(A/N: Fucking up the timelines from the Appendices, and a whole lot else besides, apologies. Call it artistic license for the sake of a bit of self-indulgent fluff I guess.)
"Oh, this is going to be good, my love."
Light feminine laughter, like bells.
"High time that lot all had a good shaking up"
Deeper laughter echoed.
ooooo
Legolas smiled to himself as the dwarf behind him dozed lightly against his back. The stout arms at their customary position around his waist maintained their firm grip, but the occasional snuffling or soft snore reached his sensitive elven ears (Legolas recalled a time when Gimli would not have dared to relax upon the back of a horse, having no trust for such beasts). He slowed their mount to a leisurely walk, not wanting to awaken Gimli. There was no hurry to get anywhere, anyway.
They'd just had a brief visit to their friends in the Shire and had no particular destination at the moment, just enjoying being on the road and taking in the sights of Arda together, enjoying the hard-won peace which followed the great war.
The two would eventually make their way to Fangorn and the Glittering caves, but there was plenty to see on the way. Today, the East Road was mostly empty of travelers, save the occasional group of men or dwarven traders taking their wares toward Bree or the Misty Mountains, and the surrounding country was blessedly calm. The few surviving orcs in these parts were unlikely to leave their deepest hiding places in mountains so soon after the downfall of Saruman and Sauron.
It had been good to see Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin again. The Shire was already repairing and rebuilding and married life seemed to suit Frodo's gardener well. Although Frodo clearly still suffered the effects of their journey, the passage of a little time had improved his spirits. Perhaps a visit to Imladris would be in order? They were quite nearby, a few hours away. They might as well impose on that famous hospitality for a night or two and enjoy sleeping in proper beds (as well as imposing upon Lord Elrond's skills as a healer, if Legolas could overcome Gimli's stubborn pride long enough to allow being looked over by an elf).
Legolas placed a hand over Gimli's at his waist and rubbed his thumb over the other's course fingers affectionately. The dwarf had been subdued in humor lately, often grumpy (well, more often than usual), and had been sleeping more and difficult to rouse in the mornings (although this seemed to have no ill effect on Gimli's appetite, which was as ravenous as ever). Legolas wasn't overly worried, but not knowing a great deal about dwarven physiology, he had been keeping a closer eye on her, despite her insistence that she was perfectly healthy, other than a few bouts of indigestion.
Yes, she…. That had been something of a revelation, nearly a year and a half ago. Legolas had long known that dwarves were a secretive people, and had also known that dwarven women were considered somewhat mythical, or at least a rare occurrence. He remembered Gimli speaking to Eowyn about the rumors passed around among men and elves about dwarves, about there being no dwarf women but that dwarves simply sprang full-formed from the earth. He'd found it amusing at the time but had not given it any real thought.
We're more common than you think, elf. We simply prefer not to reveal the nature of ourselves but to those we trust with such knowledge.
He.. no, she, had winked at him then and laughed heartily at the elf's wide-eyed astonishment. Gimli had made it clear she expected him to treat her the same as always and would tolerate no mollycoddling. Then they both firmly agreed it would not change the nature of their friendship. Legolas had earned a few knocks and stern looks shortly after gaining this knowledge, after slipping and treating her like she had somehow become fragile; Legolas had quickly remembered his respect for the formidable dwarven warrior lest he have to be reminded (somewhat painfully) again.
Really, it all had been a nice thought at the time, but over the following months, it became quite clear they could not pretend that it made no difference. Their friendship had been a deep connection even before, and after had turned in quite an impossible direction.
Yes, impossible was a good word for it. It was absurd, they knew. Taboo, even. Simply not done. And yet, they did it.
Secretly, but they did it – exchanged their vows standing on stone, above the bones of Arda, and under bough and sky, with only birds and beasts and the stars above to bear witness.
Judgment and consequences be damned, despite everything, they loved each other, and all other enmity and disagreement aside, elves and dwarves shared one important aspect – most of them loved only once, and irrevocably. They could no more deny the calling of their own hearts than pluck them out of their chests and survive to tell of it.
And may the Valar help them if the truth ever got out into the ears and on the wagging tongues of the world...
ooooo
Legolas perched on a fallen log, idly poking at the embers in front of him with the tip of an arrow, watching Gimli tossing and turning on her bedroll a few feet away, tangled up in a miserable knot of blankets, hair and beard. It would seem neither of them would be getting any rest tonight; Legolas had no need of sleep this particular night and in stark contrast to her recent habits, Gimli seemed incapable of it.
Hours before, he had laid down close behind Gimli in an attempt to offer comfort, as they often laid curled up with one another on those nights Legolas did sleep (or after, well, other nocturnal activities), only this time to be brusquely shoved away, accompanied by grumbling about elves and their boundary issues.
Legolas was used to Gimli's temper and occasional turns of mood, which seemed to have become more volatile of late, and tried not to take it personally. Tried, being the operative word. He speared a bit of smoldering wood with an arrowhead and flung it neatly into the nearby stream.
The moon lay low in the sky and a greenish hue outlining the peaks of the Misty Mountains at the opposite horizon heralded the coming dawn. He stood and went over to their packs, fishing around for a something to break their fast.
There was a loud huff and the shifting of cloth behind him.
"Do what ya like, but don't bother wi' anything for me this morning. Stomach's cramping something awful."
Gimli pulled her boots on haphazardly and stomped off into the woods, presumably to relieve herself; her poor rest clearly improving her mood from the night before not one jot.
Legolas shoved the small frying pan back into Gimli's pack and pulled out a bit of stale lembas instead. He reminded himself that he loved his dwarf dearly, even when she was being a complete—
"Legolas!"
A startling thread of fear in her voice had Legolas on his feet before Gimli's cry ended, shouldering his bow and grabbing hold of his dagger as he dashed off in the direction of her voice, fearing the worst.
"LEGOLAS!"
His ears rang with the second full-throated shout, which met him as he entered a small gap in the shrubbery. There were no orcs or trolls about, but the queer sight before him had the elf's heart lodging itself in the back of his throat.
Gimli squatted on the grass, trousers bunched around her boots and thoroughly soaked through, liquid glistening in patches on the grass beneath her as well. His first thought was that she'd simply had an "accident", but there was too much for it to have simply been a mistimed full bladder, so what…? Legolas stood and stared in shock and incomprehension.
"Laddie… love, I need ye shut yer gapin' mouth an' help me up."
The dwarf reached a hand up toward her husband.
"Before the next Age would work for me!"
Legolas blinked and grabbed the proffered hand, hauling Gimli to her feet. Gimli fisted the waist of her ruined trousers in her other hand and pulled them up, not bothering with the laces and ignoring the wetness as much as possible as she all but dragged the stunned elf back toward their little camp. It was several long moments before Legolas found his voice.
"Gimli… what exactly happened just now?"
Gimli stopped and peered up at Legolas but did not let go of his hand.
"M'waters broke, apparently."
"Your.. 'waters'? You don't mean you're, ah… you're…"
He wasn't looking at her as he spoke, but staring off at some mid-point in the distance. He couldn't even bring himself to say it. There's a good portent for the future of this little family, Gimli thought. She swallowed thickly.
"The common term is 'pregnant' I think. Expectin'. With child. Or whatever other asinine euphemism you prefer. An' nearly done apparently."
Legolas' head swam as the world seemed to tilt sideways. Never in his dreams did he believe they would ever, could ever…
"How… when… how is this possible?"
Gimli's thick brows drew together, her patience wearing out. Her husband still wasn't even looking at her. The cramping in her belly was not yet alarming but the whole situation was growing very irksome indeed.
"If I recall correctly, my dear elf, you were there at the time. Many times, in fact. Seemed to enjoy it, even! Or are you going to accuse me of running off with some fancy dwarrow in the middle of the night, hm?"
The barbed statement hit its mark, all too well. Gimli's… condition… apparently had not dulled her love of sarcasm. Legolas finally turned to look down at her, crossly.
"That's an unfair thing to say, you know well I would never—"
Gimli huffed and nodded at him, her temper cooling somewhat. She did not doubt his love for her, never doubted his heart. His wits at the moment, however…
"I've never heard tell of such a thing, love, but elves and dwarves have never been in the habit of marrying, so how on Arda would anyone know if no one has ever tried? Bit of a surprise for me this morning as well, you know!"
Legolas tried to swallow around the lump in his throat. The initial shock was finally wearing off and he looked upon his wife at last, the reality of the situation slowly seeping into him, bringing only a collection of uncertainties in its wake. He knew nearly nothing about the bearing of children among his own people, never mind dwarves. He knew some mothers and some infants did not survive, and that thought alone had him moving again. He bit back the panic rising in his throat and bent to give her a soft kiss before they moved again.
A moment later at the campfire, Gimli finally let go of his hand, shucked her boots and unceremoniously stripped out of her soiled clothing. She rummaged about in her pack for something dry, utterly unbothered by her own nudity.
Legolas was grateful they were not too near the road and sheltered by trees and greenery. He was not the least bit bothered either by his wife's appearance either, having long since grown accustomed to and even appreciative of her form, but he was always wary of the potential eyes of others on her, those who might judge or make sport of her (even though he knew she'd only be irritated if she had half an idea of how protective he felt) - a fact which would only make what he must do next that much more difficult.
Legolas knew they could not deliver a baby out here in the wild. Even in the absence of orcs, wargs, trolls or other such road hazards, he would not risk her life on his ignorance. They would need a midwife, and soon, probably in a matter of hours, however calm Gimli seemed to be. There was only one place nearby which he thought they had even a hope of reaching in time, and he'd probably have to drag Gimli kicking and screaming - Rivendell.
ooooo
"I am not going to that blasted valley with all those blasted elves to be poked and prodded at by some blasted elf midwife!"
Legolas had Gimli nearly in a headlock in a futile attempt to drag her toward their horse.
"We don't have time to argue over this! I know it's early but you'll need aid soon enough and I cannot do it myself!"
Gimli twisted in his grasp, pulling down with her immense strength, nearly dragging the elf off his own feet. He let go of her but grasped a sleeve before she was clear of him.
"And what do you think are the chances of encountering a party of dwarves on this road, including a midwife or healer, within the next few hours? We've seen a grand total of three dwarven parties in the last four days, all craftsmen and traders!"
Gimli growled deep in her throat, not willing to give in to something as silly as common sense. Their horse nearby blew hotly from her own nostrils, backing a few steps away from the quarreling couple.
"Curse the stubborn necks of dwarves! I'll drag you the entire way if I have to!"
"Oh, I'd like to see you try, elf!"
They stared, each daring the other to back down first.
"Gimli, you could die, the babe could die!"
"Preposterous! No dwarrowdam of my lineage has died in childbirth or had a stillbirth in ten generations past!"
"And how many of them were in the habit of having their children out of doors and unaided? How many of them were wed to an elf? We don't even rightly know what this child is!"
"Ach! Curse you and your bloody sensibleness!"
Gimli threw her hands up and turned her back on Legolas, grumbling under her breath as she stomped off toward their horse.
Legolas ducked around Gimli to reach the animal first. He mounted the horse and pulled Gimli up at last, seating her in front of him rather than behind, and wrapping an arm firmly around her shoulders as she fisted a handful of horsehair. Legolas directed their horse back up to the road and then set his heels to her flanks, urging her to bring them swiftly across the last few miles to the ford of Bruinen.
ooooo
It was approaching mid-day when they entered the valley of Lord Elrond. Gimli was hunched over and leaning heavily against Legolas' arm, her breath growing shallow and sweat beading over her brow when the pains came in earnest. All else aside, she was still a warrior through and through, and did not cry out, but Legolas knew all the subtle signs that she was suffering and did not slow his pace.
He had been obliged to slow their horse to a canter some miles back, to spare the animal as much as he dared, but he did not halt as he rode past the guard. They shouted at him but he did not hear, nor did he notice two of them leaving their post to dash after him upon foot. By the time he reached the house of Lord Elrond and pulled his mount to a halt, a small crowd was forming.
"You cannot just fly into a protected realm—"
"Son of Thranduil, just what do you think you are—"
"Where's the fire—"
"What's happened—"
Legolas ignored the protestations and questions of the elves surrounding him, scanning his surroundings only for Elrond himself.
"I need to speak to Lord Elrond, the matter is urgent."
More questions, more competing voices. Gimli groaned softly, the first noise Legolas had heard from her since they broke camp that morning. The horse blew and stamped, mirroring her riders' growing agitation and pain.
"Oh, do tell them all to shut up, laddie!"
The pain in Gimli's voice pulled at his heart. Where is Lord Elrond? There's no time for this circus!
Finally the crowd parted and the Lord of Imladris appeared.
"Hail, Legolas, son of Thranduil; Gimli, son of Gloin, what brings you to Imladris in such haste?"
Elrond's piercing blue eyes traveled across the pair, taking in every detail. He looked upon Gimli for a long moment and his eyes suddenly widened, as though startled. The expression passed so quickly that Legolas thought he might have imagined it, but nonetheless Legolas' face grew hot, fearing exposure out here surrounded by what seemed to be half of Elrond's people.
Elrond turned to his aid, Lindir, and whispered something. Lindir peered up curiously at the pair on horseback before nodding sharply and began shooing off the crowd, ordering the guard back to their posts and dismissing the rest.
"Yes… I see you certainly do have need of my aid."
Elrond beckoned Legolas to dismount and helped him lift Gimli down to rest on unsteady feet. That Gimli allowed it without protestation was an astonishment Legolas filed away to be pondered at another time. Elrond knelt beside the dwarf, gently looking her over. Gimli grit her teeth and glanced accusingly at Legolas from the corner of one eye. Legolas knew her meaning without the necessity of words - I'm only doing this for your sake, not because I need it.
"Can you walk, Gimli?"
"Of course I can bloody well walk, my legs haven't fallen off, have they?"
Elrond ignored the outburst and stood, placing a hand behind Gimli's shoulder, guiding her indoors and through the hallways of his home as Legolas took pace behind her.
ooooo
He knew this would attract all the wrong sort of attention as soon as he realized what was happening, but he thought they could at least attempt to be discreet about their accursed curiosity. The next face belonging to one other than the one he'd chosen to assist, that came through that door, would end up with a heavy projectile impacting with his or her nose.
He could even hear them out in the hallway. All of them centuries old, some thousands of years old, out there gossiping like a pack of bored adolescents.
"A pregnant dwarf!"
As though it were something truly astounding. He supposed they had all bought into that nonsense about dwarves springing out of holes in the ground or somesuch. How much easier it is to dismiss them when denying that they are flesh and blood as you are!
Finally Elrond got up and shut the door, locking it behind him. When Lindir returned with the supplies he'd requested, he could knock like a civilized being. Elrond had bypassed the usual rooms reserved for healing work and brought the laboring dwarrowdam, followed by Thranduil's son (who flatly refused to wait outside) to a set of private rooms adjacent to his own, generally reserved for use by immediate family when visiting. That alone ought to have been a clue to his subjects that he did not wish for their "company" in this matter.
"Is this all really necessary?"
Not to mention that the dwarf in question wasn't exactly making this easy, either.
"Yes, I'm afraid it is. Please undress and change into what you've been given. I assure you it's quite necessary."
The last babe that had been delivered in Imladris was centuries old now; his own people were dwindling and passing West in greater numbers with each passing year; soon he would leave as well, and reunite with his Celebrian. He could feel the calling of the sea and the ache of the distance separating him from his wife settling in his very bones. He was pained by the knowledge he would leave his daughter behind, but there was nothing left to be done; as he would leave for the sake of his love, she would remain for the sake of her love, and her own children to come.
I'm getting far too old for this sort of thing.
He turned aside as Legolas spoke in low tones to Gimli, who complained but consented, finally.
Elrond knew they were close friends, bound in shared pain and shed blood on the battlefield, but something about the way they interacted raised curious suspicions in his mind, and he watched surreptitiously as Legolas helped Gimli undress, pausing occasionally as her pains came and passed.
They were very… familiar, with one another. Legolas unwound the cloth binding Gimli's breasts with practiced ease, undid clasps, buttons and lacings without hesitation; the dwarf showed no particular modesty regarding Legolas' eyes (which did not shy in the least from the dwarf's stout, thickly muscled and shockingly furry frame), other than the annoyance at having to change in the first place. Gimli was finally clothed in the simple gown (far too long, and not quite broad enough, but the best fit that could be had on such short notice).
Elrond shook off his reverie and moved over to the pair, motioning Legolas out of the way. The dwarf growled and glared at him in a clear challenge when he moved to touch her. Legolas laid a placating hand on her shoulder but the gesture made no difference.
"I cannot help you if you will not allow me to touch you."
Gimli looked back to Legolas, who squeezed her shoulder in response.
"Fine, fine. Do… whatever it is."
The healer moved quickly as possible, pushing the gown out of the way to press on the impatient dwarrowdam's abdomen, trying to feel the position of the infant as best he could through denser musculature and more ample padding than he was accustomed to. Elrond silently thanked the Valar that at least it was positioned correctly (head down); he did not desire to attempt a breech birth after so many centuries out of practice.
However, something did not seem quite… right. He paused and felt around again; he could not claim firsthand knowledge of dwarven childbirth (he'd read about it, as he read about nearly everything, but no more), but by his best estimation the babe was probably about average size… for an elf. A bit large, probably, for a dwarf.
As bits and pieces joined together, an alarming picture was suddenly forming clearly in his mind. He breathed deeply and resolved to put his foot in it. Might as well know now, as it would come out sooner or later anyway (quite literally).
"Forgive me for prying… but do not dwarves prefer to take care of these matters among their own people? I am surprised to find you in these parts in such a delicate state, I should think your husband would not have allowed—"
Elrond's suspicions were confirmed as Legolas turned, eyes flashing dangerously.
"I am her husband and I would die before I allowed her to come to harm!"
When Elrond offered no reprobation or any reply beyond a softening expression, the anger drained suddenly out of the younger elf, replaced by fear and (oh, Valar help them) no small measure of shame. Legolas dropped his gaze to the sheets covering the bed, his hand moving to Gimli's (who was glaring around Legolas at Elrond in such a manner that he was grateful looks could not kill).
"Neither of us knew she was, uh, expecting. Or that it was… possible."
Elrond felt no revulsion at this knowledge, as he knew Legolas expected, but rather sympathy, and worry. Elrond's own mixed blood had been a topic for whispered gossip and even outright scorn more than once; he remembered the stinging glances and comments he and his brother had sometimes drawn, even as little children.
This child would likely suffer worse; despite brief periods of cooperation and even tentative friendship, the enmity between elves & dwarves ran older and deeper than that between elves & men. Many elves considered dwarves to be the nothing more than the malformed children of a lesser creator, conveniently forgetting that however and by whomever their bodies had been shaped and formed, it was Eru Illuvatar who granted them the breath of life, the same as to elves & men.
As for the dwarves.. who knew how they would react? They were exceedingly suspicious of outsiders under the best circumstances.
ooooo
"I am her husband and I would die before I allowed her to come to harm!"
Lindir froze with a hand raised to knock at the door in front of him.
"I am her husband"
The raised voice of Thranduil's son had come through the door to hit him like a sack of bricks to the head.
"I am her husband"
He wasn't sure how long he had been standing there, now, fist suspended in the air. He blinked owlishly, reality slowly settling back into place around him.
He'd been shocked enough when the prince rode bold as brass into the heart of Rivendell clasping a dwarf to his breast. He'd immediately recognized the naugrim as one of the nine walkers who had set out with the halfling on his quest to destroy the ring of power.
Female, apparently, though how anyone could possibly tell the difference… he'd never been quite sure they actually existed. He'd heard the rumors, everybody had heard the rumors.
And… Legolas Thranduilion. His wife! A dwarf! He could not even imagine.
Lindir's hand dropped uselessly to his side. As he turned away from the door to collect himself, he caught the flash of another elf dashing down the hallway. His stomach dropped to somewhere around his knees. It would have to be that old gossip Trathron.
Lindir braced himself and finally gathered the courage to knock on the door.
ooooo
A crowd had formed again outside the locked door, no less than half a dozen pointed ears pressed against it while others jostled for position, listening for any activity from the three elves and dwarf on the other side.
Inside, there was no time for arguing over the merits or demerits of what had transpired; a child was soon to be born whether welcomed or no.
Lindir was seated a few feet away, staring out of a nearby window as the first stars of the evening appeared in the sky. Various items were stacked on a small table to his right while water boiled over the fireplace; Lindir silently passed the various things to his Lord Elrond as required. His head ached in time with his heartbeat; he wished to be anywhere but in this wretched room.
Gimli no longer bothered trying to keep silent; she felt like she was being torn apart from the inside out and there was no enemy to resist or fight against in this most curious of battles. Each pain hit her like the crest of a wave, coming more quickly now; she could hardly catch her breath.
She was exhausted and fed up, with the waiting, with the pain, with all these dratted elves. She'd already had to shove both Elrond and Legolas aside more than once to shift position. They had actually expected her to give birth lying flat on her back. What kind of self-respecting dwarf would ever—bloody preposterous!
Legolas was perched on the bed near her, nervously chewing at the end of a lock of blond hair, paying no heed to the dwarf's hand violently fisted in his tunic, threatening to tug it to pieces with each bout of pain.
Elrond glanced up at Gimli, at Legolas. He had hoped for this to go more quickly, but the night dragged on.
ooooo
Trathron huffed as he was finally pushed from the door by another curious elf who was tired of waiting for her turn.
"I don't know why anyone cares, really. It's all quite disgusting if you ask me."
He gave one backwards glance over his thin, pointed nose at the gathered crowd, who were paying him no attention, and decided a trip to the kitchens for a snack was more worthy of his time anyway.
ooooo
It was well past midnight when, finally, the crown of the baby's head appeared. After that, things proceeded mercifully quickly (if loudly – Elrond knew well enough that dwarves could be deafening in volume, had heard more than one dwarven war-cry in his lifetime, but never quite this closely or repeatedly).
The room was soon filled by another sort of cry entirely, as something new and unforeseen entered the world.
Lindir was suddenly roused from his rumination as something was carefully but swiftly deposited on him, his arms suddenly full of screaming newborn. He blinked at the squalling child a few times before reacting properly, finally moving to clean her and wrap her up in the swaddling.
He couldn't help but study her as he did so. She was about the same size as the few newborn elves he distantly remembered, but with noticeably broad hands and feet. Her ears were pointed, but outsized and oddly set. She already had thick, curled hair, still plastered flat to her head but drying quickly. The dampness and dim firelight made the color difficult to determine accurately, but he thought it might be a reddish blonde. He was reminded of the halflings, more than anything else. At least she doesn't have a beard…
He looked up to see Elrond dealing with the afterbirth, then reaching for cloths and a suture kit. He hadn't noticed the amount of blood before, hadn't really been paying much attention beyond responding to Elrond's requests for various things. There was… quite a lot, and the amount soaking its way through the cloths and towels was growing. Legolas was pale and looked terrified, Gimli finally quiet; he wasn't sure if the dwarf was still conscious.
Lindir clutched the child, now also quiet, to his chest. Whatever else any may say or think, he could not bring himself to think ill of her.
ooooo
The crowd outside the locked door had more or less dispersed by dawn. Now mid-morning, the Last Homely House East of the Sea was quiet and still.
A few elves lingered over breakfast, whispering amongst themselves. As always, gossip spread quickly. There was no longer an elf in Imladris who did not know that Legolas, son of Thranduil, prince of Mirkwood, had taken a dwarf for a wife. It would not be too long before the news reached the ears of the woodland king himself. Oh, what would he say?
A hastily bathed and changed but still slightly disheveled Lord Elrond finally appeared again in the hallways of Imladris. He pretended not to notice the many eyes boring into his back as he passed, all dropping hastily when he turned to meet them. Some of them were probably just curious, but he knew what many of them were probably thinking.
He stopped in one hallway and leaned against a wall, resting his tired head against the cool stonework. Laughter reached him from around a nearby corner, and it did not sound good-humored.
"Oh Trathron, just wait until old Thranduil hears of this! They'll have to peel him off the ceiling!"
"It's hardly a matter for jest, nothing good will come of this, mark my word. If this doesn't lead to war between Erebor and Mirkwood, I'll eat my own boots. I can't believe Thranduil's own son… with that ugly little dwarf! I am only glad that we shall be departing these shores soon, if misguided fools think it's a bright idea breeding up a brood of… whatever-it-is, some kind of dwarf-elf-mule"
That was it. Enough. Lord Elrond righted himself and rounded the corner.
"A mule, is it? Is that what you say, Trathron? And what, then, would you call me?"
Trathron froze like a thief caught in the act, while his companion, Gledhril, stood in silence behind him, suddenly finding her own shoes to be a matter of great interest.
"L... L... Lord Elrond!"
Lord Elrond glared at the both of them with no intention of moving until he had a reply.
"I… I did not know you were there, I meant no offence toward you or your kin… I mean… obviously that's a completely different situation! Entirely unrelated!"
"Am I truly so different from the daughter of Legolas, Trathron? Do you not know the meaning of my name, why I am called Peredhel, the Half-Elven?"
Elrond noticed with satisfaction that Trathron was beginning to sweat profusely.
"Yes, m'lord… but—"
"But, what, Trathron?
Elrond leaned forward, using his greater height to his advantage, pushing his way a bit into Trathron's space just so (and he knew it was a tad petty to take so much pleasure in another's discomfiture, but somewhere during previous day and night, Elrond had ceased to care about the tender feelings of idle gossipers with cruel tongues).
Elrond watched a small battle rage across Trathron's expression. Eventually his self-righteous contempt finally won out over his fear of Elrond's wrath.
"…but a… a… dwarf!"
Elrond was tempted to just issue a nice slap to the other elf's cheek, but he doubt it would do any good. He stepped back but did not lower his sharp gaze.
"You would do well to keep your tongue behind your teeth, Trathron. Legolas and his family are my guests in this house. And as for dwarves… as the time of the Elves in Arda comes to a close, it is a great shame and regret to me that we have never reconciled our disagreements with them, nor learned to appreciate their gifts for what they are, rather than merely what they can do for us."
He looked past Trathron at Gledhril, catching her eyes as she tentatively lifted her head. Her face reddened and she immediately returned to her staring contest with her shoes.
Oh Valar, I am far, far too old for this.
ooooo
Legolas sat only half awake by Gimli's bedside in an old rocking chair that Lindir had just pulled into the room from somewhere dusty. His baby girl was dozing in his arms, her eyes closed in sleep in the manner of both dwarves and men. She would need a name, but his mind was drawing a blank at the moment. There would be time enough find something fitting.
His wife was sleeping also, snoring softly beside him despite the lingering pain; it had taken some time for Elrond to staunch the bleeding several hours ago. Elrond had assured him that Gimli's life was in no danger, but she would need time to heal. Their stay in Imladris was apparently to be an extended one. Fangorn and the glittering caves were going to have to wait, he supposed.
ooooo
Legolas had nodded off entirely when a voice and a soft hand on his shoulder roused him. He wasn't quite sure what was being said to him or requested of him, but after Lord Elrond's hands lifted his daughter from his arms and turned toward Gimli, he shook the drowsiness from his head.
Gimli was not pleased when Elrond roused her, grumbling in her usual fashion, but forgot her complaints soon enough as her baby girl was finally handed to her. Elrond stepped back and seated himself in the chair Lindir had occupied the night before to give the small family a bit of space.
"Oh, she's beautiful, Legolas. She has your sweet blue eyes."
"Babies nearly always have blue eyes. I'd wager they'll turn brown, like yours."
"No, laddie, they'll stay blue – I said so and so they shall."
Legolas rolled his own blue eyes but continued grinning like a fool.
Elrond laughed to himself at the disgustingly sappy tableau before him from his seat in the corner before clearing his throat to get Gimli's attention.
"Do you know how to feed her?"
Gimli managed to look like the picture of offended dignity despite the utter disarray of hair and beard.
"I assume she is to be fed like every other babe in Arda! Or do elves have some special secret way? Don't tell me she has to eat that bland waybread of yours, pretty sure that would qualify as brutality."
"Hardly. But do please say something if you are having any difficulty, it is not uncommon."
Gimli waved him off as she turned her attention back to her daughter who was, indeed, now awake. Legolas helped Gimli up to sit, gathering pillows behind her back, and opened her gown for her, sneaking a quick kiss while settling their daughter in her proper place. Legolas tried desperately not to laugh when Gimli suddenly tucked her beard around the babe like a makeshift blanket and earned a sharp pinch to his arm when he failed.
"By the way, we can't just call her 'sweet thing' and 'dear one' and such, lad, no matter how well they fit her. She needs a proper name, and soon."
Legolas left off rubbing the impressive bruise that was forming on his bicep.
"I was hoping you would have some ideas, actually."
Gimli's stern glare did not shift.
"It's tradition for the father or his kin to choose a name, and it must be done by the end of the day."
Legolas stared at his wife and daughter for a long time, occasionally rubbing at his brow or tugging at a lock of hair. He looked beseeching at Lord Elrond, who still sat quietly across the room.
"What will you name her, Legolas Greenleaf? She is something new to this world."
He was speaking more to himself than to Legolas; for all his sympathy for the new father's confusion, it was not Elrond's place to choose a name.
Something new, thought Legolas.
Cíweth
"Her name is 'Cíweth'."
Gimli lifted an eyebrow.
"….Cíweth? Really?"
She could barely pronounce it…. well, tradition is tradition. So be it.
"Oh fine, 'Cíweth' it is. Even if it is absurd. Still better than 'Legolas' I suppose."
"And just what is wrong with 'Legolas' pray tell?"
"It's as utterly silly and ridiculous as the one what bears it, that's what!"
Legolas nearly felt cross, but hearing Gimli's rich laughter for the first time in weeks was worth the insult. He half expected the baby to complain at her mother's sudden outburst, but Cíweth didn't seem to mind.
ooooo
I'll never get used to this, Legolas thought. Not in the passing of an Age. Two Ages, even.
He leaned against a post in the shade of Lord Elrond's private porch, silently watching Gimli as she sat in the gentle sunlight of Imladris nursing Cíweth (who, as usual, was nearly wholly covered under her dwarf mother's beard save for a few curls of reddish-blonde hair) chatting amiably with none other than Glorfindel himself. Somehow Gimli had managed to turn the subject around to that of Balrogs, of all cursed things… how she could sit calmly with her child and make light of the terror they all had faced in Moria, and what Glorfindel himself had done so long ago, finding cause in it to laugh even… Legolas shook his head in disbelief.
At least Glorfindel seemed good-humored about it rather than offended; Legolas did not know if he could stand the mortification of his wife insulting such a revered figure (Gimli's never-ending stream of sarcasm in front of Lord Elrond was humiliating enough).
And then there was the fact that his dwarf was wearing a dress of all things. It was a dark, rich navy blue, nearly black, with a simple trim of silver, and rather less frilly than anything a new elvish mother would wear (thank the Valar; Gimli complained enough as it was), but it was clearly of elvish make and the contrast to its wearer was startling, to say the least. Legolas could not remember ever seeing Gimli in anything other than trousers and armor, even at Aragorn's coronation and wedding.
Now Gimli's traveling pack and armor were stashed in a corner of their rooms, axes leaned against the wall along with Legolas' own weapons. In the end, Gimli's usual kit had proven to be highly impractical for a nursing mother. After a week in Imladris, they had been approached by a shy elf maid by the name of Cuguthel with some skill as a seamstress, offering her help. Legolas worried at first that Gimli would never allow it, but she soon realized the necessity of it. Legolas had been summarily dismissed from the room as Cuguthel went to work taking measurements, though given the shouting and complaining that issued forth from the closed door, Cuguthel had clearly had her task cut out for her.
Legolas was grateful for the seamstress's generosity and apparently endless patience, especially given that half of Imladris were still giving his family a wide berth when not whispering behind their backs. They had friends here, but only a few.
Their daughter was growing quickly, more quickly than elven children are apt to, though more slowly than typical dwarf children. He, Gimli and Elrond had needed a long discussion about the matter a fortnight ago, mostly to assuage Gimli's worries over the health of their child. They all eventually agreed that it was just a blessing she did not grow so fast as the children of men, as there was enough trouble keeping her dressed, even with Cuguthel's sewing.
Legolas breathed in deeply through his nose, trying to calm his nerves. Nearly a month had passed since he had finally consented to allow Lord Elrond to send word to Thranduil of what had transpired, nearly a week after Gimli had insisted herself the same be done to her own father in Erebor.
Some kind of reply should have arrived by now, if any were going to be sent. Gimli's own kin were, according to a note delivered by one of the mountain's ravens, currently on their way toward Rivendell, and should arrive any day now. Thranduil's silence lay heavy on his heart.
ooooo
The arrival of three more dwarves early one morning in Rivendell set tongues wagging anew. Gimli watched for a moment from an overlooking balcony as her father Gloin dismounted from his pony first, followed by her mother, Unli. Behind them came his cousin Dwalin, bearing a few new scars and his beard streaked with more gray than Gimli had remembered, but looking grim and hale as ever.
Gimli decided at that moment she had never seen a more welcome sight in her life and rushed down the hallway, running past Legolas before he could even enquire as to the cause of her haste.
Lord Elrond was in the middle of a formal greeting to the visitors when Gimli all but flew through the gap between him and Lindir, turning just slightly to avoid a collision with the elves only to land heavily in Gloin's outstretched arms.
Gloin turned with the impact, lifting his daughter off her feet momentarily and bringing their foreheads together in an impact that would leave anyone but a hard-headed dwarf in a daze. Dwalin huffed in displeasure behind them. Unli merely laughed at their disregard for protocol and stepped in front of them to offer Lord Elrond and Lindir a bow and "at your service" in their stead.
Gloin moved to stand properly, but Gimli did not release her grip on his neck.
"Aye lass, I'm happy to see you too."
Another moment passed.
"Eh… ye need to le' me go, darlin'."
He dropped a quick kiss on his daughter's forehead and gently pried her off.
"Sorry, da… just happy to see everyone. Getting a bit tired of all these bloody elves is all."
Gloin laughed and pulled Gimli ahead of him, winking at Elrond as they passed. Dwalin followed silently and Unli smiled sweetly at him.
"I think we can find our way from here, thank you."
Lindir stared at their backs as they passed, wincing at the oncoming headache he felt as he remembered the chaos left behind the last time they had entertained a party of dwarves.
"If they go anywhere near our fountains, so help me…."
ooooo
Unli shuffled ahead of Dwalin to join her husband at their daughter's side.
"Well, Gimli, where's the bairn? We came all this way to see her, after all."
Gimli spied Legolas standing at the end of the hallway near their rooms, waiting for them.
"Still sleepin' I imagine. She would not settle last night, finally got her down a couple hours ago."
Her mother laughed but not unkindly.
"You were no different as a wee thing, kept me up many a night. Perhaps now you'll appreciate me and your father just a bit more!"
Gimli barely heard her mother's comment as they approached Legolas. She left her parents' side and rushed ahead to pull her husband into their rooms, not wanting this particular meeting to occur in plain view (the gossip in Imladris may have waned over the past weeks, but had certainly not died, and she was about sick of hearing it).
The rest of her kin piled in after her and she shut the door swiftly behind them.
Dwalin parted from his cousins' reunion, going over immediately to peer into an old crib situated between the bed and a large window.
Mahal bless, look at those ears!
The messenger had not been lying, then. There was no doubting the girl was half-elven. He half hoped that it was all a trick, and he was merely looking at an overgrown hobbit babe, but he knew the truth. Poor mite, she's not gonna have it easy. He reached into the crib with a gentleness one would not expect such a warrior capable of. Dwalin lifted his youngest (and certainly strangest) cousin without waking her and turned to bring her to the rest of the family.
He had to wait for moment, though, as Gloin was currently occupied with keeping the tall blond elf all but pinned against the corner of the room with a hard gaze.
"So this is the one, then, lass?"
"Yes, da. Legolas—"
"Yes, yes, we've met b'fore…. I remember yer father's good hospitality well enough, elf. Cozy… as far as dungeons go."
Legolas felt like he had swallowed something foul. The mention of his father, dungeons or otherwise, did nothing to lessen his suffering.
"Where is the old goat, by the way? I would've expected him to arrive before us, being closer an' all. Ye did send word to him, did ye not? I suppose ye owe him that much… not that I care, particularly."
Legolas was slow to reply, unsure of how best to misdirect or excuse. He gave up and settled for the simple truth, such is it was.
"A message was sent. He has not replied."
"Hm."
Gloin stepped back from the elf, his prickliness abating suddenly. Legolas wasn't sure whether the hint of pity he saw in the dwarf was better or worse than the blustering paternal animosity it replaced.
Legolas was grateful when the dwarves' attention shifted away from him to the baby. He was happy to let them coo and fuss over his daughter; at least they seemed to accept her, which was more important anyway. He withdrew and seated himself next to the fireplace, content to let the family of dwarves catch up with one another.
ooooo
A couple weeks passed quickly, and suddenly they were packing their things.
"Have you seen the halls of Erebor, love?"
Legolas shook his head as he folded the last of Cíweth's clothes, sparing a glance across the room where his daughter slept soundly in the old crib. He had been to Dale on occasion, and aided in trade agreements with both the men of Dale and the dwarves of Erebor, but he had never been invited inside that mountain. Few elves and men could claim so.
Legolas carefully placed the clothes into a bag, trying not to rumple them too badly, although the road would likely do it for him anyway. Cuguthel had made a few extra gowns in larger sizes for her to grow into as a parting gift. Legolas decided he would miss her shy, quiet way. She had done much to make his wife and daughter feel welcome, unlike most of Lord Elrond's people (Lindir and Glorfindel excepted).
"Then you are in for a treat! A living dwarf city is a far fairer sight than what you saw in Moria."
Gimli fell silent after mentioning her cousin's burial place. Legolas knew that the violent loss of Balin was a wound in her heart that would likely never go away entirely, and the desecration of Khazad-dûm a tragedy in itself.
Dwalin and Gimli's parents had left them to go retrieve their ponies and Legolas' horse from the stables. They would be setting out for Erebor in a matter of hours.
Everything of his own packed up, Legolas kneeled and pulled Gimli into an embrace from behind, parting her thick hair to kiss at the sensitive skin of her neck (who would have ever guessed that the thick-skinned dwarves hid such soft places beneath all that hair?). Gimli paused in her own packing and sighed quietly as she leaned into him and placed a hand over his where it lay over her heart.
"They'll be returning soon, love."
Legolas gave her one last parting kiss at the bare patch of skin just under her ear and stood. They'd had precious little privacy in the past three months since they first entered this valley of elves, and it had taken nearly that long for Gimli to heal properly. Legolas did not know if he would ever feel comfortable among Gimli's kin, either. He was not a dwarf any more than Gimli was an elf. And their daughter? Only time would reveal her fate and fortune.
"I'm going to walk for a while. I'd like to take a last look at Rivendell before we leave."
Gimli nodded silently, understanding his feelings despite their differing opinions on the virtues of Imladris.
The day was warm but not hot, a few insects buzzing about and the sound of birds nesting in the trees the only disturbance to the air. A few of Elrond's people were about but most were out of sight somewhere, going about their own business. They seemed to have finally lost interest in Legolas and the dwarves now that they were leaving.
Legolas left the house to stroll along one of the paths which wound its way through the gardens and surrounding forest valley. Imladris was truly a place of beauty and a reflection of the blessings of Eldar, and he was loathe to depart from it, though he understood all too well his wife's desire to be among her own.
Imladris may be the closest thing to a home he would ever have again, he suddenly thought, and soon it would be bereft not only of himself and his family, but Lord Elrond's people as well.
He thought of it empty and untended, left to the ministrations of bird and beast, and the slow creep of time and nature, falling into crumbling stone and moss. Such would be the fate of all the homes of the Firstborn in Arda. Already the gardens were more overgrown than he'd last seen them, with fewer hands now remaining to tend to them, and less with each passing year.
What sort of life would his Cíweth have? Would the dwarves grant her a home among them after her mother and father were gone? He prayed fervently to the Valar that she would find her own love and perhaps even have her own children someday if she so wished, maybe preserving a small reflection of his kin in the world long after they had all departed or faded, as the blood of Elrond's kin might remain through the descendents of Aragorn and Arwen.
A soft hand on his shoulder startled him out of his ruminations. He looked back to see none other than Lord Elrond himself, but his kind face did nothing to lessen the pain in Legolas' heart.
"Do not mourn over your impending departure, Legolas… or ours. You and your family will have joyful days ahead of you yet."
Legolas attempted to smile at Elrond's words, which were meant kindly but which he could not quite believe. Elrond moved to stand beside Legolas, folding his hands behind his back and looking out into the valley in front of them.
Legolas held his breath for a moment, knowing instinctively the subject that was to discussed.
"I have spoken with Gimli's kinfolk this morning about their planned route for your journey to Erebor. As you well know, the quickest path is through your father's realm, and with such a young child among you, haste is necessary. They insist that they cannot delay any longer to wait for a reply to your message to Thranduil, as there is some sort of dwarvish ceremony they intend to carry out with Cíweth as soon as possible, and that it must be done at their mountain."
Legolas continued to stare silently at the greenery in font of them.
"Legolas, look at me."
He kept his face straight forward, steadfastly ignoring the stinging in his eyes. It's only the wind, he told himself.
The gentle but insistent press of fingers against his chin finally made him turn, but he could not quite meet Elrond's eyes directly.
"Legolas, you cannot avoid your father forever. I cannot tell you what has stayed his reply, but you must face him soon. I fear the longer you put this off, the more the both of you shall suffer."
Legolas raised his eyes to meet Elrond at last, and an elf who had faced orcs, trolls, a Balrog and the vast armies of Sauron himself could not prevent a single treacherous tear which suddenly slipped free.
ooooo
Elrond had half a mind to ride out to the Greenwood himself and take Thranduil to task over the wretched silence he had cast upon the shoulders of his own son. His messengers had privately assured him many times over the past weeks that their message had been faithfully delivered, but nothing issued forth from the gates of Thranduil's kingdom; repeated envoys reported that the king's guards merely shrugged and stated that they had been forbidden to discuss the matter.
Elrond could not fathom treating Arwen or his sons in so callous a manner, no matter how angry or sorrowful he might be at their decisions. It was not his place to interfere between Thranduil and his son, he knew, but the temptation was a strong one.
Gimli's kin had packed and mounted their ponies, and Legolas was upon his horse. Gimli leaned up from behind him to whisper something in his ear as their daughter slept in a sturdy sling against Gimli's breast between them. Elrond stood with Lindir and Glorfindel as he watched the dwarrowdam re-seat herself and gently rub between Legolas' shoulder blades while the party urged their mounts forward. He somehow knew he would not see them again in this world and silently prayed to the Valar, and to Eru Himself, that their days would be blessed as they rode away from his valley.
ooooo
Gimli was deeply concerned about her husband. They'd been on the road for some days now and he had, if anything, grown quieter and more solemn. She missed his laughter, his easy smile. Half the time he clung to their daughter as though someone were planning to snatch her out of his arms. His mood seemed even to unsettle the child, her crying becoming more frequent as the summer days wore on.
Even her cousin Dwalin was beginning to take notice of his growing distress, but nothing any of them said or did soothed him in the least. They all knew, of course. The Greenwood loomed directly ahead, and while it no longer held the threat of ravenous spiders or necromancers, Legolas gazed upon his old home with all the dread with which a condemned prisoner might look upon the executioner's scaffold.
They had already passed over the ford at the Anduin and would enter Thranduil's borders within the hour and there was simply nothing to be done for it.
ooooo
Two days they passed under the dense branches of the forest without difficulty or challenge (other than the natural wariness of the dwarves in an environment so alien to their nature), but their luck had apparently run out.
A host of sylvan guards stood directly in their path. Legolas recognized them well enough. At one time he had counted them all as friends, but now he did not know what to expect of them.
They reflected his own uncertainty as they glanced nervously at one another, no doubt delaying what they knew must be done.
Dwalin and Gloin dismounted and placed a hand each to their axe handles; Unli remained seated but slipped a hand into a hidden pocket to palm the handle of a concealed dagger.
Gimli herself slipped off the horse behind him before he could prevent her and strode forward, one hand placed firmly over the head of the babe strapped to her chest and another to the axe in her belt. She found her voice quickly enough as well.
"What cause have you to prevent the passage of me and my kin? We of Erebor have treaty with your king for safe passage upon this road, as you well know!"
The guards hesitated amongst themselves a moment more and one finally stepped forward, his voice carefully controlled as he glanced back and forth between the dwarves and his prince.
"We are aware of our treaties, good dwarf. Our business is not with you, but with the king's son. He has been summoned to his father's halls and we have been charged with his escort."
Gimli resisted the urge to spit at their feet. If her daughter had not been with her, she felt she would have taken them all on at once with a hand tied behind her back. Dwalin and Gloin came up to position themselves behind her as she replied.
"My husband will go only where he so chooses, elf."
Legolas was taken aback at the sight before him. Three stout dwarves, his wife at the head of them, stood between him and his own people, willing to risk war with his father's kingdom to spare him.
This has all gone quite far enough, he decided. It was cowardly to hide from one's own father and, while he would never willingly abandon his wife and child for any other kith or kin, he still had an obligation to at least explain himself to his sire, whatever the consequences.
He dismounted and moved past the dwarves, giving Gimli's shoulder a firm squeeze as he came to stand beside her.
"Peace… I will answer my father's summons."
He looked to Gimli, hoping she would not press the matter in her usual bullheaded fashion.
"Gimli, love, you and your kin need not come with me. Take our daughter and go ahead, I will catch up when my business here is finished."
"Forget it, son, yer family now to us also, and we're coming along. Let Thranduil try and stop us."
Gloin this time, to Legolas' astonishment. He looked back at the dwarves; Dwalin nodded gravely and Unli smirked at him under her braids.
ooooo
The guards had escorted them all through their gates with little ceremony; Legolas had attempted conversation on the familiar path, but his questions were met with a mixture of sympathetic looks and silence.
They were greeted with the sight of a vacant throne when they reached the heart of Thranduil's home. Dwalin and Gloin now milled about with goblets of wine in their hands, taking in the sights of a place they'd not been in a position to appreciate during their last stay.
Gimli was seated nearby with Cíweth, who now busied herself playing with her mother's braids. Curious onlookers had gathered around the periphery of their space while Gimli had nursed and then changed her child just earlier, but Gimli was past the point of caring about the harsh judgment of elves so long as they left her and her family well alone.
The dwarves had nearly come again to the point of violence when the guards had tried to usher Legolas away without them, but Legolas had again placated them and gone willingly. They knew some matters must be dealt with privately, but had every intention of reducing Thranduil to many small pieces if Legolas did not return to them in the same condition that he had left them.
ooooo
Legolas stood in the wan, leaf-filtered light that poured through the windows of his father's personal chambers, as straight as a young tree, waiting for the king to address him.
Thranduil's back was to him, his gaze pointed down through the foliage at the river below; the sound of their soft breathing and a mild breeze coming in competed with the roar of his own blood in Legolas' ears.
Thranduil's voice came as little more than a whisper.
"When, Legolas?"
The younger elf blinked in confusion. When? When, what? When had he fallen in love with Gimli? When had they wed? When had their child been born? There were too many possible answers. His mouth worked silently like that of a hooked fish; he could produce no reply.
Thranduil turned subtly, not removing his gaze from the window but shifting almost imperceptibly toward his son. His words were measured and calm, but something more volatile boiled beneath them.
"When were you planning on telling me?
Legolas bit back the returning threat of tears, reminding himself that his wife and daughter and their kin waited for him outside, whatever happened this day. He considered his father's question, one he had asked himself time and time.
"I… don't know."
Thranduil's silence filled the room for a long moment. His next words were firmer in tone than his previous ones, that boiling something sending up bubbles to pop at the surface of his voice.
"Were you planning on telling me at all?"
Finally, the woodland king turned around to face his son, his expression unreadable.
"If this unexpected child had not come to force the issue, would you have ever said a word of it?"
Legolas did not even notice when he stepped back from his father, the anger in the king's voice shocking his son into silence. Legolas dropped his gaze to the trim of his father's robes, unable to withstand the intensity of his eyes any longer. Suddenly he felt very young again, like a child caught after breaking something precious he'd been told not to touch.
"I… I didn't think you would understand—"
The pain in Thranduil's voice finally broke through to the surface, erupting at last.
"Understand, Legolas, understand? How could I? HOW COULD I? What you have done... no, I do not understand it."
Thranduil paused, breathing deeply as he made another attempt to control his voice.
"You are my son, Legolas. I will not pretend that I am not astonished. I will not deny that I am deeply angry with what you have done. But you should have told me!"
Thranduil again turned his back on his son.
"Do you have so little love for your own father? So little faith? Why did I learn of this, not from my own blood, but from some envoy of Imladris?!"
The king's fist landed on the desk beneath the window with violence. Legolas flinched despite himself; shame clogged his throat.
Thranduil roughly dragged a hand through his long hair, leaving it mussed out of place as he turned back to his son; Legolas had never seen him do such a thing in his life. They stared at each other in a tense silence for what felt like an eternity.
Surprisingly, it was Thranduil who broke away first
"I don't know you anymore, Legolas. Perhaps I never did. Never in my wildest dreams or deepest nightmares could I have forseen… this."
Legolas had no idea how to even begin to reply to such a statement. A part of him wanted to run into his father's arms as he had done as a child, to be held and comforted, but it seemed utterly impossible now. Thranduil covered his face with a shaking hand.
"Take the child to Erebor. Perhaps they will know better what to do with her."
'And you' seemed to Legolas to be the unspoken conclusion. He briefly lifted a hand, wanting to reach out to his father, to comfort him in some way, but he was unable to do so. He turned silently and slowly walked toward the door. His hand was upon it when he turned back.
"I am sorry, adar."
Thranduil's reply was little more than a whisper, reaching Legolas across the room as though from a great distance.
"You are still my son, Legolas, and my love for you cannot be broken so easily… but I cannot bring myself to forgive you today. In time…"
The king shook his head and turned back to his window, dismissing his prodigal offspring.
ooooo
The rest of the journey to Erebor was quiet but far less tense. The dwarves seemed ever more determined to lay claim to Legolas and pull him further into their midst. Dwalin had shocked him from head to toe by declaring that he must begin learning Khuzdul as soon as possible, and even Gloin agreed (so long as he swore not to share it with any dratted elves, of course, and now you're officially an overgrown pointy-eared dwarf so just accept it laddie and stop arguing with yer da). Legolas suspected it all had as much to do with spite toward his father as anything else, but their apparent acceptance warmed him nonetheless.
Even the suspicious looks and cold welcome he had received at the gates of the dwarf kingdom in the Lonely Mountain could not dampen his renewed spirits. He had his wife and his daughter. He knew it would not be simple or easy, but in time he would regain his father and kin as well.
There was Fangorn to look forward to. He even smiled at the thought of the Glittering Caves (Gimli now spoke often of plans to eventually take a whole host of dwarves to those caves and begin a new kingdom to rival the glory even of Moria at its peak, with Legolas and Cíweth at her side, and there was no use arguing).
As Legolas now walked the halls of Erebor with Cíweth babbling at him in his arms and his wife striding ahead of him, he thought perhaps the Fourth Age would not just be a time of endings, but also a time of beginnings, and the bringing forth of new things.
ooooo
The lady draped an arm over her husband's shoulder as he leaned upon his hammer, both of them looking out as if watching at a great distance. He felt rather than saw her smile, and placed a hand on her arm, returning the warmth he felt from his wife.
"I don't think they quite expected that one, my love."
"Oh, certainly not."
She laughed warmly, planting a kiss to his cheek.
"I think they make quite an adorable little family."
She felt deep laughter rising from within his broad chest.
"Who could think otherwise?"
"Only fools, darling. Only fools."
Yavanna pull her husband's chin toward her, kissing Aulë deeply before departing, leaving him to return to his forge.