“I do not understand.”

The woman shook her head. “I am glad you don’t. They are killing the old people now, to save what little food we have left to feed the young.” She paused for a moment. “It’s my turn this morning. They will be here any minute. Promise me that she will always be safe.”

“You have my word,” Legolas replied.

“And give her a little brother or sister,” she added. “My last prayers are with you.” They jumped as they heard a pounding at the door behind her. The woman gasped, but did not seem surprised. “I must go. I love you, my little Leaf. Forever and always.”

The woman rose, moving towards the door to open it. Hanging on the wall, behind where she had been sitting, was a portrait of an elf standing beneath the shadowy boughs of a tree in full bloom. Legolas swallowed dryly.

She gazed at the picture, ignoring the hot line that burned down her cheek. The room she was seeing was a ruin, as if it had been part of Osgiliath after the war. Too much sky could be seen where none should have been visible. Everything was covered in dust or broken, and yet the painting still hung, clean and bright and as fresh as the day it had been painted. She reached up and lifted the locket from beneath her daughter’s gown and opened it. Inside were two tiny painted faces.

“This is the lady’s painting of you,” she said. “A long time ago, she gave you to us as a gift.”

“Like Eru gives Aunt Rosie babies in her tummy?”

Legolas nodded. “Just like that. These pictures are of you when you lived there.”

“Nana, why you not have a baby in your tummy?”

Legolas fell silent for a long time.

“Sometimes it just doesn’t happen, little Leaf,” Gimli replied. “Perhaps we shall just have you.”

“No,” Legolas put in softly.

“What?” Gimli voice.

“We shall have another,” Legolas told him.

Gimli smiled. “Perhaps,” he said.

“I mean it, Gimli,” Legolas reiterated. “I am carrying one now.”

Gimli straightened and stared at her, not comprehending if he had heard or not. Ârâgorn looked up and wondered too if he had heard what he thought he heard. “Well-how-I-when . . .”

Legolas smiled gently. “How was last night, when is in a year,” she said.

Ârâgorn began to chuckle softly. “Well done, mellon nîn.”

Gimli slowly smiled. He scooped up his daughter and whooped with joy. “We did it!” he crowed, swinging her around him. Leaf giggled, but did not understand.

The elf lingered by the palantir gazing at the painting of herself beneath the tree. He had stood there in his greens and greys, melted against the forest. Now he wore a dress of summer-blue velvet. Little else had changed.

It had begun with a window, one that had still not been explained, and it had ended with a window, in a seeing stone, lying forgotten in a room once the home of a now long dead man. Now Legolas gazed through it into a room of a woman who was perhaps now dead herself, in a world that beyond the crumbling walls also looked dead. She was gone now, a link to that other world had been severed forever.

“Good bye, other mother,” she whispered.

After a long moment, the image faded to black.

El fin