Title: Son of Arathorn
Prompt: #27 - Birth
Author: TrinityTheSheDevil
Rating: PG
Characters: Arathorn, Gilrean, Elladan, Elrohir
Disclaimer: Not mine, at all.
Summary: Arathorn's son decides to arrive in a very inopportune moment.

---

It was the height of the battle ... or that's the way it seemed to Arathorn. He stood back to back with Elladan, while the younger of the twins of Elrond fought at the door of the small hut, protecting those inside. Hallath fought nearby, along with several other rangers, in a tight circle around something ... no, someone. That someone was a very pregnant Gilrean, who Arathorn was currently worried sick over.

They had been evacuating the camp after receiving word of orcs traveling nearby, when they were realized they were too late. Gilrean, of course, refused to go anywhere when others were in need ... and Arathorn knew that any attempt to change her mind would be futile. So he had stayed his tongue and tried to get his wife to safety, which had not worked out the way he had wanted. Now, he slowly tried to fight his way over to her, working through the orcs as best he could.

He was halfway there with Elladan still behind him when he heard a shout. It sounded startled, almost frustrated ... and it came from the very woman he sought to protect. With a renewed vigor, Arathorn doubled his efforts, yet it was still not fast enough.

"Gilrean!" Arathorn shouted, risking a glance over his shoulder towards where she lay.

"Arathorn!" Gilrean's voice wavered ever so slightly. "We may have a problem."

"Explain 'problem'! Is this the kind of problem that I would rather not know about but need to anyway?" Arathorn jabbed at an oncoming orc, swinging around and hitting another with the hilt of his sword.

"It seems your son has decided he is ready for battle."

Arathorn paused at these words, earning himself a slice across his shoulder for doing so. The pain got him moving again, but his mind now seemed to be caught in a sluggish trance. His son. At last, Arathorn's son was arriving.

He grimaced. Just like his bloodline to make an appearance in the heat of battle, too.

"Arathorn? You are still alive, aren't you dear? I would hate for you to fall just as your son comes into the world." Gilrean's voice came once more.

"I'm okay, almost there." Arathorn responded.

"You know, friend," Elladan mused. "For any future children, you may want to tell your wife not to give birth to them in the middle of a battle. It can be somewhat of a health hazard."

"Hah, you tell her that yourself." Arathorn laughed. Elladan made a rude noise, causing the man to laugh again. Telling Gilrean what to do was like trying to wrestle with a warg with one hand tied behind your back - it was just something no sane person did.

Finally he had made it to his wife's side; he grasped her hand tightly, pushing the sweaty hair from her face. "My love, perhaps we should continue this elsewhere?" He asked, noticing that the number of orcs had dwindled quite a bit and the few stragglers were being taken care of.

"I agree. I refuse to have this baby in the dirt like a horse! Go pull the good blanket and lay it on our pallet, I shall move there."

"But surely you do not wish to ruin the-" Arathorn was silenced with a frosty glare from his wife. He held his hands up in surrender, nodding. "I shall put the blanket down. Elladan and Elrohir will help you to the pallet while I do this, and the midwife is already in the hut."

Gilrean nodded. It was true, the midwife had not left their side the entire time. The older woman said that where ever the unborn babe was, was where she would be. And it seems that she was right. Arathorn sighed, knowing he would never hear the end of it.

Just as he had laid the soft blanket down and straightened it out, his wife hobbled into the small space, easing her way down onto it. Arathorn started to move to her side but was slapped away by the midwife. He glared.

"I am her husband!"

"And I say you stay OUT like every other husband. There are men who need to be healed, so go do your job, and I'll do mine. I'll call you when your son arrives." The midwife poked him in the chest. "And no peeking. This is a woman's work!"

Arathorn narrowed his eyes. "Fine, woman." He turned around, muttering. "The death of me, all of them ... "

"Lady troubles?" Elrohir grinned mischievously as Arathorn stalked out of the hut.

"You have no idea, friend." Arathorn sighed. He moved off to help his men though, knowing that if he didn't he'd end up running right back into the hut.

---

Hours later found Arathorn sitting on the ground with his elbows on his knees, staring intently at the covered door. He could hear his wife's shouts and with every sound, his hands clenched tighter around the sides of his leggings. Elladan and Elrohir sat on each side of him, looking worriedly at him from time to time.

"I'm sure she's fine." Elladan said, picking at a piece of grass. He got no response, but expected none anyway.

There was silence for a few more moments, except for that of the cries inside. Arathorn suddenly spoke sharply, almost startling the two elves at his sides. Almost.

"What if it is a girl?"

"What?" Elrohir frowned. "What do you mean?"

"The child. What if it is a girl. I know Gilrean said it was a boy but," He turned, looking at the younger elf with a hopeless expression. "What if she's wrong, and it is a girl? Not that I'll mind, but for so long now I've thought about having a son, not a daughter ... "

Elladan chuckled. "Do not doubt your wife's intuition. It is not a thing to be taken lightly. If she says it is a boy, then a boy it is. Now sit, and wait. It shouldn't be very long now."

And indeed, it wasn't. The midwife pulled back the cover on the door not half an hour later, looking exhausted and sweaty. In her arms was a bundle of wriggling joy; one that Arathorn was almost scared to even look upon.

"Well, are you going to take your child, or aren't you?" The midwife said softly, stepping closer to Arathorn.

With great care, the man placed his hands around the bundle of cloth, looking on with awe at the babe inside. His son was ... beautiful. There was no other word to describe him.

"Aragorn." Arathorn smiled. "He shall be Aragorn."

"A fine name." Elladan smiled. "He shall grow up to be a fine man."

"Yes," Arathorn nodded. "I sense in him a great future ahead."

"Well of course! He is, after all, the son of Arathorn ... and Heir to the Throne of Gondor." Elrohir smirked. "He will be a great man indeed."

End