Disclaimer: Obviously, nothing from Tolkien's world belongs to me. I'm just having a little fun.

A/N: Sorry for such a late update, but my computer was giving me a few problems. It's fixed now, but I'm not sure I'll be able to update very often as I've my exams from Monday.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"No!", she screamed, "No! Do not take him away! I beg of you! Please, give him back! Elan! Elan", her cries subsided into violent sobs as she struggled against the restraining arms of an orc. Another orc was trying to put a stop to Elan's faint cries. Finding that pinching and shaking him was of little use, he set him on the ground.

"Do you see this? Eh? Do you see this shiny dagger? And if you don't stop bawling it'll go right through your filthy throat! Elf scum".

Laurelin looked up at this remark, fearing for her son. Desperate to escape, she kicked the orc holding her back wherever she could get at him and tried to grab Elan from the floor. As she bent, pain shot through her side. Laurelin cried out in despair, as she felt strong arms pin her to the ground. Death was coming to her, she thought, and Elan as well. It was her last thought before despair, fear and pain claimed her and she looked upon her beloved son for the last time.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Laurel", Legolas shook her awake. She opened her eyes, her body sweating and shaking.

"I saw him, Legolas. It was the last time I saw him", she said softly, before he took her in his arms and silenced her.

"Hush. It is over now.", he said, stroking her golden hair. Laurelin laid her head on his shoulder and tightened her arms around him. She could have saved him, she told herself. She could have stayed conscious for Elan's sake. Laurelin hated herself at that moment. She had been weak. She had failed in her duty as a mother.

"Legolas, do you hate me?", she asked him suddenly, moving away from him.

"Why would you think so, a'maelamin?".

"How could you love me now?", she asked him, "How could you love the one who murdered your own son?

"Laurelin", Legolas said, his eyes flashing, "Did I not say that you are not to blame? I will not have you accuse yourself so".

"You are certain?", she asked him, her voice small and trusting, like a child's. He nodded, unable to speak. She leaned forward and kissed him, before shutting her eyes again.

Legolas waited a few moments, and when he was sure that she was not still troubled by misplaced guilt, he walked quietly out and went into the garden nearby. Walking in the cool night air, he pondered over the immense change in Laurelin. Her plaintive appeal for assurance had brought tears to his eyes.

She was so vulnerable, and so--exposed. He wondered if her former self would ever surface again. He had heard of elves who had gone mad with grief and, worst of all--they had died a slow, lingering death. She should not die, he told himself, he would not let her die. Legolas could not imagine life without her. Would he even be able to go on living?

But Elan -Legolas had still not even registered his son's death. It all seemed unreal, a nightmare of some sort, from which he would wake up at any time. And yet, the cruelty and injustice of his death made it all real. Very real. How could fate be so cruel as to give him such a precious gift, only to snatch it away so abruptly, before it had even begun to blossom? It was unfair.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"What was that?", Laurelin stiffened as she felt a sudden movement inside her. It was repeated again, and this time, she recognized it for what it was. She jumped, or rather would have, if her current weight had allowed it, and rushed out of the room as fast as she could. The Elves in the corridor made way for her as she walked past them, with indulgent smiles all around, as if they knew why their Princess was in such a hurry. Laurelin did not stop until she had reached the doors of the main hall of Mirkwood where the King usually held council.

"Where is Legolas?", she gasped, entering the room suddenly. The Elves looked up, surprised at the interruption. They smiled however, when they saw Laurelin. Allowances could be made for heavily pregnant Elves. Thranduil gave Legolas leave to see what the matter was and he quietly said that she had better be calmed, so much excitement was not good.

"What is it?", Legolas asked, "You know you should not interrupt council meetings", as Laurelin led him to a corner of the courtyard. Laurelin smiled mysteriously and remained silent.

"Feel this", she said softly, taking his hand and placing it on her stomach. The baby inside moved again, most obligingly and Legolas had a puzzled look on his face before enlightenment dawned.

"He is moving", he said, a wondrous look on his face. Laurelin smiled at his usage of 'he'. Legolas was predicting that their baby would be a boy, while she said it would be a girl.

"Yes, she is", Laurelin said, and they both laughed.

"Was this not worth leaving your council for?"

"A thousand times and more"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Legolas", Laurelin's soft voice could hardly be heard through the chirping of crickets.

"Laurel", Legolas began reproachfully, "You should not be here, you are supposed to be resting".

"I could not sleep, I could not be alone", she said simply, moving closer to him.

"You are troubled by dreams, are you not?", he drew her closer, putting his arm about her. Laurelin did not answer.

"I am troubled by the past, by the memories of "- she faltered, "Sing to me please Legolas, your voice will soothe me". Her voice was plaintive and child-like. Legolas was struck by the difference—the Laurelin of old would never choose to appear as vulnerable as this, save perhaps in jest.

"Come then, and let me put you to sleep", Legolas led her away from the garden, walking slowly, for she was still weak. Laurelin laid her head on Legolas and he began singing softly to her, caressing the golden hair.

"Fanuilos, le linnathon, nef aer, si nef aeron!*", he finished, and Laurelin had shut her eyes and her breathing was deep and regular. He kissed her forehead and laid her back onto the bed.

"May you find rest, melamin", he whispered tears in his blue eyes, before closing the door and retiring to his own chambers.

*- The last line of a hymn to Varda, found on page 231 of LOTR: FOTR.