Disclaimer: It's not mine, it's JRR Tolkien's. I'd just like to borrow it for a while. Don't bother suing, as all I own are my DVDs and you won't get those unless you pry them from my cold, dead fingers.                     ~ Linwë Serégon

Thanks to my beta reader – Roobug.

Yes I know the time line is all wrong – but hey, who's story is it!!

First Born

Chapter 1 – Bad News

'What do you mean, the baby's dead? How can it be dead? It hasn't even been born yet!' Thranduil shouted at the herald.

'I'm sorry, my lord, but the healer says that it happens sometimes.'

'But it hasn't even been born! It's not due for months yet!' He couldn't believe the news- the herald must have got it wrong. This was his first-born.

'The baby was born too soon. It wasn't ready,' the herald tried to explain. He'd never seen Lord Thranduil so distraught.

'When did this happen?' the king demanded.

'Two days ago.'

'Get my horse, I need to get home,' he snapped, stamping into his riding boots.

They had been travelling for five weeks now, slowly making their way home, nursing wounds and heavy hearts. Many had died in the combat to destroy Sauron, and many were sorely wounded. The free races of the Middle Earth had paid dearly for the victory, and that fool human had refused to destroy the Ring, instead keeping it for himself.

A squire came to the tent's door to report the horse ready and Thranduil pushed past, vaulting onto the white stallion. He set off at a gallop, closely followed by a small band of Elven warriors.

As the miles flew beneath the stallion's hooves Thranduil kept going over in his mind the message that he had received. He had never heard of babies being born too soon. That was the whole point; babies were born when they were ready. They were still helpless, needing constant care from their parents, but that was the way the Valar had made things to be.

Suddenly the horse stumbled and slowed to a walk. They had been galloping for five hours and the beasts were near exhaustion. Even elven-bred steeds could not run all day.

Thranduil cursed- the slowness, the war, Sauron for bringing this whole thing on them. He needed to be home, home with his beloved. She must be suffering so much if what the herald had said was true. She longed for children, so longed to fill their home with the expression of their love. But what had gone wrong? If only he'd been there, maybe it wouldn't have happened.

He gazed ahead. He could see the fringes of the Wood, of home, not so far away.

'Come, my Storm Racer, one last effort and we'll be home and you can rest. Saes*-' he whispered into the graceful stallion's ear '-you can do it.'

The horse whinnied as if in answer and, drawing strength from deep within, set off again at a gallop as it stove to do its master's bidding.

Within minutes, they reached the forest. Storm Racer made one last effort and dashed along the well-remembered paths leading to the palace, where he finally stopped. He was spent- his head drooped and he shivered with exhaustion, his entire body covered in sweat. But they were home. Thranduil leapt from his back.

'Thank you, thank you,' he cried giving the horse a hug around the neck. Then, sprinting towards the cave entrance, he shouted to the surprised servants, 'See to Storm Chaser.' Without waiting for a response, he burst into the main hall.

'Where is she, where is the Lady?' he bellowed to the room. Fealol ran from a side room, surprised to see the King so soon.

'The Lady is in her chamber. The healer is with her,' Fealol replied.

The healer was with her? Why was the healer with her? Did that mean she was sick? Did that mean she was dying?

The door of the bedchamber was flung to the wall to reveal the healer bending over someone on the bed.

'Athiel, mellîn**, I'm here!' he cried.

'Hush,' was the stern reply from Hachon, the healer. 'I've just given her some tea to help her to sleep. That's what she needs at the moment- rest.' Hachon put his arm around the distressed Elf and led him from the room. 'Let her rest. She'll be better for it. Now what of you? You must be weary. You must have ridden hard.'

'As soon as I heard the news I had to get back,' Thranduil said, still panicked. 'I don't understand, what happened?' He pulled away in protest at leaving Athiel but Hachon only shook his head.

'I'm sorry Thranduil, it is not common among our folk, but it does happen occasionally. The baby was born too early to survive. His lungs weren't strong enough…he lived only a day. I did everything I could.'

'But why?' Thranduil demanded. 'Why was he born too soon?'

'The shock. The herald had just arrived bearing news of the battle. The shock of the losses bought on her labour. I tried everything I knew to stop the labour but the babe was born.' Hachon's eyes narrowed slightly in anguish at the remembered image. 'He was perfect, but so tiny.'

'My son, my first born son!' Thranduil couldn't stop the words coming out on a melancholy wail. 'Where is he? Where have you put him?'

'He's in the glade near where the path branches. He is surrounded by trees under the turf. He will be in Mandos now,' Hachon replied gently.

Thranduil rose from where he was sitting and walked slowly out of the Great Hall into the glade. There under the towering beech trees was a small patch of disturbed earth. He fell to his knees before it, weeping.

'Yet another evil to lay at your door, Sauron!' he cried. 'Will this realm never be free of your malevolence?'

Moving to kneel beside the tiny grave, he tentatively reached out his hand and touched the cool earth. 'Rest easy my son, rest easy.' Tears streamed down his face, he had been so longing to see and hold this child. But now that would never happen- there was only cold earth and despair.

A soft hand was laid on his shoulder. He was gently lifted to his feet and guided to a bedchamber. Tender hands removed his boots, handed him tea, urged him to drink and then covered him with a mantle as he drifted into exhausted sleep.

* Please

* *My dear