"I thank you for your time, King Thranduil," said Faramir after they bid farewell to the representatives of their respective races. "I know that you have other responsibilities to tend to here."

"No more than you," replied Thranduil wearily.

Faramir let out a sigh as his eyes fell back onto the road that led out of the city toward Ithilien. "Well, we gave them a resolution to the conflict and instructions as to what should happen if a similar situation arises. Hopefully our peoples will be able to live with the compromise."

"Hopefully they will not let any more of that petty bickering disrupt their lives – and ours," the elf king groaned in frustration. "I cannot grasp the logic of politics at times, Lord Faramir: I am the first to admit that I can be difficult to get along with at times. That is why I employ the assistance of advisors. Yet these same elves that have given me many tiresome lectures on the art of diplomacy must turn to me to negotiate when they themselves fail at it."

"Anyone who claimed that politics is logical is a fool," Faramir had to laugh at the very idea.

Thranduil shot him an exasperated smile. Sometimes the Man's breezy attitude reminded him of those days in Mirkwood when Legolas was in charge of any negotiations with the Men of Dale and Lake Town. "I did not mean it like that. I just wish that our peoples could get along while it is necessary for us to be in the city."

"Just try to see it as I do: as Eru's way of reminding me that I have several responsibilities that cannot be neglected, even when I wish they could," said Faramir with a sort of melancholy mirth. "The Stewart of Gondor must also be the Prince of Ithilien as well as the husband of Eowyn and the father of Findowyn. I fear that at least one of those roles will always fall to the wayside when the duties of another increases."

"You usually hide that feeling very well," commented Thranduil, quirking an eyebrow at him. While none were exempt from feeling overwhelmed and frustrated at times, no one – elf or Man – had ever appeared as calm and collected as Faramir. He couldn't help but be a little suspicious as to why the Man was being so open about it with him at that moment.

"If I let it all out every time I felt like I was being pulled apart by the different forces in my life I would never stop screaming," Faramir told him. "There will always be something: either being with my family or attending to my duties to Gondor; torn between Minas Tirith and Ithilien; acting as a bridge between our peoples or between the king and the advisors' council. The funny thing is that most of those opposing entities want the same things; they just are unable somehow to communicate with each other."

"It is a shame that all cannot be wholly reconciled," agreed Thranduil carefully, "but some duties – and some people – are just too different from each other for that to happen."

"Or maybe the problem is that they're too alike."

When could he cut this conversation off? While Thranduil respected and even liked Faramir, he wanted to be in the garden with Legolas. "Hmmm," he replied distractedly, glancing over his shoulder down the road that would take him to his son. He blinked at the Man's words sunk in. "What?"

"I've seen many a people who've been so caught up in their differences – superficial and deep – between them and another that they fail to recognize that they have much in common. Those similarities can also act as a barrier if they aren't acknowledged are dealt with appropriately," said Faramir with a sage glint in his eyes.

"Such as the problems that arose between Aragorn and the advisors?" asked the elf flatly. Faramir had a bold quality that he usually admired, but Thranduil wasn't sure he appreciated what he was insinuating and definitely disliked the cloaked hints. It was just as if he were speaking with Mithrandir again! He missed the wizard but not his clever clues; the king would take the blunt truth any day of the week.

"Certainly," answered Faramir, sensing Thranduil's wariness and offering a nod of concession that told of his intentions not to pry further at the moment. "Speaking of which, I was supposed to be at the meeting a long time ago. I'm sure that Legolas is eagerly awaiting your return as well. Good day, King Thranduil."

"And to you as well, Lord Faramir," Thranduil returned and they parted, walking in opposite directions to reach their destinations.

The walk there was short enough and uneventful, but a strange energy in the air came to Thranduil's sharp elven senses before he even entered the garden gates. Activity of some sort was going on, and more than what should be if Legolas' visit to his trees and plants was progressing normally. A feeling of uneasiness grasped at the edges of his mind but he tried to shake it off. 'Must you always think the worst?' he scolded himself silently. Perhaps those energetic hobbits had decided to join him. Or else Eowyn might have brought the children to let them run off all of their excess liveliness before naptime. Any one of their presences would cause a flurry of words, excitement, and motion. Yes, that was it; just a visit with some unexpected friends. Still, his stomach sank, his breathing grew just a little bit jagged and he increased his already fairly rapid pace.

It wasn't until he'd actually entered the garden that he could actually pick out words and phrases from the buzz of murmurs. '…Under specific orders not to leave him alone...' said one angry voice. '…Weren't expecting…already waiting here for him when we arrived….' Thranduil's entire being went cold as he listened to those ominous exchanges, but it was one fragmented lament that made his heart stop: '…Brought a knife…lucky blow to the prince's stomach….'

No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no. Thranduil took off, running so fast that he would later marvel that his legs didn't fly off. All he could think about was getting to his son even if the sight that greeted him upon arrival might break his spirit. His poor Little Greenleaf; all he could picture was him lying in a pool of blood. Oh, this was all his fault! He'd left Legolas alone after promising to keep him company and now the person who tried to kill his son before had somehow gotten access to him again. Was Legolas alive? Was the baby? Thranduil was sure that Legolas would succumb to grief if anything happened to his child; now hearing about a "lucky blow" being delivered to that pregnant belly….

'Not yet.' Thranduil didn't exactly know to whom he was making that plea, and he didn't care as long as someone would listen and comply. 'I will have to bury my son one day; if that does not destroy me, I might linger long enough to do the same to my grandson. Just please – not yet. It is not yet Legolas' time, nor my grandchild's either. Not yet.'

After what was only about a minute but felt more like an age Thranduil arrived at the clearing where the others were gathered. His gaze immediately fell on Legolas. The younger elf was sitting – a good sign as far as his father was concerned, for it meant that he didn't need to be lying down because of lack of strength, or carried off to the Houses of Healing with all haste. Gimli was sitting beside him, holding one of his hands. Thank Elbereth for that dwarf and how much he loved Legolas! Much to Thranduil's surprise and disconcertion, though, Gloin was present as well; perched on Legolas' other side and speaking in a low voice. Legolas wasn't looking at either of them, however, as his eyes were resting on the Man who was kneeling before him: Aragorn. It appeared that he was trying to pat away the king's hands, which were pressing a piece of fabric against the bulge in his stomach.

The breath caught in Thranduil's throat as he noticed the discoloration on the cloth: it looked like…blood. "Legolas!" screamed Thranduil, jarred out of his revelry at the evidence of his son's injuries.

Legolas hadn't been that relieved to hear his father's voice since the elder elf had arrived in Minas Tirith for Aragorn's coronation and the wedding, surprising him as he prepared for the events. "Ada!" he called back.

It was fortunate that Aragorn had the good sense to move very quickly out of the way or else his father-in-law would have trampled him. Not maliciously, of course; the elven king was just so focused on actually feeling his son in his embrace that he was blind to everything else. "Not yet," sobbed Thranduil as he threw his arms around Legolas, clutching him as if he feared that some terrible force would try to tear him away at any second. "Not my Little Greenleaf or his miracle. I cannot lose anyone else like that. Please do not take them away from me yet."

"I'm all right, Ada," Legolas assured him. He turned his head slightly into his father's neck and inhaled his familiar, comforting scent – a fresh woodsy smell that had clung to him for as long as he could remembers, even after spending days inside the palace caverns in Mirkwood or in the city of Minas Tirith. That scent always made him feel as if his father was with him even when he wasn't physically present, giving him a sense of stability and security during some dark days of the Quest. Now it was doing wonders to calm that last bit of jittery nerves. "It's only a scratch – see, it's already stopped bleeding. We're both all right."

"What has taken place here today?" asked Thranduil in a quavering voice.

"She wanted to kill me and my baby," Legolas told him gently, comfortingly, as if it had been Thranduil who'd been attacked. In a different way, he supposed, it had been as well. "She thought that if we were dead that she could become Aragorn's queen."

Thranduil instantly hated whoever would do such a terrible thing to his family. Perhaps Aragorn would do him the courtesy of allowing him to administer the would-be assassin's punishment. That could wait for another, more appropriate time, though. "Both of you are staying here with me," he declared hoarsely. "No social-climbing little twit is going to harm either one of you ever again. I cannot lose you yet." His face grew red at the thought and he pulled his son even closer, a feat that should have been impossible.

Gimli watched this exchange solemnly; then with one hand still gripped tightly by Legolas, he rose to his feet and carefully turned so that he could put his free arm around Thranduil's back. "You won't have to," he promised. The dwarf knew them both well enough to know that Thranduil would never completely believe Legolas' assurances about his own well being. Hearing it from Gimli might be what the elder elf needed to collect himself. "It's all over; the guard's have that blasted poisoner and she will never be able to do anything to either one of them again."

Legolas felt the grip of one of his father's arms slowly loosen as he moved to place his hand over Gimli and his enjoined hands. The gesture was something new – no one had ever involved themselves in one of their father-son embraces before – but it seemed right. He was old enough and emotionally mature enough to understand that Thranduil was not a fearless, all-powerful being; but rather a strong elf that was still vulnerable to the same emotions that everyone else was.

'Not having someone to share those fears with while I was growing up must have been difficult for him,' he thought as he tightened his hold on them both. He was glad that Gimli had been willing and able to fill that role, and that his father was able to overcome his prejudices to let him into their family.

Gloin looked on as the three embraced. His son holding hands with two elves, the cold Elvenking with a tearstained face seeking comfort from a dwarf, and the prince who had somehow found a way to belong to three different races; it was all so surreal, disturbing, and yet….

He turned away quickly, not wanting to face what he was beginning to understand.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Legolas Thranduilion, what were you thinking?" Thranduil admonished a little while later after he'd been told the entire story. "Jumping at her when she had that knife, grabbing her wrist like that! What if she'd gotten loose and managed to stab you again?"

"She didn't stab me; she scratched me," Legolas reminded him brightly. "And what kind of weakling do you think I am? I am a warrior of Mirkwood – I'm certainly capable of seizing her without her getting away from me."

His attitude was enough to make Thranduil want to confine him to his chambers until the baby was an adult! "You are pregnant!" he insisted.

"Pregnant people have fought foes before and won."

"Only when there was no other option," argued Thranduil. "You knew that someone was there to help you."

"I don't need saving," groused Legolas. He hated being treated like he was helpless; after all, he understood his own limitations but those didn't mean that he needed to be pampered to the point of excess. "Just be happy that I restrained myself until someone was there to distract her."

Thranduil moaned dramatically. "The only consolation I get is that you will understand how I feel when you are a father." He shook his head and turned to Aragorn. "So what is to be done now? How will she be punished?"

"I'm not even thinking about that right now," responded Aragorn tiredly. "Legolas needs to return to our bedchamber, where a healer can attend him –"

"I don't need one – it's just a scratch."

"Why isn't he going to the Houses of Healing?"

"One at a time, please," Aragorn could feel a headache coming on as his eyes darted between father and son. "Legolas, it would make me feel better if you let a healer examined you. Thranduil, Lady Nienor was taken there and I don't know feel comfortable with the idea of them being in such close proximity."

That didn't placate the elven king at all. "Why are you bothering with all of that for her? She tried – "

"I know what she tried," Aragorn interrupted him, forcing his tone to remain calm. "But I have to act impartially to all that I judge and that includes those who have caused me and those I love much pain. That's why I can't think about it now; if I determine the punishment at this very moment I'll end up doing something that will come back to haunt us all later."

"How could you possibly do that?" jumped in Gimli, exasperated. "She tried to kill the prince consort and future heir, who also happen to be your husband and son. There is no punishment that wouldn't be too lenient."

"She is a female and of a noble family," Legolas explained to defend his husband decision. There were other reasons why he agreed with it, but he wasn't inthe right placeplace literally and emotionallyto confront those feelings yet. "That doesn't change her crimes, but it does create some additional political considerations."

Aragorn offered him his hand and Legolas hesitated for a moment before accepting it with a dry smile. "And I swear I'll think about them all tomorrow," the king declared. "Just now, please, please will you consent to being examined by a healer? It only has to be one, in our personal chambers and not that room in the Houses that you hate so much."

"You're trying to charm me again," teased Legolas. He sighed deeply. "I'll agree to it, but only if it's done by Ioreth and not one of those long-winded healers. I used up all of my restraint this afternoon. Are you coming with us, Ada? Gimli?"

"Of course I am," replied the dwarf with a grunt. "Look at what happened the last time I left you alone! Those blasted stoneworkers should have enough instructions to be able to put in a good day's work without me being there to coddle them. I'm going to be with you day and night from this time on."

"How cozy," commented Aragorn as visions of Gimli sleeping in their bed with them danced around his head. "Thranduil?"

"I shall be along in a few minutes," replied Thranduil faintly. "I just need…."

Legolas frowned. "Ada?"

"I promise that I will be along in a few moments, my Little Greenleaf; do not worry about me."

"If you're certain," hedged Legolas. When his father showed no sign of relenting or offering more information, he gave him a swift kiss on the cheek. "Hurry then. I like Ioreth enough, but that doesn't mean I won't get a mean sort of enjoyment watching her get a little flustered having you over her shoulder while she examines me."

His eyes darted to Gloin and he suddenly felt uncomfortable. What does one say to someone who saw you as his enemy and then went out of his way to help him out of a dangerous situation? "I thank you once more, Master Gloin," Legolas finally decided on. "You are truly a brave and hardy dwarf, and a credit to Durin's race."

"Yes, well –" Gloin was at a loss for words too. "Go on and get looked over. I don't want to have been thrown over a wall onto my face for nothing."

Legolas nodded and slung a supportive arm around Aragorn before his husband could do the same to him. The Man gave a closed-mouth titter, leaned in closer, and together they walked away with Gimli leading the way. Thranduil watched quietly, inwardly shaking his head at his son's stubbornness and Aragorn's understanding before shifting his attention to Gloin. "You helped my son," he stated in an almost accusing manner. "Why?"

"It eats you up, doesn't it?" Gloin shot back. "That a dwarf – me – came to his aid when you weren't around to do it."

"I am not so petty that I would object to anyone doing anything that would help save Legolas' life," replied Thranduil through gritted teeth. "Your motivations, however, remain a mystery to me; especially since you have made it clear that you dislike my son so."

"Oh, of all the –" Gloin let out a frustrated grunt. "That lad is married to the king, of whom I'm a guest; how many times do I have to explain that? I couldn't just sit idly by because his father's an arrogant jackass who thinks nothing of locking innocent people up."

The elf narrowed his eyes into slits. "The only arrogant jackass I see here stands before me," he growled. "Honestly, how could a fine, upstanding dwarf like Gimli come from such a father? Your son must have inherited his sense of decency and honor from his mother – he would never attempt to sneak across another's realm, lie to the king's face when caught, and hold a grudge for what was his fault!"

"My fault! You knew! You know what we were going to do and you decided that you wanted the treasure all to yourself!"

"I do not want to do this!" burst out Thranduil. "My son and his child were attacked; I want to be with him, not standing here rehashing ancient feuds and an incident that occurred 50 – 60 – no – how many years ago was it?"

Gloin opened his mouth to yell out the indignant answer and found that his mind was blank. "I can't rightly recall the exact number at the moment," he said defensively. "But that doesn't change the fact that you did us a grievous wrong and I don't like you."

"I do not like you either," Thranduil told him. His jaw tightened for a moment as he debated his next choice of words. "Long years have passed, Master Gloin, and the world has changed. Our worlds have changed; our times are ending. The remaining elves will leave for Valinor before the infants of Men grow into old age and the dwarves will retreat more and more into their mountains. This feud between our races is out of place in this dominion of Men. While we may never be fully reconciled, can we not try to put it behind us? I am willing to admit that mistakes were made on both parts."

No answer was given at first. "I was planning on asking King Thorin to order Gimli back to the Lonely Mountain," said Gloin suddenly. Thranduil's face blanched and he shut his eyes. "But I won't do that now. After all I went through to keep Legolas intact, leaving him without some dwarvish sense to guide him would make all of my doings vain. That means that I'm going to have to come to Gondor whenever I want to see him; and it would be nice not having to hate you so actively whenever that happens."

"Then it is agreed: we will put forth no more efforts in keeping our conflict alive," Thranduil actually managed to give him a tight-lipped smile. "I am grateful for your intervention today. There is no doubt in my mind that Legolas would have fought her alone if you had not been there."

Thranduilbowed his head slightly in farewell. "Hold for a moment!" called Gloin as the elf started to leave. "This – I won't – I have to ask: are you having an affair with my son?"

Thranduil blinked once but otherwise showed no sign of surprise. "I am sorry, but I feel that it is not my place to answer that. That is something that you must discuss with Gimli. Good day," he added, leaving Gloin behind to wonder.

To be continued…

A/N: You want the God's honest truth? I don't know if Thranduil and Gimli have a romantic relationship. I hadn't planned anything like that at the beginning, but then a few of you started asking about it. I try not to fight the natural flow of the story, so I've been writing it ambiguously. I haven't said that they have and I haven't said that they haven't; and I haven't decided whether or not I want to decide either way. :)

Here's a few answer to some questions I got about last chapter and a chapter before that.:

The King Thorin is not the same Thorin that was in The Hobbit. When that Thorin died, his kinsman Dain Ironfoot became the King under the Mountain. Dain died during the War of the Ring during a battle and, according to the Appendices, his son was Thorin III, or Thorin Stonehelm.

The baby's birth is coming, but not quite yet. First we have to get through Lady Nienor's trial (among other things). I'm just as anxious to get to that as you are – I've had a plan for that event ever since I started writing this story – but I'm trying not to rush though this (I've had the tendency to do so in the past when I wanted to get to a certain part of a story and have been called on it many times!)

It was never my intention to make Legolas appear helpless – in fact, a part of the reason why the last chapter gave me so much trouble was because I was taking great pains to avoid it. I don't believe I said or implied that pregnant people or women in general (which Legolas is not) are helpless in any way; Legolas was waiting for the right moment to fight back, not for a rescue. No reasonable pregnant person would dive into a fight unarmed against a crazy person with a knife without weighing all possible other options first. Had he not had to worry about the baby, there wouldn't have been a question that he would fight immediately. Legolas just isn't the impulsive type most of the time and in my opinion that makes him strong, not weak.

I don't know for sure how many chapters are left - I'm not far ahead enough in my writing to determine that. Best guess is around the same as What is Meant to Be, maybe between 35 and 40 chapters total. But don't quote me on that...