For a moment Legolas' mind and body were frozen in disbelief. He couldn't move, speak, or even think properly. Apparently all he was capable of doing was staring, first at that knife that shone brightly and treacherously in the sunlight; then up into the face of the dead-eyed woman who was wielding it. This simply couldn't be happening; it was utterly – absurd. After all of the precautions taken, the days spent in hiding in his bedchamber, the worry of his family and friends, the tension in the city, and the additional strain on his marriage, the solution to the puzzle couldn't be this basic. He wasn't prepared to accept that.

"Lady Nienor," he managed to force out as he slowly stood up. Why did his legs feel so odd? If he didn't know any better he would have assumed that they wouldn't be able to support his weight. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Sit down!" she shrieked, swiping the knife wildly at him. Legolas pulled himself back down onto the bench, but not soon enough. The sound of the fabric of his tunic tearing echoed inhis ears and he felt a horrifying sting at his stomach. "I have to do this, Prince Legolas. You and your baby have to die."

'She killed my baby,' he thought in a panic, but in the next moment he realized that it wasn't true. The injury was but a scratch; bleeding, yes, but not life-threatening to either of them. What it meant, though, was that she not only had the mindset to harm his and his son, but also the ability. A direct attack probably wasn't her first choice in achieving her ends, but then again this most likely wasn't the first time she tried to eliminate them.

"You were the one who poisoned me," accused Legolas as a surge of fury coursed through his being. He could fight her and win; after all, he was an elven prince trained in combat and a member of the Fellowship of the Ring and she was a Gondorian noblewoman who'd never so much as participated in a scrimmage. However, she had one advantage over him: she was armed and he wasn't. With the prospect of being able to go outside again he hadn't thought of taking his knives or bow with him; no one else had mentioned it because he wasn't supposed to be left alone and the guards were undoubtedly armed anyway. It would have to be hand-to-hand combat and the bulge in his stomach still held the stinging reminder of what happened the last time he got too close. Having the knife meant that she didn't have to be the more-skilled warrior; she just had to get in a lucky thrust.

"I had to," she insisted angrily, sounding miffed that he wasn't understanding her plight. "It didn't have to be like this. I tried to give you both a more peaceful death, but you refused to give in. You gave me no choice."

He could always run away, leave her and her vile insanity in his wake and not stop until he found a guard. But he was seated and she'd made it clear that she didn't want him to stand up. Legolas curled his fingers around his belly and felt a bit of warm liquid along with the usual radiance of life given off by his son. She'd tried to take that life away and he wasn't about to just flee and let her think that she possessed some power over him. Besides, he'd been relaxing since Elladan and Elrohir had told him about his pregnancy – as per their instructions – and he was therefore unaccustomed to running with the added weight and unusual balance. He was still more swift, graceful, and agile than mortals, but what if that day was the one day that he tripped? He wasn't going to risk injury in any way by doing such a detestable thing as running unless he had no other option.

There was nothing he could do but stall until he figured out a plan. "Lady Nienor, I don't know what has driven you to commit such terrible acts and want our blood on your hands," he said, his voice deliberate and artificially calm. "But I do know that you can try to make amends for it all right now: put the knife down and just leave this all behind you. No permanent damage has been done to me or my son, so the exile that your father is going into would be considered a suitable punishment for you as well. All you need to do is walk away."

"Walk away, walk away, walk away," Nienor repeated quietly to herself, wrapping her tongue around the words as if they were a novelty. "That would make you very happy, would it not? You could continue to claim what is rightfully mine without a care in the world. Well, I will do no such thing, Prince Legolas! You are living my life and I want it back no matter what."

Oh dear Elbereth; she was truly delusional. 'Think of a plan,' he silently ordered himself. Maybe he could climb up into the boughs of one of the surrounding trees. Surely she wouldn't be able to climb faster or higher than him, a wood elf from the dense forest of Mirkwood. But that plan came with all of the strikes that kept him from running with the additional problem of what he would do if he actually made it. He didn't relish the thought of leaping from tree to tree – if he was still able to do that adequately in his pregnant state – in search of assistance, and the idea of being cornered in one, trapped with no real options, but this mad woman certainly didn't appeal either. Whatever he did, his feet would remain on the land.

"I don't understand what you mean by that, my lady," he told her imploringly. "You were a noblewoman before I came here and remain one still. I had nothing to do with my husband's decision to exile your father. I can think of nothing that I've stolen from you, and my child is even more innocent than I."

"Innocent? You stole my husband from me!" she roared, enraged and gesturing wildly with the knife. Legolas unconsciously pulled back and grasped his stomach protectively to keep from making an impulsive grab from the weapon. "I am of noble descent, born and reared in Gondor to be the perfect wife for the one Man powerful enough to rule this great realm of Men. Yet when my time finally came I was passed over in favor of an amorous elf. You'd already seduced King Elessar before I was born and made him feel obligated to marry you by shedding your immortality against his will. I am not ignorant to your schemes. Because of them I was not even given a chance to fulfill my destiny!"

There was no mistaking who her father was – Cirion's words were flowing out of her mouth. Perhaps he should counter with some words of his own: a call for the guards. Why had he sent them away in the first place? Legolas stared hard into her face, assessing her moods. She was agitated, of course, but still willing to talk to him. Her mind was most likely full of perceived injustices that he'd brought upon her and she seemed relieved to finally have an outlet to voice them. Calling for the guards would probably provoke an attack that would place his son's life in jeopardy.

The mere thought of the guards, however, finally helped him formulate a plan: he would keep her talking until one of the guards returned, or Aragorn, his father, or Gimli came looking for him. She didn't look like she had prepared to deal with anyone but him, so the sudden appearance of someone else might just serve as enough distraction to let him disarm and subdue her at last. Admittedly, it wasn't a spectacular strategy but it was his best chance and Legolas was in no position to be selective.

"I didn't get married with the desire to offend you or anyone else," he stated. "Political ambition didn't inspire me to trick the king either by flesh or through his sense of duty. I love Aragorn and have done so since before I even knew that he could claim the throne of Gondor."

"There – there!" asserted Nienor triumphantly as she pointed the knife at him as if it were one of her fingers. "A proper spouse should not call her husband by his name without stating his proper title first. That was not even a part of my formal lessons – it is common knowledge for any noblewoman. You do not even possess enough reverence for him to call him by his kingly mantle. That private name falls from your lips so easily, as if you were in the throes of passion with him right now! A spouse shares a great Man's public life; a lover indulges his private needs."

The contemptible lessons of her father had been well-learned, he observed. "We share our lives, both public and private," Legolas told her, sounding a bit defensive. "He would have it no other way, for there were only ten years of his life when he didn't love me."

"I would not have made him give you up after our marriage," she insisted. "Males need their beautiful, untamed distractions. People like me are meant to be presented proudly to all the lands and creatures like you are supposed to fulfill those base, carnal desires and be the topic of boasting after formal gatherings when the men talk about unimportant things."

"Marriage and those 'base, carnal needs' are not so mutually exclusive," he reminded her. "It is by those means that children come into the world."

"I know that!" she snapped. "But a proper spouse takes no pleasure in it and has the dignity to keep out of the public eye while evidence of the joining still remains in her belly. I have no doubt that you enjoyed the act just as much as you enjoy flaunting the result of it." Her eyes dropped to his stomach. "The heir of the kingdom should be my child, not some half-breed spawned from an elf whore!"

"The line of kings descended from the union of an elf and a Man," Legolas informed her frostily while inwardly seething at how dismissive and uncaring she was about his baby. "And this child is not just my son, but also the son of King Elessar of Gondor."

"To whom I am supposed to be queen," she countered furiously. "Why should I be denied the right to bear his heir because of you?"

"Because I'm his husband and am perfectly capable of doing that myself," he argued. "I'm well aware that many of the unmarried noblewomen dreamed –"

Nienor's face scrunched up and turned beet red while her hands fisted tightly. "They dreamed!" she screeched. Legolas was reminded suddenly of little Findowyn, after Eowyn or Faramir disciplined her while she was in a bad mood. This woman was little more than a child, and she was acting just like one by doing whatever it took to make the world conform to her simple view of what it should be. "But for them those were merely fantasies. My father told me that I was going to be the wife of the Man who ruled Gondor; not wondered, not imagined – definitively told, and spend my whole life preparing me for it."

As she ranted on, a strange movement behind her caught Legolas' eye: two hands had appeared on top of the wall, resting flat as if being braced. Then the top of a head bobbed in and out of vision and the hands crawled forward to grip the edge. Someone was trying to climb over the wall, or else was being hoisted over it! All he had to do was keep her from turning around or attacking for a few more moments and he would have all the distraction he needed to stop her once and for all. The baby seemed to sense his relief and anticipation and gave a mighty kick. 'I'm going to get you out of this mess very soon, ion nin,' he promised, knowing that he'd understand.

"Lady Nienor," he said a little too loudly. "I have no doubt that you have many attributes that a powerful Man would desire in a spouse. Why are you only fixated on mine? Your father's title and position gives you the opportunity to be matched quite well, and more appropriately, with one of the unmarried noblemen of the city. It is not unreasonable to assume that you could even marry the king of another land if attaining that title of queen is an important part of marriage to you."

"He wants me to be the queen of Gondor," she told him emphatically. "There are no other options for me."

A body was projected over the wall, landing flat on his face in the mud. Fortunately, Nienor's total preoccupation with Legolas and the softness of the soil ensured that she hadn't heard his entrance. The elf studied the figure as much as discretion and the need to stay focused on her movements would allow; he couldn't make out his identity, but the abundance and texture of the mass of hair that covered his head – not to mention his height – left no mistaking that the interloper was anything other than a dwarf. He appeared to be trying to push himself to his feet but was stumbling a bit. 'The landing must have knocked the wind out of him and left him in a daze,' thought Legolas decisively, determined to buy enough time and not set the insane woman on someone who was at a disadvantage.

"You are the daughter of Lord Cirion, a noblewoman of Gondor, and well-trained in how to act as an obedient spouse," asserted Legolas, even though the idea of obedience being the prominent quality that anyone would want of a spouse made him queasy. "There are other options."

"You cannot understand." She took a step forward; now her body totally blocked his view of the person who was trying to come to his aid, unless he moved his head in such an obvious way that even someone as delusional as she was wouldn't be able to help realizing that there was something of interest behind her. "Your father loves you, even though you are a disobedient little wretch who defied his wishes and attached yourself to my king. You have enjoyed a life-age of Middle-earth with him doting upon you, rearranging his entire life to be with you, calling you by some nauseating childish nickname. My Little Greenleaf – hrumph!" she scoffed.

"Lord Cirion has said for as long as I can remember that he is the father of the future wife of Gondor's ruler," she continued, and Legolas could see a deep pain mingled with the insanity in her eyes. "But that does not make any sense because I am his daughter. Everyone defines me as such, as you did just now; and yet I cannot be the future wife of Gondor's ruler as long as you still live. Even if I killed you and let your baby live, I would still not be the future wife of the Gondor's ruler because with that heir, King Elessar would resist the idea of remarriage. My father is not my father and I cannot be his daughter unless I at least have a chance at obtaining the title of Gondor's queen and that cannot happen while you and your child still live. Do you not finally understand, Prince Legolas? You and your son are the only obstacles standing between me and becoming the queen and I am nothing if I am not the queen of Gondor."

It was as if the whole world inhaled deeply as she raised the knife and breathed, "It was not supposed to be this way." Legolas tensed and would have let his body decide whether he was going to risk the danger of fighting or the indignity of bolting if he hadn't heard the most welcome and beautiful voice ever.

"Lass!" shouted the dwarf who'd been propelled over the wall. Nienor, startled, instantaneously spun around with the weapon still poised to attack. This was the opportunity he'd been waiting for; Legolas felt the thrill of battle as he lunged forward and seized her wrist. That action made it impossible for the mad noblewoman to do anything with the knife but move it a little bit from side to side as she struggled to free herself. The two remained locked in that position: Nienor thrashing, fighting without focus trying to get free and Legolas, fierce with parental protectiveness and being personally affronted, determined not to let that happen.

"Now! Move!" bellowed the dwarf at him and Legolas let go suddenly, leaving her disoriented and off-balance. The dwarf took advantage of the situation and proceeded with his plan, swinging the unsharpened side of his axe at her knees. She crumbled on impact and hit her head on the stone bench as she fell. Lady Nienor was finally unconscious and unable to do harm to anyone else for a long time.

It was only as she fell that Legolas was able to get a full view of the heroic dwarf. "You blasted pointy-eared fool elf!" lambasted Gloin, shaking his axe at him in a scolding manner. "What was that? I get thrown over that wall into a mud puddle, all to keep you from getting a knife in your gut, and what do you do? You provoked her by grabbing at the knife like that! You're how many months pregnant –"

"Almost eight," the elf supplied automatically.

"You're almost eight months pregnant and you think you can wrestle with anyone like that? Do you have one shred of common sense in that head of yours?"

"I apologize, master dwarf," replied Legolas, stunned. He wasn't exactly sure what he was sorry for, but how could he be expected to think clearly right then? It had been a day full of surprises and the biggest one of all was currently yelling at him. "I'm also grateful, if pleasantly surprised, by your intervention on my behalf."

"Don't go assuming you know anything about how I act in certain situations," said Gloin pointedly. "I'm a guest of this city and its king; it wouldn't do well for me to ignore a threat to his spouse and unborn child when it interrupts my thinking. Whatever grievances I have with your idiot father are between us."

"So you decided to be propelled over a wall when my words with Lady Nienor disturbed your solitude?"

Gloin gruffed a bit as he sat down next to the elf. "I wasn't alone, as you'd have been able to tell if you had any common sense. I sent a dwarf up the wall to find Gimli and another to fetch your worthless guards – one moment alone indeed!" he snorted. "But I figured that you'd need someone to pull you out of that mess before any one of them could get to you and I was right."

"You were," agreed Legolas as the unstoppable feelings that being in that situation gave him drained away and he was left with all of the other emotions. As certain as he'd been that he would find a way to somehow subdue her, the fact remained that someone had wanted to kill his child to the point where she took a knife to the bulge in his stomach. What if she'd succeeded? Tears started sliding down his cheeks at the thought of losing his son. "Thank you."

Comforting words were probably called for at a time like this but dwarves were not a race adept at offering such things and Gloin wasn't quite used to the idea of speaking them to an elf. "Of all the stupid stunts to pull," he continued to chide, though his voice did soften. The wood elf didn't seem so much life his prideful father; in fact he was even unobjectionable most of the time. Jumping into the scuff so rashly was something that a dwarf would do – maybe years in the presence of Gimli had rubbed off. At any rate, Gloin found that he could begin to understand his son's attachment to him. "No wonder Gimli's so stuck on staying here with you. Where would you be without good dwarvish sense?"

Legolas smiled faintly. "I'm glad I don't have to find out."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Aragorn drew many stares as he dashed through the streets of Minas Tirith toward Legolas' garden but he didn't care. Such behavior could be explained away later; the important thing right now was not his image but getting to his husband as fast as he possibly could. Oh, why hadn't he left the meeting sooner?

After Merry's revelation about the gender of the would-be assassin, the king and his advisors immediately began discussing the new suspects and motives that it revealed to them. It was the first time in days that he felt they were discussing anything substantial and he'd gotten so caught up in finally experiencing a breakthrough that he focused all of his being solely on what he could discern from it. Because of this one-mindedness, a thought that should have occurred to him right away didn't dawn on him for a few good minutes: Legolas' guards wouldn't make a conscious effort to protect him from a woman. Not even Thranduil would be very cautious if a female approached them. He'd bolted whilst Eärnil was mid-sentence and never looked back.

It felt as if an age had passed, but the garden finally came into view. Aragorn almost made it through the gate when he ran headlong into a guard. "Your majesty! I'm so sorry!" blurted out the distressed and flustered guard. "I was just coming to find you."

"What happened? Where's Legolas?" demanded Aragorn frantically as dread flooded him.

"She must have snuck into the garden before we got here," the guard explained in a disjointed fashion, still not recovered from the events that had just taken place. "And King Thranduil was called away – and the prince requested some privacy –"

"Oh Valar!" Aragorn pushed past him roughly and lunged further into that deceptively beautiful, green place so full of life when his husband and child might be dead on its grass. He came soon to a small clearing and beheld the strangest sight yet: several guards were concerned with something on the ground in front of the bench where Legolas sat between Gimli and Gloin. The elf was clutching his stomach for dear life as the dwarves talked to him animatedly; scolding him, if Aragorn was reading their body language and gestures correctly.

Legolas heard his rather noisy entrance and looked up. The relief he felt when he spotted his husband was almost painful. "Aragorn!" he called out.

"Legolas – melanin!" The Man ran over and skidded to his knees in front of Legolas. He soaked in his condition and the sight of blood – coming from his pregnant belly – made the breath catch in his throat. "Oh no – blood – are you – and our son –"

"We're fine," Legolas promised him, grabbing his face on either side and resting their foreheads together. He rolled his head down and pressed their lips together in a chaste kiss. "It's just a scratch." His hands shook as he kissed him again. "Just a scratch. She was – very upset."

"That's an understatement," interjected Gloin. "Stark-raving mad is more like it."

"Who is 'she'?" Aragorn asked. "And what are you doing here, Master Gloin?"

The old dwarf straightened his shoulders proudly. "I believe that the elf called her Lady Nienor –"

"Lord Cirion's daughter?" interrupted Aragorn darkly; Legolas nodded affirmatively.

"If you say so," responded Gloin flippantly. "I overheard everything on the other side of the wall and decided to lend a hand."

Gimli shook his head at his father's blasé attitude but Legolas smiled, more than willing to indulge Gloin's pride after what he'd helped him do. "And I shall forever be in your debt because of it."

"As will all of Gondor," Aragorn told him solemnly as he tore of a portion of fabric from the bottom of his tunic and started dabbing at the cut on his husband's stomach.

"Your highness?" one of the guards caught their attention.

Aragorn glowered but didn't turn away from Legolas' injury. "I'm busy right now," he told him forcefully.

"I understand and apologize for the intrusion," offered the guard contritely, "but I thought that you should know that we're taking the lady away now."

"Hold one moment," Aragorn ordered quickly. He looked up into his husband's eyes. "I need to speak with the guard for a moment, but I'll be back as soon as possible. Gimli?"

The dwarf obligingly took the torn cloth from him and continued to clean Legolas' scratch while Aragorn rose to his feet and pulled the guard a short distance away. "She's unconscious," he commented and questioned at the same time.

The guard nodded. "From what we've gathered, she was distracted when Lord Gloin showed up. Prince Legolas seized her and began fighting for the knife; Lord Gloin swung at her knees and she ended up hitting her head. She was out good by the time we got here."

"I'll deal with the fact that you weren't here soon enough; just take the lady to the Houses of Healing right now," Aragorn commanded with a grimace. "She can go to the dungeon after a healer sees to it that she lives. Make sure that nothing happens to her at any point. Lady Nienor will not be allowed to take the easy way out of this; I will be the one to decide her fate."

To be continued…

A/N: This darn chapter gave me more trouble than any other in this series! That's not really pertinent to anything, but I thought I'd share anyway. I hope it answered all of the questions and ponderings that a lot of reviewers had; if not, ask me again and hopefully my totally worthless memory will be working when it's time to post again.