For one brief moment everyone in the room fell absolutely silent. Legolas could hear each one of their heartbeats – the healers, his dear friends, his father, and his husband. The strangely ominous thudding was soon accompanied by Aragorn's harsh breathing sounding very close to his ear. The elf knew that the rasping intake of air was a sign that the Man's emotions were intense and that being in such a state only further hindered his ability to voice the numerous thoughts and questions that were shouting in his mind. This was far from the first time he felt that way – Legolas could still keenly remember the moments that followed after he had told him that he was now mortal – and it was usually at that point when the prince sought to comfort and calm him. He couldn't do what he normally did, though, as his own mind was reeling from the news.

Poisoned. The warden of the Houses of Healing had just told him that he had been poisoned. He had ingested some kind of poisonous substance. Legolas clutched the bulge in his stomach as an irrational burst of guilt flooded his mind. That poison had not only attacked his body, but also the very existence and well being of his unborn child. 'How many times must I fail at being a father before my child is even born?' he wondered miserably as he splayed his fingers to cover the entire expanse of his stomach from view. 'Even when I try, I cannot nourish him properly! I forced – forced – my own helpless little son to endure a deadly toxin.'

Thranduil was watching him carefully, from the way he tried to shield his stomach from a world that was even crueler than he imagined to the devastated look in his eyes even when the rest of his face remained eerily passive. He could easily guess what was going on in his son's mind and was not about to stand for it. "My Little Greenleaf," he said insistently, placing his hand on Legolas' chin and gently urging him to look his way. "This is not your doing. Someone else tried to harm you and your son, but both of you survived and are well because you are strong. Do you understand me, ion nin? You are the reason that your son is alive. You bear none of the responsibility for his jeopardy."

Aragorn sifted through all of the questions and comments in his mind, seeking out one that would be most relevant. "How – how have you come to this determination?" he croaked out. He told himself that it was a helpful question; it would allow the healers to go through the diagnosis process again to get a clearer idea about what had really happened. And that was the crux of it: Aragorn wanted them to come up with another reason why Legolas had become so ill so quickly. The last thing he wanted was to believe that anyone would be capable of poisoning the being he'd loved for 71 years.

"You know next to nothing about elven health and no one has enough knowledge on how pregnancy can affect a male's body!" he continued. "What if there is a natural cause for all of this and you're passing it over because you just don't know about it? I won't have the lives of my husband and son threatened by calling this a pois-pois – what you're calling it and letting a potentially serious illness go untreated."

The warden's expression grew incredulous but Ioreth's was only softened even more by concern and compassion. "We're only saying this because we can't find another explanation," she said carefully. "I for one would be more than happy to find out that we were wrong. King Thranduil, you've been around pregnant male elves before; can you remember any of them going through something like what the prince has?"

"Never," declared the elven king grimly.

"Sire, you are skilled in the art of elvish healing," she went on, turning to Aragorn. "Can you recall any affliction that would bring on all of that pain and sickness?"

Aragorn's mouth went dry as the only thing that came to mind was the hated word poisoning. "No."

"Because there is no other explanation, no matter how badly we all wish that it were not so," added Thranduil, sending a disapproving frown in his son-in-law's direction. Aragorn ducked his head briefly as he realized how very much he was acting like that child in Rivendell again.

"Perhaps the king would feel more confident in your diagnosis if you told us exactly why you believe that poison from the irila flower is the reason for Legolas' illness and how you came to such a conclusion," suggested Eowyn.

"Of course, my lady," nodded the warden. "As you know, the Lords Elladan and Elrohir did not leave the city without first instructing us in some basic knowledge of elven bodies and I believe we have learned even more in the last month or so. However, we'd exhausted all of what we knew without coming across an answer that seemed even plausible and almost gave up hope that we would be able to understand this at all without the lords' presence. Thankfully, King Thranduil and Lord Gimli recalled that the prince had noted that the honey he'd eaten yesterday had a rather odd taste, but they could only describe what he'd mentioned because they had not had any of it themselves."

"Too sweet," interjected Gimli. "He said it was too sweet."

"Sickeningly sweet," remembered Legolas in a faint voice. He shuddered a bit at how appropriate that description had truly been.

"There are some poisons that are tasteless, making it difficult to figure out when an illness is caused by their ingestion or not; but others do alter the taste of the food that they've been mixed in with," continued the warden. "The king and lord were gracious enough to assist the healing women, the other healers, and I in pouring through all of the herb books that we could find, disallowing those that didn't fit in some way until we were left with one that is readily available and causes the symptoms that the prince experienced. That poison is the essence of the irila flower."

Legolas shook his head and squeezed his eyes open and shut a few times. Perhaps the muffled feeling in his mind was affecting his ability to understand the situation properly. It was already making the world around him blur. "I can't – I can't – I don't believe that I'm quite making sense of this," he asserted softly. "The vomiting and pain came only a few minutes after I ate the honey. How could the poison affect me so rapidly? On top of that, I wasn't able to keep it down long enough for it to cause any serious damage. Why would someone choose to use a poison that wouldn't be tolerated by the body?"

"We were most fortunate indeed that your body rejected the substance before it could harm you or your child in a permanent way," the warden said. He paused briefly as he pondered just how much of the probable explanation he should offer freely. "Some of the credit must go to you, Prince Legolas, for I believe that, as an elf, your body was able to deal more efficiently with such an attack on your health. The nature of the irila also plays a part in it. I suspect it was chosen more for its convenience than for ease of use or effectiveness."

"Maybe whoever did this wasn't trying to kill him," blurted out Pippin hopefully. "They might have just wanted to…they could have been…of, I don't know…." His voice trailed off and Merry put his arms around him.

"You misunderstand, Master Took; my statement had nothing to do with the potency of the irila's poison," elaborated the warden. "I merely meant that, as Master Gamgee stated, the flower is quite lovely and therefore was selected for many of the new gardens in Minas Tirith. It is very easy to obtain without having to purchase it from someone, but it is difficult to mix and dole out the required dosage. When brewed improperly, the final potion would bring on symptoms identical to that of the prince's while being vile enough that the body purges it before the toxin can take hold."

The Man was withholding something. Aragorn could tell from his tone and rigid body language that there was more to it than that. He was not going to tolerate the warden taking such discretions when the matter was as important as Legolas' and the baby's health. "What else?" he demanded, his voice deliberately paced and just as deadly as any poison. "You are hiding something and I can promise you that if you continue to do so, you'll regret it."

Gulping nervously, the warden went on. "The body of any being will naturally reject what should not be in there, especially when the invading substance reacts violently with its normal functions. Such a process is generally expedited as a larger quantity of it is introduced into someone's system."

"Don't say twenty words when five will do," ordered Aragorn darkly, holding Legolas tightly as the elf closed his eyes to hide his fearful and anguished reaction. "And don't bother trying to hide the truth in long words. I can still understand what you mean, but it makes me think that you've got a reason for not wanting me to."

Pippin tentatively raised his hand. "Excuse me," he said apologetically as his eyes darted from one pale and shaken face to the next. "I – I didn't really understand all of that."

"It's all quite simple, Pippin," replied Legolas his voice trembling as his face remained stoic. "He just said that whoever tried to kill me and my son might have only failed because they gave me too much poison."

"Laddie," Gimli began, groping for the magic words that would be able to comfort the elf that he'd come to regard as his son.

"It's all right, Gimli. In fact, it's really very funny." Legolas let out a choked laugh that was more than a little hysterical. Merry, Pippin, Sam, Eowyn, and the healers inched closer to the bed while Aragorn, Thranduil, and Gimli all hovered even closer to the prince. All were fearful that the emotional shock of the situation had become more than he could handle. "It truly is. This person hated us both with such a passion that he actually put too much poison into my food and ended up saving our lives. I wonder if he'd be able to appreciate the irony of it all as much as I do. I mean, how many people can say that their assassin saved them?"

He sucked in one deep breath as the last of the strength that was holding his body upright gave way and his eyes rolled back. Legolas would have crashed down into the mattress were in not for the supportive arms of his husband and father. "Mela!" cried Aragorn. 'It's just the shock,' he told himself firmly though a part of his mind screamed that the poison might have worked better than anyone thought.

"I'm so dizzy," groaned Legolas weakly. "Why can't I hold my head up when it feels so light?"

Aragorn moved Legolas' head so that he could look him in the eyes. "Stay with me, my love, my life," he urged before yelling at the healers: "Do something!"

"He'll be all right, my king! He just needs a little food and water," cried Ioreth as she scrambled out of the door. "I fetch something for him right away."

"No!" Legolas shouted after her, but she was already gone.

"No?" repeated the warden, his tone as grave as his expression. "You cannot refuse nourishment after going without for so long. If you aren't willing to eat for your own good, at least do so for the baby –"

"Stop it!" screamed Legolas as everything that he was feeling finally spilled over. "Stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it! I can't do this anymore! First you tell me to eat more because I'm hurting my baby when I don't. I do what you say and I ended up hurting him because of it. What do I do, Aragorn? What in the name of Elbereth am I supposed to do? Will it be better for him to starve to death or be poisoned? All I wanted was for him to be healthy but I can't even provide him a place where that is possible. I'm sorry, my son." He fell forward and again Aragorn's arms supported him. "I'm so sorry, my love."

If ever there was time that he needed to be strong for his husband, this was it. Aragorn didn't hesitate, didn't show how afraid he was at seeing Legolas in such a state, as he held the elf in a firm embrace. Legolas melted against him as he cried, clinging to his clothing as if he thought someone was going to try to force one of them away. Then and there Aragorn resolved to leave the child he had been where he belonged – in the past. Those juvenile traits were all well and good for happy, private occasions with his loved ones but had no place in that room now. Legolas and their child were depending on the Man – the adult – that the prince had fallen in love with.

"You are going to be able to eat. I'm going to make it safe for you to eat," he declared and no one who heard his words doubted him for a second. "If I have to make every morsel of food from scratch myself I'll do it."

"I don't think it'll have to come to that."

All eyes turned to Sam, who'd been standing quietly up to that point, contemplating how truly horrible someone would have to be to try to hurt an elf, and in such a sneaky and disgraceful way at that. "You said it yourself, King Thranduil, when we went to see you in Ithilien before coming to Minas Tirith: hobbit food's good for Legolas and I don't think that's been any more true than it is now. I'd be happy to cook for him now, if you're willing, Mr. Legolas."

"That is very generous of you, Master Gamgee," said Thranduil. "Truly a gesture worthy of a Baggins and for me there exists no higher praise for a hobbit."

"It certainly is," Aragorn agreed. "Normally, I wouldn't ask such an honored guest to take on this amount of work…"

"And you didn't. I said I'd cook for him and I will," reiterated Sam with determination. His eyes hardened and Aragorn suddenly remembered that sweet, simple gardener Sam was also the hobbit who'd defeated Shelob, entered Cirith Ungol alone, fought with Gollum, and walked through Mordor to the Crack of Doom to help a friend. "And I won't let nobody do nothing to it neither."

"Thank you Sam," hiccupped Legolas. "I – I think I'd feel better knowing that you made it."

Sam nodded in acknowledgement and took off out the door to catch up with Ioreth before she returned to the room with a food-laden tray. "Thank Elbereth for him," breathed Aragorn. "Can you think of anything else you need, my love?"

"Yes. I need to know who did this to us," Legolas replied and frowned petulantly as the others exchanged meaningful looks. "Oh for the Valar's sake, am I not allowed a moment of weakness without being treated by an invalid? I admit I'm afraid, but that's why I have to know."

Merry shifted uncomfortably. "It's not that we don't think you can handle it," he said. "I for one just can't think of anyone that could, well, hate you enough to pull something like this."

"Spoken like a true hobbit," commented Thranduil dryly. "My guess is that this person's motives involved nothing as simple as liking or hating. You, my Little Greenleaf, are the king's husband and bear his heir. This whole affair reeks of a political assassination."

'And political maneuvering this horrible, convoluted, and underhanded would naturally lead to…' Aragorn grimaced. "Eowyn, where is your husband?"

"At a meeting with the delegation from the Lonely Mountain," she answered. A look of confusion crossed the king's face, only to give way to one of frustrated realization the next moment. "He understood why you forgot," she explained, "and only wanted to help in whatever way he could."

"I swear, Faramir is worth more than all the mithril in the world," said Aragorn, rubbing his forehead. "Let's see; that meeting was supposed to end – about five minutes from now. Legolas, will you mind if I leave you for a brief time?"

"I think I'll manage," replied Legolas wryly, sounding exhausted.

"I won't leave his side," Thranduil interjected.

Legolas cast his father an understanding smile. "What are you planning to do?" he asked Aragorn.

"I need to send out some messengers to all the advisors," he answered in an eerily calm manner. "By that time the meeting will have concluded and Faramir will be available to help me prepare for their arrival. Then we're going to have a meeting."

His voiced sounded too much like the one he used when he was about to fight orcs and it did nothing to calm Legolas' nerves. "Please mela; I know what you're thinking but don't do anything rash until we have more than suspicions."

Aragorn held back every dark emotion he was feeling. "I swear on our love that I won't," he promised. "I only intend to handle them in a manner befitting a king. Who else would know more about political intrigues than the advisors' council?"

He squeezed his husband one last time, kissing his temple before rising to his feet. The quiet hostility between him and the council had been annoying at best, but he'd tolerated it if only for the sake of his people's peace of mind. That couldn't happen anymore. For better or worse, the council was the way to find the assassin before he could strike again. Aragorn was certain that whoever was behind this poison plot was one of them, and he had an inkling of just who that was.

To be continued…