It was a waking nightmare for Aragorn. One moment he'd been talking to Faramir about various political matters that he didn't feel comfortable discussing in front of the advisors' council and the next he was flying from the room, from the citadel, and all the way to the Houses of Healing. This was the second time in less than two months that he'd done such a thing, and under the exact same circumstances: Legolas was mysteriously ill and had lost consciousness before a healer could talk to him.
'No,' he corrected himself silently as he raced up the stairs toward the area of the Houses that had been reserved for Legolas' care after they found out he was pregnant. 'The circumstances are not exactly the same.' The previous time, the supposed illness was really just symptoms of a most blessed occurrence and his husband had been discharged the same day. Aragorn knew that wouldn't happen that day.
Abdominal pains. Vomiting. Convulsions. Just thinking about Legolas enduring such things was like a knife to the Man's heart. What if the baby was in distress? Could all of those symptoms be signs that Legolas wouldn't be able to carry their son to term? For all he knew, the baby could already be dead…oh Eru. He let out a choked sob at the thought of losing the child that he and Legolas created together without even getting the chance to hold him…listen to his heartbeat…count all of his fingers and toes…even name him…
No! That didn't have to happen, even if the circumstances were as bad as he was imagining. Legolas was far enough along – nearing seven months at the very least and most likely more than that – so there was a chance that the baby could survive an early delivery. After all, he was of elven and Numenorian descent; if any infant could live through a premature birth, it would be their son. Perhaps a more relevant question would be whether or not his husband could survive it. The natural birth passage that the twins thought would appear had yet to form, meaning that if the baby had to be delivered that day they would have to cut him open. The healers, the same healers that were still rather unfamiliar with elven bodies, would have to perform that dangerous and potentially deadly procedure at a time when Legolas' healing capacity was diminished because of the pregnancy. What if he was forced to choose between Legolas' life and that of their son's? What if he chose the wrong one and lost both of them anyway?
'Oh Elbereth, Valar, Eru – however may be listening – take pity on me!' he begged. 'I cannot lose either of them. Grief is not usually fatal to the race of Men, but I would not live through it if I did.'
Thranduil and Gimli were already there when he finally reached his destination, sitting as still as if they were made of the same stone as the bench beneath them. Neither acknowledged his arrival and the implications of that nearly caused Aragorn to empty the contents of his stomach onto the floor. "What's going on?" he demanded, almost hysterical. "Is Legolas – is our baby – please tell me that they're going to be all right! They have to be well; they can't – " he stopped, struggling to compose himself. "I need to know the truth, be it good or ill. Tell me, what have the healers said?"
"We can't tell you anything like that, lad," replied Gimli grimly. "No one's said a single thing to us since we came here with him. There hasn't been enough time or clues to figure out exactly what brought all of this on."
"There was no warning," said Thranduil. The elven king, who – in his son-in-law's mind – was always in control of his emotions, sounded as if he shocked into a stupor. Aragorn doubted that he would so much as flinch if one of Mithrandir's old fireworks was set off right next to his ear. "We were just talking and eating and he was laughing about that day when he was just a little elfling, when he stained his hair red because he thought it would excuse him from court. He wanted to play and shoot his arrows, not listen to troubadours. And then – and then he was in pain. Why did I not let him play, Gimli? He was just a child; he did not need to hear all of those songs when he did not want to, but I made him do so. I am so sorry, ion nin, my most precious Little Greenleaf..."
"Now, now, there's no need for that, Thranduil," Gimli told him comfortingly, squeezing his hands as they began to tremble violently. "It was just a memory and one that brought him a lot of amusement at that. What happened back then didn't cause what happened today."
"I'm sorry to interrupt," spoke up Faramir from behind Aragorn, "but does anyone even have a guess at what did bring all of this on? Perhaps we could help the healers in their task by figuring out a few explanations."
The king started, not having realized that Faramir had been following close on his heels ever since he rang out of their meeting mid-sentence. "What brings you here?" he asked though he was grateful for his calming presence no matter what the reason for it was.
Faramir flashed him a humorless smile. "Someone here must remain rational at all times," he said. "Since there's only the three of you here right now and the patient is Prince Legolas, I'm afraid that duty will have to fall on me. How I wish Mithrandir was here!"
"Or Ada," murmured Aragorn as Elrond's face flashed into his mind.
"Your husband needs us to be as strong for him as they would be, sire," Faramir said gently. "Now please concentrate, King Thranduil, master dwarf: was there no warning at all that something like this would happen? Perhaps something that might have appeared insignificant and unrelated at the time?"
"I cannot – I cannot –" said Thranduil, unable to focus on the question as the image of his child convulsing on the floor continued to flood his vision. Beside him, Gimli shook his head.
"What about pregnant males in the past?" pressed Faramir. "I was under the impression that this type of pregnancy makes the elf more susceptible to illness. Do you remember anyone else experiencing this, King Thranduil?"
Thranduil looked at him sharply. "From an elven standpoint, Legolas is in danger of becoming downright sickly" he said, his voice harsh and distraught at the same time, "but he still has more resistance to illness than Men do. This sort of occurrence is not normal for a elven male pregnancy."
"Nor for any other type!" interjected Gimli. "If this were happening to Eowyn, Rose Gamgee, or any other mortal woman no one would be even considering that it was normal. It's not natural to be talking about pleasant and unpleasant things and then just become violently ill without warning."
"Unpleasant things?" Faramir raised his eyebrows. Maybe Legolas' sudden illness was brought on by emotion. Wasn't grief one of the few things that would kill an elf? It didn't seem likely that the serene prince would get worked up enough to succumb so rapidly, but then again he never imagined him yelling and crying until he witnessed it himself in almost the very same place they were in at the moment. Right now wasn't the time to ignore possible explanations, no matter how implausible they seemed. "What about his emotional state? Was he upset about anything?"
"This is Legolas we're discussing," answered Gimli as he shifted somewhat uncomfortably in his seat. "He wouldn't want to bother us with such matters, especially when it was the first meal we were able to share together in weeks. Whatever may be bothering the laddie, I know he's more than able to handle it himself without driving himself to this state."
Aragorn didn't miss the small catch in his voice nor the way that the dwarf glanced quickly at Thranduil, who was staring at the Man with an unreadable expression on his face. "Nothing?" asked Aragorn pointedly, narrowing his eyes at his father-in-law. "No one said anything or did anything thoughtless that would upset Legolas while his emotions are so high and unpredictable?" By the Valar, if he somehow provoked this, he'd send him packing that instant!
Thranduil's eyes grew cold and even Faramir – son of Denethor, husband of the Witch-king slayer Eowyn; who'd faced orcs and ridden unflinching into certain death in Osgiliath – stepped back nervously, lest he get stuck standing between the two kings. "He was upset about something, even though he was trying not to show it," the elf stated icily through clenched teeth.
"And what would that be?" demanded a fierce Aragorn.
"The laddie can deal with this matter himself, Thranduil," said Gimli, though he had little hope that his words would soothe the enraged elf. "It's none of your business, or mine; and you know that it's not the reason why he's here."
No one was surprised when Thranduil ignored him. "You," he hissed, putting all of his fury into that one short word. "It was you, Aragorn; he was upset because of you."
"That's – that's not true," stammered Aragorn, faltering a bit under the elven king's accusations. "I wasn't there! How could I be the reason?"
"I do not wish to hear your denials or excuses!" Thranduil shouted angrily at him. "He is seven months pregnant and you are acting as if you were still that child in Rivendell. You are no longer little Estel, playing in the corner of Elrond's study while he conducts business! Why are you making my child worry about political maneuvering and potential revolts just because you refuse to handle your advisors' council in a manner befitting a king?"
The very breath caught in the back of Aragorn's throat. "You have no right to tell me how to manage my own court," he seethed, not noticing the way that Faramir looked away and down at the floor. "There are Men on that council who would like nothing more than see Legolas torn from my side. I cannot trust them."
"Of course you should not place unquestioning faith in their loyalty and wisdom," snapped Thranduil in a condescending tone. "However, there is no reason why you cannot use them to their fullest potential. Every moment you spend dealing with matters that could have easily been handled during one of those infernal meetings is another moment that you are not there to support and care for Legolas. He needs you by his side, Aragorn."
Aragorn felt his stomach clench as the truth of those words sunk in.
"I came here to – to be with him, but I – I cannot take your – your p-p-place in his life," Thranduil continued, finding it harder and harder to speak as his anger deflated and emotion choked him. "No matter what else I thought about you, I have believed since the day of your wedding that you loved him more than anything and that you would be a good husband; now you are proving me wrong on both counts. Oh, I cannot stand to even look at you now."
Silence overwhelmed the room after Thranduil ran out. "Don't take his words too much to heart," Gimli finally said sagely. "This has been difficult for him in so many ways. When Legolas – when he collapsed Thranduil threw himself to the ground next to him, skinning his knees, getting vomit on his clothing, and swallowing his fear as best he could so that he could comfort the laddie but he couldn't do anything to ease his pain or calm him down. Legolas only said one thing as he convulsed on that floor: he kept calling for you Aragorn. Not for Thranduil, me, or anyone else; just you. That was a painful blow to his father."
The king nodded numbly. "Go after him, please," he said softly. "Legolas will need him here if anything – when he wakes up."
Faramir put his hand on his back as Gimli exited out of the same doorway that Thranduil went through a few moments earlier. "This is all my fault," Aragorn whispered as his composure crumbling as the tears began to flow.
"Aragorn," crooned Faramir, unable to think of anything else to say.
"I told Legolas that I was going to be strong for him and then I put him through all of this," he sobbed, burying his face in his hands. "How could I fail my husband and son so utterly?"
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOIt didn't take Gimli very long to find the elven king; being a wood elf, Thranduil would retreat outside to seek the comfort of nature while his fatherly instincts would keep him as close as possible to the Houses of Healing. The dwarf had only taken a few strides out the main doors before spotting his fried stilling on the ground just off of the stone-paved path that led to and from the building.
Neither spoke for a while after he sat down beside the still figure. "He didn't have to," said Gimli quietly.
"Pardon me?"
"Legolas," he elaborated. "You were already by his side and he knew it; he didn't have to waste his energy calling for you."
Thranduil choked back a sob. "There was nothing that I could do to help him, Gimli," he said, his voice never sounding so small before. "His body was wracked with spasms and he was in such pain and I could not make it better."
The last of his control shattered and Gimli embraced his friend to keep him from collapsing completely. "That laddie is stronger than you realize," the dwarf promised. "He stood before the Black Gates; do you really think that something like this will defeat him after enduring that?"
"I cannot do this," cried Thranduil brokenly. "I cannot lose both my son and my grandson! Is it not enough that I will one day have to bury Legolas? Please, I will do anything to make that day not be today."
Tears stung Gimli's eyes as he squeezed him closer. "Neither of them are going anywhere," he said. "Just you wait, my friend; in a few days Legolas will be well and back to teasing us and complaining about his – " he drew a sharp intake of breath – " about his food."
The elf's head snapped up. "His food," he gasped, gripping Gimli's arm. "Legolas said that his bread and honey tasked strange. Did you eat any?"
"Not the honey; I never liked that stuff."
"And I never acquired a taste for Man and hobbit food," replied Thranduil as his mind spun. "Do you think…"
"It wouldn't hurt to tell the healers about it," Gimli told him as they rose to their feet. "Nothing can be dismissed without consideration right now."
Distracted by their new insight and in a rush to get inside and share it with the healers, they failed to notice Gloin standing a little way down the path. He noticed them, though, watching and hearing everything as he glared, willing them - daring them - to look his way. Scowling at their retreating backs, he stalked off in the opposite direction as he began formulating a new plan on how to handle Gimli's friendships with the elf that had wronged him and his spawn.
To be continued…