Meleth-nin

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien.
A/N: Thanks for the reviews, friends. :) I’m glad that you’re still with me. Now, many people were a bit confused about the reasons for Thranduil fading. Everything will be explained in this chapter. I thank you all for your encouraging words and hope that you enjoy this installment.
Beta: Matty W. Thank you sweetheart! :)

thoughts
~farspeech~ (used by Elladan and Elrohir)


Chapter thirty-one

Elrohir’s thoughts whirled frantically as he held the nearly unconscious Prince in his arms. He knew that he should leave immediately and call for help, but he also knew that he couldn’t leave Legolas alone. He took a better hold of his pregnant friend and tried to stand up. Legolas made a small noise in his throat; he was frightened that Elrohir would leave him and he would have to deal with this alone. “Do not go, please”, he whimpered and tried to wrap his arms around Elrohir’s torso. “The contractions are… so forceful… I cannot… take it”, he panted, his frantic blue eyes searching the Peredhel’s grey ones.

“Shush, gwador; I am not leaving you”, the dark-haired Elf murmured soothingly, kissing Legolas’ fair brow. “We need to get you up from the floor. Hold on, I will try and stand up. Do you think your legs will hold?”

Legolas nodded uncertainly and Elrohir inhaled deep, well aware that he must not fail; he could not afford to drop his precious burden. He then proceeded to stand up with the younger Elf clinging to him, holding him steadfast against his broad chest. There was another bed nearby and Elrohir managed to drag Legolas there and lay him down on the clean sheets. The fair-haired Elf let out a distressed sob and Elrohir followed his gaze to Thranduil.

He was mortified to realise that he had forgotten all about Legolas’ father; he knew that if it was Lord Elrond he would have been devastated and grieved beyond belief. “Has there been a change in your father’s condition?” He asked gently, trying to move Legolas into a more comfortable position on the bed. The other Elf was tense and hard to move; Elrohir gave up after a few tries.

“He… he is…” the Mirkwood Elf sobbed, “He is gone. I… I could not… help him. Ai, Elbereth, my father’s gone… Oh!” Another contraction gripped him and he could do nothing but wrap his arms around his belly.

“I am so sorry to hear that, gwador. May his soul find peace in the Halls of Mandos”, the Peredhel whispered and closed his eyes for a moment. No wonder that the birth had began; Legolas was probably beside himself with grief. Elrohir tried to soothe his pain by rubbing his stomach gently but he knew that it was quite useless. Legolas needed a healer. Preferably Elrond, but anyone who could mix him a numbing potion would do at this point. But how was he going to find help? Legolas would be devastated if he left, but he couldn’t just wait for someone to turn up, could he? Then he realised what he must do and wanted to smack himself for not thinking about it earlier. He spoke to his brother through their bond.

~Ella, find father and bring him to the Halls of Healing. Legolas’ baby wants to be born now. Make haste, gwanur.~

*~*~*~*~*~*

Elrond, Aragorn and Elladan were discussing in Elrond’s study, Elladan seated in the sofa and his father sitting on his chair behind his desk. The Peredhel twin had met his foster-brother outside the Halls and asked Aragorn to join him. The Man had been reluctant to leave, thinking that Legolas needed him even if he didn’t admit it, but had agreed after Elladan had implied that his father might be able to provide some insight for the matter.

Aragorn was pacing the floor restlessly, concerned for both Legolas and Thranduil. “But how is it possible for him to fade so quickly? When he was talking with us he seemed quite normal, apart from the obnoxious demand of Legolas leaving with him. Can you explain it, Adar?” He asked, looking at Lord Elrond with an unspoken plea in his eyes. Elrond was the one everyone always turned to when they needed answers; Elrond was like a steady rock, always there for everyone who needed him.

“I spoke with one of the Mirkwood guards before you came. He told me some news from Mirkwood that added to what you told me can explain all this”, Elrond said, coming to stand beside his foster-son and laid a hand on his shoulder. “’Tis a complicated matter, Aragorn. I fear that Legolas will blame himself should the worst happen, but ‘tis not his fault, nor is it yours.”

“You mean that something has happened back in Mirkwood that has caused Thranduil’s fading”, Elladan concluded. “Am I right, Ada?”

Elrond sighed and turned to face his son. “Yes, you are right. I believe you both remember Legolas’ elder brother, Brethil?”

Aragorn nodded automatically. “Of course; he is the crown Prince of Mirkwood and married to a noble of Thranduil’s court. I have met him two or three times, but it was a long ago. Has ill befallen him?” He couldn’t help but shiver at the thought; Legolas would be crushed if something bad had happened to his brother, also. They hadn’t been very close after their childhood but they were kin nonetheless, and Aragorn knew that Legolas took kinship very seriously.

“Unfortunately, yes”, Elrond answered gravely. “Brethil was expecting his fourth child when there was an accident; it seems that the Prince had gone riding with his father and fell from his horse. Brethil was injured in the fall and lost the baby; he blamed Thranduil for it and has refused to speak with him ever since. This happened four months ago. I believe this has grieved Thranduil greatly; first losing his grandchild and then his son. And now this with Legolas… Perhaps he thought that he has lost Legolas as well and succumbed to grief.”

“But that is insane”, Aragorn argued. “Legolas loves his father very much, despite everything that has happened in the past. True, he told Thranduil that he wasn’t going to Mirkwood with him, but that was only because the King demanded it in such a fashion; there was no way he could have accepted it. And I will not listen to anyone try to place the blame on Legolas.” He glared at his foster-father heatedly for even implying such a thing.

“Peace, Aragorn”, Elladan said calmly and stood up. “That is not what father meant. But you are right, Adar; this indeed explains Thranduil’s somewhat irrational behaviour.” Suddenly his hand flew to his temple and he listened intently to his brother’s voice. Aragorn and Elrond glanced at each other when Elladan gasped aloud and looked at them soberly.

“Legolas is in labour. We must make haste to the Halls of Healing; Elrohir is there with him.”

The three of them practically flew through the many corridors. Aragorn berated himself for leaving Legolas’ side in the first place. If something happens to him or to our child… I should have realised that Legolas needed me, despite what he said. Gods, I cannot believe that I abandoned him thusly, Aragorn thought, his mouth forming a thin line.

*~*~*~*~*~*

“El… I want Aragorn here”, Legolas panted, his brow marred with a frown as he tried to override the pain. He was clutching Elrohir’s hand so tightly that it was strangled of blood and started to get numb. Elrohir, however, couldn’t bear to claim his hand back from Legolas so he let him hold it, even if it meant a bit of pain. Poor ‘Las is in much more pain than I am, he thought guiltily, glancing at Thranduil’s prone form. And not just because of the labour.

“Aragorn will be here any minute now”, he said in what he hoped was a calm tone. “You must remember to breathe, Legolas. Have you spoken with Ada about the birth?”

Legolas shook his head violently and sweat-damp tendrils of his hair flew to his face. The Elf tried to blow it from blocking his view but failed and gave up after a few tries; he needed his breath for other, more important things. “Nay, he said… that he would explain it… later after he had examined all his scrolls and parchments about… male pregnancy”, he explained, pausing every few seconds to draw breath. “All he has said is that… he must cut me open because… that is the only way to get the baby out.”

Elrohir didn’t have a chance to answer that because it was then that his father, his brother and Legolas’ husband arrived. He inhaled in relief as Elrond took control of the situation and told the twins to boil water and bring him clean linens. “What is this bruise, Legolas?” the Elf Lord asked, laying his palm on Legolas’ sweating forehead, touching the swelling gingerly, and was pleased when Legolas seemed alert and responded to his touch.

“My knees gave up and I fell”, the Prince answered and averted his gaze ashamed. “I have grown so clumsy. It was lucky that… Elrohir happened to come in.”

Aragorn, having broken from his initial shock from seeing his beautiful mate lying so helpless on the bed, walked to Legolas and placed a brief kiss on his consort’s sweaty brow. “You silly little fool”, he murmured affectionately and got a tired little smile from his mate. Then Legolas’ face crumbled and he pressed his face against Aragorn’s broad shoulder, his shoulders shaking violently with the force of his sobs. The King held his partner, trying to understand what exactly had happened after he had left Legolas alone. He was just about to ask about Thranduil when Elrond spoke again.

“Your water has broken, I assume”, Elrond said and laid both his hands on the younger Elf’s stomach, pressing gently to define the position of the baby. Legolas nodded. “How often do the contractions come?”

“About every two minutes”, Legolas answered and gripped Aragorn’s hand hard. “And they last about a minute and a half.” Just then another contraction racked his body and he squeezed his husband’s hand as hard as he could muster, trying to bear the pain. Aragorn could swear that he could hear the bones in his hand crack but he kept quiet, stroking Legolas’ hair soothingly.

The twins arrived with the boiled water and the clean linens, looking at their father expectantly; he was, after all, the only one who knew something about childbirths. “Bring them here. And a sharp knife, Elrohir, if you may.”

“How are you going to bring the child forth?” Aragorn asked worriedly, eyeing suspiciously at the knife Elrohir handed to Lord Elrond. He didn’t like the idea of Elrond cutting Legolas’ stomach with it, even if it was the only way. Or was it? “Is there no other way, father, truly?”

Elrond looked at him patiently. “Legolas doesn’t have the necessary body parts to deliver the baby; this is the right way to deliver a baby from a male. Believe me, Aragorn; if there was another way to do this I would gladly do it. However, there is not, and I can but try and do it as good as possible for your mate. Now, Legolas, you need to drink this.” He offered Legolas a goblet that was filled with clear liquid. “It will make the pain more bearable for you, young one.”

Legolas drank it greedily, he was actually quite thirsty and the cool liquid felt heavenly in his dry mouth; hoping that there was a drink that could ease the pain of his father’s passing. Aragorn helped him to lie on the pillows, looking at Elrond expectantly. “Is this good? Should I support him in some way?”

Despite the seriousness of the situation Elrond had to smile. “Calm down, Aragorn. Soon enough you will have your firstborn in your arms; and I can assure you, this will be over quite quickly.” He then looked at Legolas and saw to his dismay that the younger Elf’s eyes were filled with tears. “What is the matter, Legolas? Is the pain still too much for you?”

The Prince shook his head, pursing his lips together to force back another sob. How was he supposed to deal with both the delivery and the death of his father? He turned his head and looked past Aragorn at his father, who was lying lifeless on the nearby bed. Ada… Another lonely tear found its way to Legolas’ smooth cheek.

“Now, I will cut just above the edge of your bladder; it results in less blood loss and is easier to repair. Elladan, could you give me the salve?” Elrond wiped Legolas’ stomach with a cloth that had been soaked in the boiled water, cleansing the skin while his son looked for the ointment his father had asked for. A jar of greenish paste was handed to Elrond and he took a large dollop of the suspicious-looking substance onto his fingers. “This will make your skin numb. ‘Tis cold and may feel unpleasant, but it is for your own good.”

Legolas flinched as the paste was rubbed to his abdomen. It did feel both cold and unpleasant but luckily it started working immediately; after a few rubs Legolas didn’t feel Elrond’s fingers anymore. The Elf Lord then took the sharp knife and placed in on Legolas’ lower stomach. “Try not to flinch, Legolas. Aragorn, keep him still.”

Aragorn took both of Legolas’ hands in his, kissing the knuckles and murmuring comforting words, even when he felt that he should take the knife from Elrond and throw it as far away from his mate as possible. Legolas was crying silently, but he kept still as the elder Elf had instructed. However, when Lord Elrond made the horizontal cut Legolas let out a loud scream; so loud that Aragorn let go of his hands in shock and Elrond’s knife almost slipped on Legolas’ slippery skin, Elladan dropped the clean linens on the floor and Elrohir simply covered his sensitive ears with his hands.

“ADA!”

Elrond had to cut again to open the womb, this time very carefully for it was the only barrier between the child and the knife. Aragorn took Legolas’ hands back in his, leaning in to kiss his husband’s panting mouth. “You are doing well, my sweet, brave love. Try and hold on for a little while longer.”

Legolas smiled tiredly and clasped his hand tightly; he was grateful for the support Aragorn provided, even if the Man didn’t know of his loss yet. The Elf’s eyes teared up anew; he felt that even he didn’t yet understand the magnitude of his loss himself. How did one survive losing a parent? Legolas’ thoughts were interrupted as he felt Elrond take the baby from him and then begin to stitch him together. Thanks to the green paste and the numbing liquid he didn’t feel any pain. After a little while Elladan came to stand beside the bed with a small bundle in his arms. “Here is your baby”, he said smiling, handing the little baby that was wrapped into a linen cloth to his Ada. “Support his head, like this.”

Legolas reached for his child with a great sense of wonder. This was his baby? This was the child that had been growing beneath his heart for the past eleven months? Carefully Legolas took the baby from Elladan and held it near his heart, careful not to press him too tightly. The Prince made a small noise in his throat when he saw the perfect little face of his son. “Look how small he is, Aragorn”, he said in awe, feeling his heart ready to burst with the love he already felt for his child. “Look at that tiny little nose and his mouth. Isn’t he beautiful?”

“He is”, Aragorn murmured and reached to touch his son’s face, falling in love for the second time in his long life. He had never seen a newborn child before and it was with great amazement that he gazed at his son. His features were so delicate, his skin so pale and smooth, his ears slightly pointed and almost fragile-looking in their perfection. It was obvious that he was half-Elven, even if the baby resembled him more than Legolas. “He is our little miracle. He is perfect.”

“Does ‘he’ have a name or are we going to refer to the baby as a ‘he’ from now on?” Elrohir asked wryly, smiling at the newborn baby and his proud parents. The blond Elf and his dark-haired husband made a lovely picture with their son.

“Eldarion”, Legolas and Aragorn said in unison, looking at each other as they said it. The Elf’s eyes softened even further and he pulled his mate closer, sealing their lips together in a loving kiss. “Eldarion Aragornion”, he murmured and grinned. “Or should it be Elessarion?”

“You are being silly again, love”, the King answered amusedly and kissed his consort again. “I love you so, Legolas. Thank you for our beautiful baby boy.”

“If my memory serves me right you had a part in his making, too”, Legolas said coyly, offering his mate a smile. He then turned his attention back to his baby, smiling delightedly as their son opened his eyes, looking at his Ada curiously with his sapphire eyes. “Oi, look! He has my eyes!” Legolas gasped, poking Aragorn in his ribs with his elbow.

“That he does, and I am glad it is so”, Aragorn said and leaned in to kiss his child, grinning widely as the baby looked at him with wide, curious eyes. “Hello there, little one. We have waited for you for a long time. I am your father and this beautiful one here is your Ada, whom I love very much.”

“If he starts speaking in baby-talk I will throw up”, Elrohir whispered to his twin and received a grin.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Thranduil was walking in a large corridor made of stone. There were doors on both sides of him, each looking the same as the others; they were heavy and made of dark wood. It was utterly silent; there was no other noise but the sound of his light footsteps on the stone floor. The King didn’t know where he was or why he was there; he didn’t remember how he had gotten in this stony corridor. Perhaps he had been there always? He frowned as he tried to remember something, something that could explain why he felt like he didn’t belong here and yet in the same time feeling like he had reached the end of his journey.

He kept walking and looking at the wooden doors, hoping to find something. There were no signs in them; nothing that could imply what was behind them, what they hid. Thranduil tried to push a couple of them, wishing to see if they could be opened, but he had no such luck. Then he saw it. A door that had a mark carved in its wooden surface.

A little baby shoe.

Thranduil pressed his ear against the shining wood, listening to the silence around him and behind the door. First he heard nothing but the beating of his own heart, which somehow seemed out of place. Then he heard something that made a shiver run down his spine. A baby crying. Suddenly he remembered two names; Brethil and Legolas. The King repeated the names aloud, frowning. “But they were small babies many millennia ago”, he exclaimed finally, remembering his grown-up sons. “But who are you, little one? Why are you crying?”

The name Brethil kept ringing in his ears. “Brethil… a baby… Brethil’s baby?” Did Brethil have a baby? Thranduil tried to remember. Yes, he had children, but none of them were little anymore. The baby behind the door kept crying, interrupting his thoughts. Thranduil closed his eyes in exasperation. “Who are you?” He asked again, pressing his forehead against the door. Memories whirled in his mind… A sudden flashback made him reel. He saw a horse, his son and himself, riding along one of the forest paths… And then he saw blood, lots of blood. Thranduil flinched almost as he was hit; remembering everything at once.

Brethil’s baby, yes. Brethil’s baby who was dead.

“Sweet Varda”, he whispered. “I am in the Halls of Mandos.” The baby’s wails intensified and Thranduil laid both of his palms on the wooden surface, wishing that he could unlock the door and take the baby into his arms. “Please, do not cry, little one. Your grandfather is here, don’t cry.”

He felt hot tears burn his eyes but this time he couldn’t blink them back. Brethil blamed him for the accident, blamed him for the baby’s death… And deep inside, Thranduil blamed himself, too. It was his responsibility as a father to protect his children, to keep them from all harm; and he had failed his son. His failure had resulted in Brethil miscarrying.

“I am so sorry, little one… I could not protect you as I should have, please forgive me.” He pressed his wet cheek against the wooden door, letting the tears wet the wood. “I love you, small one; please forgive me my failure. Please… forgive me.”

The baby’s crying stopped gradually and Thranduil was left in silence. Slowly he dried his tears, feeling a bit relieved. He had carried his grief for so long near his heart, never speaking of it to anyone. He had had no right to mourn for the lost child, not when it was because of him that the baby had died. But he had grieved in secret, mourned for the grandchild he would never get to know, mourned for the little Elfling that would never reach adulthood. “May you find peace, little one. And may Námo keep your spirit safe until we meet.” With that, he touched the door for the final time and continued his journey along the corridor.

His footsteps felt lighter but for Thranduil something still felt… wrong. He had made amends with the little one, but he felt that there was more to come. After a while he saw another door that was different from the others; in this door someone – perhaps Námo himself? – had carved a little green leaf. Green leaf… Greenleaf… Legolas? Again, Thranduil pressed his ear against the door. He heard someone talking, someone young. He sounded upset about something, almost teary. The King had to strain his hearing to make out the words.

“Ada does not love me. There is nothing I can do to please him, Bret. He does not even notice me anymore. I hate growing up! I want to be Ada’s little Elfling again”, the youth exclaimed, sniffling loudly. “I wish Naneth was still with us… Maybe Ada would love us again if she came back. Do you think so, Bret?”

“Legolas, you know as well as I do that mother is not going to come back; there is no use to torture yourself with such thoughts. And as for Ada not loving us anymore… I do not know; I rarely am home anymore. All I know that he does not seem to wish to spend any time with us.” The other one’s voice was sad as well.

They were his sons, Legolas and Brethil. They kept talking but Thranduil was too distracted to listen any longer. How could they think that he didn’t love them? How could they think that they weren’t his life and the sole reason for his existence? The King was just about to speak aloud when he remembered something. Remembered how he had had very little time for his sons when they were growing up due to the ever-growing darkness in Mirkwood. How he had thought that the best favour he could do for his sons was to raise them to be strong and fierce, to be good warriors; there was no room for emotions in the battlefield. Thranduil had hurt so much when his wife had left; he had tried to spare himself from the pain by ignoring his children. Perhaps it had been a mistake. Yes, it had been, Thranduil knew it now. The mere thought of his sons thinking that he didn’t care broke his heart.

“Legolas, I have always loved you”, he said aloud, resting his head against the cool wood. “I have not been the best possible father for you, or for Brethil, but please know that I love you very much. Do not think that I care not, because I do. I thought I was doing what was best for you by not being emotional with you when you were younger, but it was a mistake; I realise it know. Please, sons, you must believe me. You are the most precious beings in the Arda to me.”

The voices quieted down behind the door and Thranduil sighed with relief. Perhaps they had heard him; perhaps they even believed him. Elbereth knew that he had never told them that before; told them how much they meant to him. He felt much better now that he had gotten if off his chest. He loved his sons, and there was no shame in saying it aloud. The King smiled a bit and touched the door before moving forward.

He walked for a long time, and thought that again he heard Legolas speaking. Not young Legolas this time, but a grown-up. But why did his son sound so sad, like he was crying? Thranduil remembered his younger son to be joyful and smile a lot; what reason did he have to sound so distressed? “Legolas, what is the matter? Tell me what is wrong?” He asked aloud, looking for any signs in the doors he was walking by, but there was none. “Can you hear me, calenlass?”

Suddenly a door on his right opened; a figure appeared on the doorway, looking at the King sternly. “Why do you disturb the peace of the Halls? Do you not know that the spirits of Elves and Men are supposed to find rest in Námo’s Halls?”

Thranduil straightened his spine. “I shall find no rest in here; I have been brought here by mistake and I need to return to my family; both my sons need me, and I need them.”

The shadowy figure laughed. “You say this, King Thranduil, after a few hours in the Halls? You have suddenly learned the importance of family ties, and love?”

“I have known it all along, sire. It is only now that I have let myself fully accept it”, the King answered, wondering if he was speaking with Mandos himself.

“I assume you know that there is only one way to exit the Halls; to be reborn. That can take centuries, even millennia.”

Thranduil shook his head in denial. No. It could not be the only way to get back to his family; it could not be. Legolas needed him now, he could feel it. He didn’t have time to wait for to be re-embodied; he had to return now.

“With all due respect, sire; I have to get back to my family, now”, he said calmly. “I will do anything. I have to return to my youngest son. He needs me now; I cannot fail him, not this time. I beg you.”

The tall figure looked at him for a very long time before speaking again. This time his voice didn’t sound as stern as before. “You need to find the right door. That is all I can say. If you do not find it, then there is no other choice for you but to stay. Be at peace, son of Oropher; the Halls of Waiting will welcome your weary spirit.” He closed the door silently. Thranduil was left alone in the corridor.

The right door? How do I know which one is the right door? They all look the same. Except… maybe there is a carving in the right door, like the baby shoe, and the green leaf?

He kept walking but he didn’t see any more marks or carvings. Finally he reached the end of the corridor. The wall was hung with a huge tapestry; it was very beautiful and Thranduil found himself entranced with it. In it was depicted the making of Arda, the great song of the Ainur, the recovering of the Silmarils and even the War of the Ring. The King felt that he could spend forever looking at it, the stories weaved by Vairë, and lifted his hand to touch it. He forgot all about Legolas, about Brethil, about returning. He was just about to touch the tapestry when there was a loud cry that pierced his thoughts and broke his reverie.

“ADA!”

There was no mistaking in it; it was Legolas’ voice. Thranduil blinked a few times, turning away from the enchanting tapestry. He needed to find the right door; there was no time to stand useless in the corridor. “The right door… the right door”, the Elf kept mumbling, turning back and walking back from where he came. In the dim lighting all doors looked similar. The King felt himself starting to sweat; how was he supposed to choose? He knew he had to choose; if he didn’t, he would have to stay in the Halls until Námo decided otherwise.

Thranduil found himself standing in front of one of the doors. There was nothing about it that made it stand out from the others, but he had a feeling that there was something different about it; something that made him believe that this was the right door, the one Námo had spoken of. The King thought he heard someone speaking and a baby cry; it didn’t come from behind the door, it came from everywhere. Nevertheless, the King knew that his son needed him. He needed to get back.

Thranduil closed his eyes for a moment, praying for the Valar that this was the right choice. It had to be. He took a steadying breath and summoned all his courage. He had to do this. For Legolas. For Brethil. For himself.

He opened the door.

*~*~*~*~*~*

“Why is he crying?” Legolas asked worriedly, trying to soothe his newborn son by rocking him gently in his lap. “Hush, Eldarion, Ada is here, don’t cry. Shhhh. And look, father’s here, too. Aragorn, why don’t you take him? Perhaps he is already tired of me.” His blue eyes filled with tears as he thought about his son not wanting to be in his arms. Aragorn smiled at him gently and kissed his nose.

“Do not be silly, Legolas. He adores you. Mayhap he is just hungry?” He suggested, wondering what they could feed the baby. Obviously Legolas couldn’t produce milk for the infant so they would have to come up with something else. “Adar, do you think that Eldarion could drink cow milk?”

Elrond nodded and started to gather the used items and linen clothes. “I think we should mix warm milk with water; milk alone could be too strong for his stomach right now. Elladan, Elrohir, could you kindly go to the kitchens and bring milk for the baby?”

The twins nodded and left the room after giving Legolas a kiss on his forehead and a pat on Aragorn’s shoulder. “We will be right back”, Elrohir called over his shoulder before ushering his brother out of the door.

Aragorn had gotten on the bed to lie beside Legolas, holding him and their son in his arms. For the first time in his life he felt whole. The King looked at his mate and the little Prince and felt a strong wave of love and protectiveness flow through him. There were the two people he would give his life for. Aragorn had always thought that he it wasn’t possible to love Legolas more than he already did, but he was now proven wrong. His beautiful, courageous husband had given him the most precious gift imaginable, a child; and he loved his Elven mate a hundred times more for it.

“I love you, my dearest”, he whispered into Legolas’ delicate ear and kissed his temple tenderly. “I can never thank you enough for Eldarion.”

Legolas, who was still a bit drowsy from the potion he had drunk smiled a bit and leaned his head on Aragorn’s shoulder. “You need not thank me. You gave Eldarion to me as much as I gave him to you. And I love you also, my handsome husband.” Aragorn gently laid his calloused hand on his mate’s bandaged lower stomach.

“Your poor, abused body. You are a lucky one for being an Elf; were you a Human this one would take a long time to heal.”

The pair lay on the bed, silent, gazing at their son. Legolas felt an overwhelming sense of love, mingled with guilt. How was it possible to be this happy about his son when his father had just died? Did he have any right to rejoice of the birth of his son when his Ada was lying dead on the nearby bed? The Prince reluctantly lifted his gaze from the infant and looked at where his father lay. He was shocked to the core when he met Thranduil’s emerald green eyes. He gasped aloud and his heartbeat escalated almost violently. It was not possible, it couldn’t be! He had witnessed his father dying; this had to be a cruel trick played by his tired mind. Thranduil had turned his head and now looked back at him with a small smile on his lips.

“Legolas”, the elder Elf managed to say through his dry throat. “You have a beautiful baby boy.”

The Elf Prince didn’t understand how his father could be alive, but he knew better than to ask questions. It didn’t matter how it had happened; the only thing that mattered was that his father was alive; that he had returned to him. Silent tears ran down his face and he laughed, great relief washing through him. His father was alive. He had his father back. And he had a beautiful, healthy son and a loving, supportive mate.

“Thank you, Valar”, Legolas whispered through his tears, hugging his son close to his heart. “Thank you.”


TBC…

A/N: I really hope you liked. I would appreciate if you took a little time to tell me what you think, cheers. :)