A/N: I actually did research to find the herbs mentioned in this chapter. I don't promise that what I'm saying about them is 100 correct, but I'm sure that they're the right herbs in this circumstance because I found this information on a website that I don't know who runs, that I've never seen before, and that I will probably never go to again.

"I have never smelled this terrible in my entire life," groaned Elladan for lack of anything better to say.

He looked plaintively at his two riding companions for comfort, support, or at least confirmation and acknowledgement. It was a wasted effort, however; the Mannish messenger couldn't see that clearly in the dark and Elrohir wasn't in the mood to humor his brother. "Quit complaining," said Elrohir not all that good-naturedly.

"But it's bad," emphasized Elladan, too wrapped up in his own thoughts to really comprehend how much he was annoying his twin at the moment. "It's really rather revolting. I mean, I smell like Estel did during his 'Strider' years! It was a good thing that he's a Man because no elf could stomach stinking like this for years on end. Ai Elbereth, it's a wonder that Legolas fell for him in the first place if he reeked half as much as I do right now."

Elrohir gripped his horse's mane, trying to balance his hold between being loose enough not to hurt or confuse the animal but tight enough to keep him from lunging at his brother and just smacking him until he learned when was the right time to be quiet. Not that this behavior was new or unexpected – Elladan tended to babble on about nothing when he was worried and not kept busy – but he'd never been exposed to quite this serious a case of it for such a prolonged period of time. While Elrohir could understand his concern about the well being of both their unborn nephew and his birthing ada there were limits to his tolerance and he'd reached them long before they'd met the messenger on the road who'd born news of Legolas' violent and mysterious illness.

Unfortunately that report only made the journey more stressful; besides the obvious increased trepidation about Legolas' pregnancy it had also fueled Elladan's anxiousness. The journey from that point on became more difficult and provided him with plenty of fodder for his ramblings to essentially irritate his already frazzled twin. They were forced to push on hard, eating whatever they could keep a hold of and digest while still riding instead of halting briefly for mealtimes and stopping only when it was a choice between that and having their horses collapse and possibly die from exhaustion. Those pauses dragged on from seemingly years while they waited to continue on and yet felt like they were only seconds long once they had to mount again.

The hardships that were influencing Elladan and Elrohir's current moods were the lack of rest and time to bathe. Instead of sleeping every other night by alternating turns to take watch both had only managed to doze a little while depending on their horses not to let them fall off. Bathing used to take place before those nights of rest when they were close to a river; now it was a luxury that neither one of them could afford to indulge in. While Elrohir knew that tending to Legolas and the baby would be their top priority once they entered the city he couldn't deny that he was really looking forward to soaking in a nice warm bath before sleeping for hours – days – in one of the soft beds in the guest chambers of the citadel.

Until then, though, he would have to endure Elladan's obnoxious blathering. Thank Elbereth the city was in sight! "So," Elladan said to the messenger, thus slightly sparing his brother, "have you ever smelled anything as awful as me right now?"

Riding between the twin elf lords so as not to journey off course while blinded by the pitch black of the night, the messenger was shifting uncomfortably in his saddle instead of paying attention to anything being said to him. He wished that they had gotten to the city days ago, and not just because traveling in the sole company of two elves made him feel ill at ease, or that their arguing had gone from somewhat amusing to really grating after about an hour of it, or that he'd never ridden for so long at once before and he was getting very sore. His pregnant prince consort was desperately ill, most likely by foul and underhanded means, and the future of the entire realm was at stake! For all he knew, Prince Legolas, the child, or both could have died while he was away and the whole frenzied, miserable journey had been for naught. Why was it impossible for them to go faster?

"We should have been there by now," the messenger muttered under his breath so quietly that no Man could have heard him.

It was, however, not so low that an elf couldn't overhear. "And how would that be exactly?" questioned Elrohir sharply. The Man was frustrated – something that he could easily empathize with – but this was ridiculous. That complaint and its surprisingly numerous variations had been all that the messenger seemed capable of contributing to any conversation. It was enough to make Elrohir almost long his brother's meaningless ramblings. "The only way that we could have gone any faster was if we'd somehow grown wings and flown. Beyond that I can't fathom what you think that we could have done to shorten our journey. Come on, Man; if you have any suggestions I will be more than glad to hear them!"

"I didn't mean it as a criticism," replied the Man tightly. He'd witnessed Elrohir's patience dwindling at an alarming rate over the past week and was suddenly nervous that the elf lord would elect to abandon him in the dark if he felt provoked. Arguing with his traveling party wouldn't make the time go by any more quickly anyway. "I just…wish that I could do more than this. I am a soldier of Gondor, for pity's sake! My king's spouse and heir are in danger and all I can apparently do to help them is to ride about blindly in the dark." He clamped his mouth shut and released his breath slowly and heavily through his nose. "I apologize, my lords; my outburst was completely out of line."

"Do you think that we can't understand that?" Elladan asked him, sounding deflated but not unkind. "Your king just happens to be our little brother and he, Legolas, and their child are the only family that we have left in Middle-earth. Believe me, if I could have sprouted a couple of those hypothetical wings I would have left you two choking on my gusts of wind a long time ago."

"And you've already performed a valuable service to both your king and to Gondor," added Elrohir, feeling a bit guilty about his snappish mood and relieved to be able to focus on something else. "If you hadn't have come along, following a route that must have seemed insane to you instead of the one that Men usually use, and relayed Estel's message we would have arrived at Minas Tirith reasonably clean, well rested, and about two weeks later than right now."

The messenger's ears perked up at the implication in Elrohir's last phrase. "Right now?" he repeated eagerly. He had seen the White City before the sun went down but hadn't been able to gage how long the rest of their ride was going to be until they reached their destination. "Is Minas Tirith close at hand then? Are we almost there?"

"It's straight ahead," replied Elrohir as he nodded in the direction of the city, a gesture that was completely lost on the Man in the dark. "And I would estimate that we have about ten more minutes of riding left until we get there."

"There's even a one-person welcome party awaiting our arrival – look, brother." Elladan pointed at Pippin off in the distance. The little hobbit was restlessly pacing about but constantly keeping his head turned so that he could look in their direction. "Do you think that he can see us? I wasn't aware that hobbits had such keen eyesight."

"I don't believe that they do," said Elrohir ponderously. He tested his theory by waving vigorously for several seconds and felt it confirmed when Pippin failed to respond in any way. "Strange; but I would still swear that he's waiting for us."

"Is that a good sign or a bad sign?" wondered the messenger apprehensively.

"We'd better not delay in finding out," answered Elrohir. He patted his loyal and steadfast horse. "Can you endure running any faster, mellon nin? I swear to you that once we get to the city I will let you rest until you decide it's time for me to ride again."

He could feel the animal's growing exhaustion being pushed down by its determination and love for his master. Giving a great snort that startled the other two riders and signaled for the other horses to get ready, the horse took off in a dead run. Elladan and Elrohir adjusted fairly easily to the change of pace but the guard, disoriented by his inability to see much, only managed to stay on his horse's back through the twins' intervention.

"Maybe his presence doesn't have anything to do with us," shouted Elladan over the sound of the beasts' footfalls. A sudden wicked smile broke across his face. "It could just be that they needed people of intelligence to guard the gate…door…thing."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Hobbits weren't generally known for their ability to wait patiently for long periods of time – any periods of time, come to think of it – and Pippin was no exception. The temperature of the air was dropping rapidly, the sky was getting darker, and the hour was growing later. The twenty-five minutes that he'd spent waiting for the twin's arrival felt more like twenty-five years and left him feeling weary and anxious. The others must have completed their assigned tasks and gathered at the Houses of Healing by now and he was stuck waiting for people that he wouldn't be able to see until he was practically nose-to-nose with them!

Pippin could be forgiven for resenting his temporary exclusion from Legolas' circle of supporters. Having been the one to discover the elf vomiting in the stables at Bree those months ago he felt an odd kind of protectiveness toward him. There was nothing that he could do to help him, of course, save be there and make various desperate prayers to higher beings to spare Legolas and his son but being denied the chance to do that little bit was more than Pippin could bear. He hated being away from the people he loved when they needed all the support that they could get. Couldn't the twins, just this once, actually arrive earlier than predicted?

He was most gratified then when he heard a call coming from somewhere close by in the darkness. "Greetings, master hobbit!" said Elladan lightly, happy to see someone new to talk to and determined not to assume the worst. "What brings you out of the city so late on a fine evening such as this?"

"Legolas," answered Pippin bluntly as the three riders became visible to him. The sense of déjà vu was making him a little dizzy – hadn't he just had this conversation with Gimli and Thranduil? "I'm here to make sure that you and Elrohir – or you and Elladan, depending on which one you are and which one your brother is; I could never tell you apart – get to Legolas' chamber in the Houses of Healing and not in the citadel. You have to get there right away, too; he's in terrible need of your care and I don't know if he has time to wait for us to even have this conversation."

"Then ride with us," said Elladan, pulling the hobbit up onto the horse to sit in front of him before the hobbit could agree or object, "and you can give us as many details as you can on the way?"

"Is he still sick with that illness that Estel sent his message about?" questioned Elrohir as the gates opened for them – it appeared that Pippin hadn't been the only one waiting for their return. The seriousness of the situation was driving out all other emotions besides those that made him an excellent healer. With having Estel and a fair number of other competent healers at hand, as well as possessing a natural power to heal (albeit one that had been diminished slightly in his current condition), Elrohir had expected the elf's condition to have at least improved by now. Perhaps the pregnancy was taking a worse toll on Legolas' health than they'd originally predicted.

"No, it's not that," Pippin told them. "Well, maybe it is; after all, no one knew that he'd been poisoned that time –"

"He was poisoned?" cried Elladan. The messenger's hand instinctively curled around the hilt of his sword at hearing that a member of the royal family had been attacked in such a manner.

"Yes," responded Pippin hastily, "but it didn't take them all that long for them to figure that out. It wasn't even a day, thanks to King Thranduil and Gimli and all of those healers, and Legolas recovered fine really quickly. Well, physically anyway; he and Strider were having some problems that the rest of us weren't supposed to notice. It was stress and stuff like that; and not knowing who was responsible for the poisoning for another week just made it worse, but it's all right now. They've worked things out and are acting all lovely-dovey again and that horrible woman was sentenced to the dungeons and exiled today. All of this was supposed to be over with; Legolas was supposed to have a relaxing last month of pregnancy but he had to be rushed to the Houses a little less than an hour ago!"

The twins exchanged glances while the messenger bowed his head. Elladan and Elrohir's heads were swimming with questions but most of them could wait until a more appropriate time. One, however, was vital. "Do you know what symptoms he's showing, Master Peregrin?" grilled Elrohir.

"Bleeding," answered Pippin simply and distraught. "I don't know how much, but he thinks that he might be having a miscarriage. That's where King Thranduil's mind went to too when I told him all of this."

"The Valar save us all," gasped the messenger.

Elladan shut his eyes briefly. "He's early."

"Yes, and we might be too late," noted Elrohir grimly.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

While the twins were greeting Pippin outside of the gate, Legolas' chamber in the Houses was full of talking and activity. Healers and healing women were filtering in so many numbers that he couldn't have kept count he'd wanted to. The elf was in no condition to do any such thing, of course; he laid on the bed with his knees bent and spread, too consumed with his fear and the increasingly frequent contractions to care about details like how many people were there and if his robe was adequately preserving his modesty. "I can't lose this child," he moaned to Gimli and his father, who was wiping his brow tenderly. "If he dies my grief will kill me."

"You must be strong right now, my sweet, precious Little Greenleaf," Thranduil told him, trying to keep his eyes off of the ominous red stains on his robe and the sheets below him. "Your son needs you to fight for the both of you, not worry about what might not happen."

"I'm sorry, Ada," Legolas choked out. "I don't regret loving Aragorn but this feeling…. I can't stand knowing that I have inflicted this type of grief upon you. I love you, Ada, and I'm causing you so much pain…"

Thranduil kissed his forehead. "Shhh," he hushed him. "I love you too, Little Greenleaf, and you have been the only reason why I bother facing each new day since the moment that your mother first placed you in my arms."

At the end of Legolas' bed Aragorn was huddled with, among others, the warden of the Houses and Ioreth, the healing woman whom his husband had the most regard for. "There was some blackberry nearby when we first got here," he was explaining in the most frightening supposedly rational voice that they'd ever heard. "I applied that right away but since that's only for minor wounds it's only slowed the bleeding. We must find a permanent way to stop the bleeding entirely. Does anyone here have any idea about how we can do that?"

"We just boiled some peonies into a draught yesterday," offered one of the healers. "It's a very potent healing method for bleeding, sire; I've seen it stop heavy blood flow immediately."

"And it's also deadly if it's not administered properly," shot back Aragorn. "It's too easy to turn that remedy into a poison. We should only resort to using it if there is truly no other alternative." He forced himself to think clearly for a moment. "Wait – harfy! Do we have any harfy?"

"I'm afraid that we ran out of it just two days ago," Ioreth reported. "That's why the peony draught was made – we haven't had the chance to restock harfy yet. It's a pity about that too; that's the best herb for major bleeding – that's why we keep running out of it. Should we consider using yarrow instead?"

"This is a bit more serious than a nosebleed, don't you think?" snapped the warden impatiently. "I would suggest using periwinkle in this case, your majesty – it's excellent at treating both internal and external bleeding."

Ioreth bristled at her admittedly inadequate suggestion being pushed aside for something that she could see was so dangerous. "That also serves to close the wound!"

"Is that not the point?"

Disgusted, she turned away from the warden to face Aragorn, the only person whose opinion really mattered in that circle, straight on. "While I cannot say that it is the true source of the bleeding, sire," she argued darkly, conveying the gravity of what she was saying in her tone, "where the blood is coming out of is the prince's birth canal. It's finally forming – I know it. Since we don't have a proper understanding about what causes it to form and how stable it is, we can't in good conscience do anything that might make it close. Prince Legolas and the baby would most likely die before we figured out what happened."

"If the prince continues to bleed as he is now they will both die anyway," the warden pointed out.

Aragorn remembered the fear he'd had when he'd first been informed of Legolas' last mysterious malady: being forced to choose between the life of his husband and that of his child. If they used the periwinkle and the birth canal did close so late on in labor when they weren't prepared to cut the elf open the baby might indeed die, though Legolas still had a better chance at being spared. However, if Legolas kept bleeding, he would die but the baby would most likely live. He looked desperately at his husband in the hopes of receiving some sort of epiphany and heard Legolas' voice drift down: "If he dies my grief will kill me."

"I…won't be scared into making a rash decision," the king finally declared. "Legolas and the baby are to both be cared as best we can. Ioreth, I want you to keep applying the blackberry – among all who work at the Houses Legolas feels most comfortable with you."

"It will be an honor, sire," she answered proudly and protectively.

"The rest of you," Aragorn continued, looking to the other healers and healing women, "will scour the city for harfy. Knock on every door and wake everyone up if necessary. I won't dismiss using this herb until we know for certain that none of it is in the city. Warden," he added, pulling the Man closer and lowering his voice a little. "You need to get that peony draught ready just in case – and make damn sure that you know exactly how much to administer."

They all nodded and the warden led the procession to the door. When he opened it, however, he stopped short and let out a surprised cry that mingled with the shouts of relief that came from the royal couple's friends who were waiting outside. "Will everyone just move out of the way?" insisted the most welcome and infuriating voice that Legolas and Aragorn had ever heard.

Elladan and Elrohir none too gently pushed their way through the throng of healers and healing women into the chamber. "Where in Mordor have you two been?" demanded Aragorn furiously.

"Don't bother them with that now," pleaded Legolas from the bed. He turned his despairing eyes onto the twins. "I'm bleeding so much. Make it stop, I beg of you. I will do anything if only you make it stop. In the name of Elbereth, please make it stop!"

The twins brushed quickly past Aragorn. Elrohir went to the foot of the bed and immediately started rifling through his pack. Ioreth started to ask him if he should move, but he just shook his head distractedly. "Don't stop treating him now," he ordered. "But do be prepared to move when I tell you to."

In the meantime, Elladan rushed to Legolas' side, displacing Thranduil and Gimli and taking the elven king's cloth with as much gentleness as he could manage at the moment. "Pardon me," his sense of politeness made him say to them automatically as he knelt down and resumed wiping Legolas' brow. "You must calm yourself as much as you can, Legolas," he went on to instruct his friend. "This whole situation has been very frightening for you, but getting too worked up won't help you or the baby. I know it doesn't seem like it, but all of this is actually normal."

"Normal?" sputtered out Gimli incredulously. "Almost bleeding to..." His face blanched at what he almost said. "Well, you know – that's normal?"

"The birth canal is not going to be permanent, master dwarf," said Elrohir, still searching. "And when a non-permanent hole isformed on your body, you can be sure that bleeding is going to be involved in its creation. Think about it; it's so logical that of course we didn't realize it until we read it in several of Ada's books. Oh, thank Eru!"

Ioreth stared curiously as the elf pulled what looked like a lump of clay wrapped in large leaves out of his pack. "What's that?" she wondered.

Elrohir grabbed a spare cloth that was within reaching distance and wasted no time in spearing the clay-like substance on it. "It's the herb Golden Crown made into a poultice – move," he commanded. She complied instantly and he started applying it to Legolas' skin. "Elves have used it for as long as we can remember to stem the bleeding that takes place after a female gives birth but we found during our research that it's also invaluable in stemming the bleeding that happens before males give birth. We'll get this bleeding under control, Legolas; but now I must ask all of you – not you, Ioreth – to leave."

Thranduil and Gimli reluctantly dragged their feet away. Aragorn was relieved to have his brothers there at last – now he could take his proper place by his husband's side. "You too, Estel," ordered Elrohir when he saw his little brother start to move away from the door rather than toward it.

Aragorn was incensed. All of his good feelings toward Elladan and Elrohir evaporated instantly – how dare they have the nerve to leave Legolas' health dangling by not coming back until the last possible second and then just tell him to leave like he was some sort of interloper or pesky child? He wasn't ten-years-old anymore – he was the king of Gondor! "I – will – not," he said stubbornly, enunciating each word.

Elladan murmured something inaudible to Legolas, who bit his lip but nodded in response. With a grateful smile, the dark-haired elf rose to his feet and walked deliberately over to Aragorn. "Estel," he said in a low voice, "I cannot stress how vital it is that you don't argue with us on this point."

"I don't see what merit there would be in me leaving," persisted Aragorn. This was one argument that he wasn't going to back down from! "I'll stay out of your way, but he needs me to be with him and I need to stay."

"Estel." Elladan truly looked pained. "I can't put this in any other way: you may have noticed that the birth isn't going well. We can control the bleeding now but ideally the poultice should have been applied when it first started, or at least when it was first noticed. Legolas has lost more blood than he should have; perhaps even too much."

Aragorn's heart twisted when he realized what his older brother was telling him. "Don't lose hope," urged Elladan, seeing the look on his face. "I didn't say that he was lost for sure. It is, however, going to take all of Elrohir and my attentions to keep you from becoming a widower and we won't be able to focus if you're in here watching and fretting. For Legolas' sake, please wait outside."

"I can't – do this; I can't lose him."

"I know," sympathized Elladan as he turned his little brother over to Gimli and Thranduil to walk out the door. "And we'll do everything in our power to make sure that doesn't happen."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Faramir watched his king pace anxiously as he hovered close to the door to Legolas' chamber. Some time had passed since that door had closed quietly behind Aragorn, during which numerous healers and healing women had run in and out but provided no new information. He and Eowyn were sitting together with the hobbits, trying to keep up their optimism while jumping every time they heard footsteps or the door slam. Thranduil was too emotional to seek comfort from so many people and chose to brood a little ways off; Gimli stayed with him, offering him support while trying to keep his own worry at bay. Only Aragorn had remained so isolated in that small, crowded space and Faramir worried that the situation was driving the king mad.

Knowing that any more attempts to comfort him would only fail, Faramir chose to try to distract Aragorn instead. Keeping his busy might allow him to gather his wits again. "Sire," said the steward. He refused to be discouraged when Aragorn didn't even react to hearing his voice. "Should we contact the council about the imminence of your son's birth?"

"No," answered Aragorn dully, not taking his eyes off the door. "I don't know…what other news there will be. I can't imagine telling them a little bit at a time," he added mournfully.

"Aragorn, sit down," Eowyn told him sternly, with both the mother and shield-maiden warrior parts of her in her voice. "Working yourself up into a stupor isn't going to help Legolas. Just sit down and breathe for a minute."

"I can't," said Aragorn tensely. "I can't –"

A shrill cry broke through the air that made everyone jump and look to the door. 'That's coming from Legolas' room,' thought Aragorn dimly, too exhausted to process what that meant for several seconds. He stared dumbly as realization set it: 'That's my son crying. I'm a father!'

"That's my baby!" he cried stupidly, rushing at the door.

He shouldn't have bothered; just as his charge was coming to an end the door flew open anyway, slamming against his body in the process. "I'm so sorry, your majesty!" exclaimed the young healing woman on the other side. Her eyes were shining as excitement made her speak so quickly that it was difficult for the king to get a word in. "I just came to tell you – it's an honor to tell you – that you have a beautiful son! He's healthy too, despite all that he's been through and how early his birth was. You should see him, sire; he's got this tuft of dark hair, the most incredible blue eyes, and his ears! Adorable little points on both of them! We're getting him cleaned up and ready for you as we speak. I'll go check on how that's going and come get you when –"

"Wait!" Aragorn cried desperately before she could vanish from sight again. "I'm so happy to hear about my son, but what about his other father? How's Legolas?"

"He's…" she hesitated and peered over her shoulder into the chamber. "I'm sorry, sire, but that's something that I think would be best if you discussed with the Lords Elladan and Elrohir."

She rushed back inside and shut the door before anyone could ask her any more questions.

To be continued…

A/N: This chapter was running a little long and I was tempted to cut it off when Elladan and Elrohir kicked everyone out of the room but a lot of you were really looking forward to the birth and I did promise…

By the way, I don't know too much about birth complications – that stuff that Aragorn was thinking about when he was wondering about how he could choose between Legolas and the baby was totally made up.