Author's Note: Another chapter! We are getting close to the end, but we're not there quite yet. Bear with me… Also, if you would like a glimpse into my somewhat bizarre psyche, check out my fic "Eve." It is based very closely off of a dream that I had. I was so intrigued by it that I had to write it down before I could forget everything, which is partly why this chapter was so long in coming. That said, onward with the tale!
Months passed by in a haze of preparation. Legolas sent scouts over the Mountains of Shadow to observe Men, to see whether the sealing off of Morgoth had freed them from the tarnished influence of the nine Rings of Power.
Nimoë volunteered to go with them, but Legolas had sternly forbidden it. Her body had blossomed with pregnancy, and her skin held the blush of a new rose. She felt healthy and strong, but Legolas' constant hovering and protectiveness was beginning to move from endearing to frustrating.
"I am not ill, Legolas! I am pregnant. The two are not the same. You need not treat me like an invalid!" she had once cried in consternation when he had insisting on carrying her plate to the dinner table, calling it "heavy". Still, she knew that his urge to protect came from his deep love for her, and for the boy she carried in her womb.
A few months after that incident, a knock sounded on her door and she looked up from the receiving blanket she was knitting. "Who is there?"
"It is Raven."
Carefully, Nimoë laid her work down on the table, and beckoned, "Come in."
The door swung open and Raven stepped into the room, his right hand behind his back. He dropped her a short bow, then swept out his hidden hand, revealing a bouquet of the few spring flowers that grew along the Sea of Nurn. A tinge of redness colored his cheeks as he said, "An offering for you and for the child. How long will it be now?"
Nimoë reached out to accept the flowers, inhaling deeply of their pleasant scent. "Thank you, Raven. It should not be long now. Perhaps a week, give or take a little." She rested her hand on her swollen abdomen, smiling as the vigorous babe within gave her a firm kick. "He is anxious to join us."
Raven bowed his head, his face suddenly serious. "Nimoë, may I sit and have a word with you?"
"Of course!" she replied, surprised. "You need not ask."
The Hobbit moved to the second chair at the table and hoisted himself up. Once seated he remained still for a long moment staring at his hands. Nimoë did not press him to speak, seeing that something of great import was weighing on his mind, allowing him time to speak his thoughts.
At last, he began. "I must beg your forgiveness, Nimoë. I have been brusque. I have been stand-offish. I have been rude. For many long years I have felt as if I dwelt with a shadow on my soul. No matter where I looked, something was hiding, ready to strike me dead. I accepted this as the reason for my surliness, but I find now that it must have been something more. Ever since you sealed Morgoth into his prison, the cloud has begun to lift. It was slow at first, but in recent months it has been as if I were seeing the world through new eyes."
He glanced up at her before continuing. "I have been spending my hours with your foster mother, and she has given me her theory, which I have a tendency to believe. It is said by the Elves of old that Hobbits are related to Men, that they share ancestry. This is lore that is lost to us, but if it is true, it would explain much. The nine rings of Men exerted great power, corrupting their minds and wresting them away from the side of right. Tinunél believes that the rings were the cause of my bleakness. If the blood of Men still flows in my veins, then I would be susceptible to the power of the rings, but that blood was not pure enough to render me helpless. So as I fought against the foul corruption of Morgoth, I fell into anger and spite."
Here he took a deep breath to steady his nerve. "My greatest regret is that I allowed that power to rule me, and in doing so I caused my friends pain. I apologize profoundly for ever sullying Caldarion's name. I believe that I now understand some small portion of what he fought. Can you forgive me?"
Nimoë stared at the Hobbit who had become her friend. "How can you ask such a thing, Raven? I had forgiven you long ago. If the power of the rings has released you, then I can only rejoice, and I look forward to knowing the Raven who would bring me flowers, who is joyful in life. It has been a sorrow for me see what had become of a race that was once so full of laughter."
Raven hopped down off of the chair, anxious to be away now that his piece was said. "I'll leave to your work," he mumbled. "Gilmin is expecting me to help him… move some logs."
Nimoë laughed under her breath as the Hobbit scurried from the room. Move logs, indeed. She picked up her skein of soft yarn and her needles and again began to knit, eager to finish the blanket before the baby was born.
Only three days later Nimoë was strolling with Legolas along the shores of the Sea of Nurn. Her back had been bothering her all day long, with sharp twinges of pain. Anxious to relieve some of the tension, she had announced her intention of going for a walk, and Legolas had leapt up, insisting on accompanying her.
Truly she was grateful for his presence as she stared out over the inland sea. The waters sparkled a clear blue, reflecting back the sun's soft rays. Nimoë lifted her foot to take a step, but was brought up short as a sharp pain cramped across her body, radiating from her back all the way around her middle.
She gasped at the sudden intense pain and clutched for Legolas' hand, to support herself. Immediately he was at her side, his arm wrapped around her, allowing her to rest her weight against him. Relieved, Nimoë focused her whole attention on breathing and surviving the pain.
When she finally straightened she looked up and saw Legolas staring down at her, her eyes clouded with worry. "Are you alright, Nimoë? Do you need anything?"
She nodded, and bit down on her lower lip anxiously. "Aye. I need my mother."
Legolas' eyes flew wide and he stared at her. "Is it time?"
"I think so. Please, let's go back."
They had taken only a few steps when again Nimoë was folded
in half, staggered by the terrible numbing pain. Legolas held her tightly, his heart racing in fear as she breathed
raggedly, her limbs shaking.
When it was finally over, she looked up at him with tears in her eyes. "This is happening too fast, Legolas. I need my mother now."
Seeing her fear pushed Legolas over the edge. Without pausing for thought he pulled her up into his arms, although she was now a heavier burden, and ran towards the city. He did not pause when she again cried out, pulling her knees to her chest, hoping to relieve the agony of her cramping muscles.
Within minutes he reached the Healing House, and he slammed the door open with his hip, moving straight to an empty cot. "Tinunél!" he cried. "Tinunél, Nimoë needs you!"
The older Elf popped out from behind the curtain that separated her living quarters from the rest of the house. With one glance at her foster daughter, doubled in agony on the cot, she took charge of the situation. "Legolas," she commanded, "Go and fetch Finadir and Holuën. Tell them it is Nimoë's time. Then go and join your friends. I will call you when the child is born."
He stared at her aghast. "I cannot leave her!"
"Aaugh!" groaned Nimoë, from the cot. "It is too much to bear. Help me, Mother!"
Tinunél moved to Nimoë's side and bent to examine her progress. Seeing that Legolas had not moved, but remained rooted to the spot, she ordered curtly, "Get out of here now! I need help, and if you do not hurry, this babe will be born before the midwives can get here."
Finally understanding the seriousness of her plea, Legolas turned and ran.
"Pacing is not going to help, Legolas," muttered Gilmin, who was tiring of watching the Elf Prince cover the same two meters of floor time and again.
Legolas swung about, his face taut with worry. "Why will they not let me stay with her, Gilmin? She is suffering! Even Elves can die in childbirth. Her labor was so fast… What if something is seriously wrong?"
"If they need you, they will call. I wouldn't worry. Is this not the same Nimoë who single-handedly sealed Morgoth within the void? I for one do not doubt her strength," Raven replied.
Gilmin reached out and clapped Legolas on the arm. "You want to know why they will not let you stay? I'll tell you a story. When my daughter was born, I insisted on staying with my wife. Childbirth is a painful and bloody process, Legolas. Just as the baby was about to be born, it seems that I, hardened Dwarf warrior that I am, fainted dead away. Watching my wife suffer so was too much for me. I spent my daughter's first moments of life unconscious on the floor. I have heard that often happens to fathers. They do not want to have to worry about you as well. Nimoë and the babe are more important just now."
Legolas was about to respond when a brisk rap came at the door. In a moment, the Elf had crossed the floor and pulled open the door. It was Finadir, and she was smiling. "My Prince, your son is born."
Without pausing to speak, Legolas raced past the midwife, Gilmin and Raven on his heels. He ran through the lanes of the city until he reached the Healing House. There he paused, schooling himself to enter calmly, so as not to startle the baby, and he pushed open the door.
Nimoë lay propped up on a mound of pillows, her face haggard but smiling, and at her breast lay a body so tiny that Legolas could hardly comprehend it. She looked up and smiled at him wanly, for there was little energy left in her body. Carefully, she detached the infant, and turned it to face him, supporting the small fair head.
"Your son, my heart. I have decided to name him Caldarion."
