Aragorn watched numbly as the door closed in his face yet again. Emotions warred within him as he struggled with all that he was imagining was happening on the other side of that damnable piece of wood. There was joy – oh, yes there was joy: his son, his baby, the child that he and his beloved husband created against all odds through their love and commitment was in there, being cleaned up so that he could hold him soon. Aragorn's arms twitched at the thought and he was keenly aware at how empty they were. He would give almost anything to be in there right now, watching them bathe his son or even being the one doing the bathing before happily picking him up and carrying him to Legolas…

And there was the source of the fear and confusion that was trying to strangle his elation: what was Legolas' condition? That woman had refused to tell him anything, an occurrence that Aragorn was most definitely not used to now that he was the king. By the Valar, he usually had more problems with people trying to answer his questions without knowing all of the information! He could understand – even appreciate – that she didn't want to diagnose Legolas' condition if she didn't know enough about it, but to not give even an observation when the king of Gondor explicitly asked a question was unheard of. It made no sense to Aragorn, unless…unless she didn't want to be the one to tell her ruler that his spouse was dead…

"No," he cried out; dear Elbereth, was that really his voice? It sounded weak, thin, and utterly shattered – everything that his life would become if Legolas hadn't survived the birth. "Legolas, no!"

"Aragorn!" Faramir practically flew to his feet instantaneously to restrain the Man before he could charge into the chamber. Aragorn wasn't thinking rationally and the steward felt queasy as he imagined what might happen if he stormed in before Elladan and Elrohir could finish tending to the elf. The king would hate himself forever if he did anything that compromised Legolas' health and it was Faramir's duty as both the steward and his friend to make sure that didn't happen.

Aragorn clearly didn't appreciate his efforts. With a wordless shriek, he fought wildly against Faramir's grasp. The other Man was jerked around more than he would have liked to have been but he managed to maintain his hold. "Not yet, Aragorn," advised Faramir desperately. "Give your brothers and the healers a chance to do their jobs."

One last particularly vicious wrench sent the two Men down on their knees. Faramir took advantage of the situation by immediately resting all of his weight on Aragorn's back and putting his arms totally around him, smothering any more attempts to break free. "My husband's in there!" shrieked the king hysterically. "My baby's in there! My life is in that chamber and they won't tell me anything! I have to make them – I have to go in there!"

"Yes you do, but not right now," stressed Faramir, speaking in the same tone that he would use to talk to a frightened child or a deranged lunatic. "Your brothers had you leave so that they could devote their entire attentions to Legolas, correct? Now you must have the strength and courage to let them continue without interruption until they deem the time is right for you to enter again."

"But she said that Legolas –"

Faramir took a deep breath. "She didn't tell you anything about the state of Legolas' health," he said, hoping that his voice would remain steady and calming for as long as he needed it to. "We can't just assume the worst has happened because one healing woman was reluctant to give out any news. Why, I don't believe that she would have been too involved in caring for Legolas; more likely she was assisting with the birth itself. No one in her position would want to report to the king about the condition of the prince consort without being sure of the accuracy of her information. Of course she wouldn't tell you, Aragorn."

"She didn't even say if he was awake or not," sobbed Aragorn. Faramir could feel the violent tremors move throughout his back. "Why wouldn't she at least tell me that unless he's – unless he's –"

"Aragorn, you're not thinking rationally right now," stated Eowyn as she joined her husband and the king on the floor. Very gently, she took hold of Aragorn's hands and drew them away from their hold on Faramir's arms. "If Legolas was truly gone, wouldn't it stand to reason that she would feel obligated to say something? If there was nothing else that anyone could do for him, do you seriously think that she, or your brothers for that matter, would see any benefit in not telling you right away? No one in the Houses of Healing is cruel, Aragorn; they want you to have the most correct and useful information about Legolas' condition and at the moment that means waiting for it to come."

"But why not tell me something?"

"It sounds to me as if there were some complications," she told him wisely and kindly. "Matters that only the twins could fully understand and properly treat. She didn't tell you about those because they probably didn't feel the need to share them with her; and she hesitated to report any observations because she didn't understand what was causing his condition. Think about it; it would be horribly callous to say that she thinks he looks like he's near-death and therefore causing you more heartache. It would also bring you so much anguish later if she chose to be optimistic and said that she believed that Legolas would recover if she didn't know if there was a chance that he could pass on very soon. Just try – try – to calm down."

Not trusting his shaken nerves, Aragorn let his hands slip from hers and clutched at the hem of his tunic tightly to keep from ripping out his own hair in despair. "Elladan and Elrohir –"

"If they aren't out here with you then they're probably still treating him," Faramir cut him off. "The lords haven't given up on Legolas yet and neither should you." He swiveled his head around to look pointedly at everyone else in that tiny area. "And the same applies to all those who are present. We must have hope now, for Legolas' sake as well as our own. Remember, my friends, that more hopeless recoveries under much more harsh conditions have happened in these Houses before."

The hobbits were still sitting on the bench, having drawn one another into a crushing embrace when Aragorn had broken down. Now they lifted their heads and slowly detangled themselves so that they could stand up. "A-a-all r-r-r-rig-right," stammered Pippin. His face was ashen and he didn't bother to hide his tears but he did make the effort to keep his jaw from quaking.

"Yes," Faramir smiled at him. "We must believe that Legolas is all right now."

Sam gripped Pippin's shoulder. "Births don't always go all smoothly," he offered. His glance darted between Aragorn, Faramir, and his fellow hobbits but he couldn't bear looking into any of their raw emotions for too long. "Baby Frodo's birth was hard on my Rosie and she needed more attention from the midwives than what's normal. But that turned out all well in the end; she just needed a little extra care and rest."

"And this place is wonderful for healing the body and soul," piped in Merry, audibly struggling to be brave. "After the Battle of Pelennor Fields people were figuring that me, you Faramir, and you Eowyn were goners and trying to send us all off to our final resting places. But here was are, all because Aragorn didn't give up on us and made sure that we got the care that we needed. We should be even more reassured to know that Elladan and Elrohir are the ones taking care of Legolas – they learned from Lord Elrond, after all, and he was the healer that saved Frodo after he'd been stabbed by – on Weathertop. I don't think we could ask for a better location or finer healers."

"My son is not dead."

The voice of Thranduil sliced through the air, and the weight of its conviction and gravity lingered all around them. The elven king hadn't moved from the place that he'd been occupying ever since he'd left Legolas' chamber. Upon hearing the healing woman's hesitation and witnessing Aragorn's distraught reaction he'd grown deathly still, looking more like a marble statue – cold and pale – than a living being. His hands were clinging to Gimli's though, with such a tight hold that his knuckles were even whiter than the rest of him. Beside him the dwarf bowed his head silently and the others could see his body shake with repressed sobs.

"My son is not dead," repeated Thranduil hollowly. "I would feel it if he had passed on. Legolas possesses a power and strength that you do not understand, Aragorn. I cannot claim to understand it either but I still have faith in it – and him. I will not believe that mortality has taken my son away from me until I behold his lifeless body with my own eyes. Do not mourn him prematurely."

"I'm trying – I'm not – I can't –" Aragorn wanted to tell his father-in-law that he did understand Legolas' strength and steadfast resolve; that he knew that his husband was capable of achieving the impossible and that his behavior was more of a reflection of his own lack of strength rather than a commentary on Legolas'. Words escaped him, however, and he had to settle on: "I just need him to be all right."

"And when you need for something to happen, you choose to act as if it hadn't instead of continuing to believe that it will?" pressed Thranduil in a strangely solid tone that made Aragorn feel like he was being given something firm to stand on again.

"No, sir," the king answered.

"Then have hope that he will survive this," advised the elf. "Let Legolas find even more strength in that."

It wasn't much, but Aragorn now had something new to focus on. "I will," he voiced, though with each passing second it became harder to do. "Be strong for Legolas," he told himself out loud. "What else can I do? I have to be able to do something else."

Gimli stared at the door long and hard as if he was willing it to open and share the secrets that lay beyond. When that didn't happen he closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. "We all feel that way, lad," he told Aragorn. "But I'm afraid that all we can do right now is hope and wait."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

It could have been a few minutes or several hours before the door opened again – it all felt like a life age of the earth for Aragorn. He wasn't pacing anymore, since Faramir and Eowyn seemed to fear that he would try to break down the door if he was left to his own devices. Instead they were keeping a tight hold either arm as he sat sandwiched between them, feeling the tenseness in his muscles. Off in the distance the Man could hear Sam speaking to one of the errand runners for the healers, asking him to please send a message to Rose. Closer by, Merry and Pippin could be heard whispering quietly to each other and Gimli was anxiously rambling on to a pretty much unresponsive Thranduil that of course Legolas was going to be all right. Aragorn couldn't focus on any of this, though; he was too busy trying to wrap his mind around all of the questions that were swimming in his head. Was Legolas really fine? Where was his son? What would his future be like if one of them, or both of them, wasn't in it?

Finally, just when Aragorn was preparing to break away from his self-appointed minders and make their worst fears come true by destroying the door it opened, slowly and clumsily as if the person doing so had a reason for moving so carefully. Everyone in that waiting area simultaneously rose to their feet and gathered together as Ioreth appeared, pushing the door open with her back because her arms were full.

Aragorn raised a trembling hand to his mouth. "Is that – is that –" he stuttered, staring in awe at the bundle that was wrapped in a blanket. It was a foolish question to be sure – what else would it have been but a baby and whose else but his? – but the Man was barely capable of thinking at that point, let alone reasoning.

Ioreth smiled indulgently as she walked over to him. "Indeed it is," she said happily through her exhaustion. "It is my privilege to present your son to you. Do you wish to hold him now, sire?"

"Yes; oh, yes." Aragorn sucked in a breath as the healing woman placed the baby in his arms. Looking into the child's oddly squished face, Aragorn decided in his completely unbiased opinion that he was absolutely perfect. The brown hair on his head had an adorable curl in the front and was impossibly soft and oh-so-inviting to run the tips of his fingers across. Two delicate points on his ears left no question that he belonged to the elven race just as much as he belonged to the race of Men. What really took Aragorn's breath away, however, were his son's eyes; the king had fallen in love with someone who had eyes exactly like that before and it was happening all over again. It was as if Legolas was looking at him through his son's stare…

"Why is his head all pointy like that?" asked Pippin from behind Aragorn, having stood on the bench so that he could get a better view. He certainly hoped that the baby didn't have to go through the rest of his life with such an elongated skull.

"That's just the way it's shaped right now because of the birthing," Sam told him knowledgeably. "It'll flatten out to normal soon enough."

It was just harmless conversation and observations born out of the curiosity of the people who loved his husband almost as much as he did but Aragorn felt nervous all of the sudden. He raised his eyes discreetly to look around. They all seemed happy, but what would happen if one of them asked to hold the baby? They might think of it as their right but he knew in his heart that it couldn't be, not yet. Aragorn was uncomfortable enough with the idea that people were looking at him without putting their hands all over him too. 'That's not irrational,' he told himself stubbornly. After all, it wasn't fair that so many people had gotten to see the baby when his birthing ada might not have. Legolas deserved to be the second non-healer to hold the baby and Aragorn was determined to make sure that no one else got the chance to do so before that time.

He tightened his hold so that no one could snatch the baby away without a fight. "Thank you, Ioreth," he said. "He's wonderful. But how does Legolas fare?"

"The lords Elladan and Elrohir wish to speak with you," answered Ioreth gently. The king's face blanched and he hastened to continue. "The prince was still alive when I left the room just now, but there were – problems that only they are qualified to talk to you about. Your brothers have a gift that not even the most skilled healer here has and it was because of them that the prince survived the birth. Your husband is strong, King Elessar; but now is the time for you to see him again. Would you like me to take the baby while you go in there?"

"No – no," answered Aragorn quickly. He practically curled himself around the boy and hurried away into the birthing chamber before she could carry out her threat to separate them.

His heart almost stopped when at last he laid eyes on Legolas. The elf was lying deathly still on the bed, a blanket drawn meticulously to his chest as if to ward of a chill that those of his race shouldn't be able to feel. His face was much paler than usual, almost translucent, and those eyes, the same eyes that their son had, were – dear Elbereth, no – closed. The lids weren't shut tightly, as if he were trying not to see something terrible, or loosely, as if he were just blinking; there was no thought in how they had closed because the person they were attached to didn't choose for them to do so. Only a slight movement of the blanket at his chest going up and down and the fact that his brothers weren't crying were the only indications that Aragorn had that Legolas was even alive. "My love," the Man sobbed out.

Elladan and Elrohir's heads snapped up; Aragorn knew at that moment that they'd been too wrapped up in their own thoughts to hear anyone come in. "Estel," whispered Elladan hoarsely, slowly setting Legolas' hand that he'd been holding back down on the bed and walking over to his younger brother.

Elrohir stroked the prince's brow once more before making his way around from the other side of the bed. "King Thranduil, everyone," he added, nodding to Thranduil and Gimli, who'd actually entered the room, and the other's who were hovering around the doorway.

"How's Legolas?" demanded Aragorn tightly, speaking to the twins but not looking away from his husband's form. "He looks – how is he?"

"Estel, sit down," instructed Elrohir as he gestured to a chair next to the bed.

"Answer me –"

"Please do as I say!" Elrohir covered his eyes with one of his hands and then dragged it wearily down his face. He drew in a deep, calming breath and continued: "We'll tell you everything, Estel; we don't want to hide anything from you. But you're holding a precious burden that three of us in this room just took great pains to make sure entered this world safely and I for one would feel better if you sat down if you're going to hold him while we discuss Legolas with you."

This couldn't be good. Aragorn felt as if he couldn't breathe as he silently made his way over to the chair and sat. "All right," he said evenly with an underlying hysteria. "I'm sitting down. I'm also nearly insane and extremely scared, and have been so since I first saw that blood on Legolas' hand. Does anyone now feel sufficiently motivated to tell me exactly what condition the love of my life is in?"

Elrohir sat down on the edge of the bed opposite him. "We didn't mean to worry you so much," he said, "but we also couldn't keep sending messages every time his condition changed. Here's the whole truth: he lost a lot of blood and it was difficult to stem it after it had flowed for so long, but we managed to do just that. You and the healers should be commended, Estel; blackberry usually isn't used when blood loss is that bad, but had it not been applied I fear that he would have been lost long before the birth was over. As of right now we've done all that we can do – he still lives but it is up to him to find his way back to us."

Aragorn meant to say 'thank you' – he really did – but a question that had been plaguing him for weeks came out instead: "Where were you two?"

"We're so sorry," apologized Elladan profusely as he took his place at his twin's side. "With the amount of time it takes to travel between Minas Tirith and Rivendell we didn't have a lot of time to actually do the work that we needed to do. We had to choose between returning sooner and researching more thoroughly. We made the assumption that since Legolas is an elf and elves have longer gestation periods than Men that he would deliver late if he didn't deliver on time and decided to delay our departure for the sake of accumulating more research. It was our fault that we didn't prepare for all possibilities, but this was so new to everyone; we didn't realize what risks were involved until it was almost too late."

"I see," mumbled Aragorn. His shoulders sagged a little. "I probably would have made the same assumptions; they weren't at all unreasonable. By the Valar, why did this happen? Why did Legolas deliver so early?"

"There could be several factors, but I would guess that stress was the mitigating one," replied Elrohir thoughtfully. "Pregnancy is stressful under the best of circumstances. Finding out that you're several months along after believing that becoming pregnant wasn't even a possibility is particularly so, even though that was a happy kind of stress in this case. Plus he had been experiencing tremendous guilt and anguish about not being able to bear children and he didn't take care of himself as a pregnant male elf should during the first months. Being poisoned on top of all of that…the body can only handle so much."

Having marital problems with a perpetually preoccupied husband probably hadn't helped either. Aragorn mournfully berated himself –for all that he'd done, he might as well have just poisoned Legolas himself and saved everyone a step. "Could everyone leave?" he asked, sounding dazed. "We – just need to spend some time together right now."

The twins exchanged an apprehensive glance. "Estel –"

"Go."

Aragorn bowed his head and shut his eyes, listening as several sets of feel shuffled out of the room and the door shut quietly behind them. Not everyone had exited, however; and the Man felt an irrational burst of fear when he realized who had boldly decided to linger on after he'd ordered them all to leave. "I asked if everyone could give us some time alone," he reiterated shakily. Why wasn't he gone yet? Aragorn could guess: if anyone was going to try to hold the baby, this interloper was.

"Do you wish to deny me the chance to spend this time with my son?" asked Thranduil softly, undaunted by Aragorn's rejection. He grabbed another chair and pulled it next to his son-in-law's, settling into it when it was arranged where he wanted it. "I need to be here for him just as much as you do, Aragorn."

Aragorn instinctively drew the child closer to him but Thranduil never made any movement to snatch him. "I will not take your baby away from you," the elf promised though it broke his heart a little to do so. "I understand why you cannot let me do that."

The Man seriously doubted that. "How could you understand that?"

"Legolas' mother left for the harbors not two days after Legolas was born," Thranduil told him. The stomach-wrenching emotions of those days felt like they were bleeding anew after so many years, but it was important for Aragorn to know about them and not feel so alone. "She placed him in my arms and departed; and I have not seen her since. I could not bear to let anyone else to hold him for a long time after that – it did not seem right."

Indeed the Man felt relieved that he wasn't so insane to feel that way. "If he – if he passes – I will never be able to let the baby out of my sight then. So many people will be trying to hold him and take care of him and I can't share that job with anyone who isn't Legolas."

"I expressed a rather similar sentiment to your father when he came to visit afterwards," recalled Thranduil with a sad bemusement. "Elrond was very concerned; he feared that I was breaking and instructed me to employ a nanny, but I was adamant in my refusal and managed to raise Legolas without one. It was not easy, though."

"I wish that Ada was here right now," blurted out Aragorn. His cheeks burned as soon as the words left his mouth – what a childish thing to say when he needed to be a responsible adult!

Thranduil didn't look at him disapprovingly or even strangely. "Yes, I often wished for mine as well," he confided. "There were many long nights and dark days when all I wanted to do was turn to my adar and tell him everything that I was feeling that I could not face so that he could tell me that I would get through it. He was a source of wisdom, love, and strength that no one can ever replace in my life."

"Yes – yes, exactly," said Aragorn, his voice starting to tremble uncontrollably. He forced himself to relax as much as he could. "I can't do this without Ada if I have to raise him without Legolas. Elbereth, this baby would be better off if I died too if Legolasgoes – he deserves a full life with rational parents rather than just one father who can't stand the idea of ever putting him down."

"That is not true," said Thranduil wisely. The elf reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from Aragorn's face. "You are distraught and frightened now and that is normal. But this child will help you grow stronger than you ever imagined was possible and through that strength you will find that one day you will be able to put him down when you need to. You will put him down so that he can learn to stand on his own two feet. You will love him, teach him, guide him, and when the time comes, let him go…"

"Like you did." It was a funny feeling and not one that made him feel better, but Aragorn had never comprehended before just what he'd been asking of Thranduil when he'd fallen in love with Legolas. One day someone just like the Man might come along and Aragorn would have to deal with releasing his child to a person who couldn't possibly love him as much as his father did. Of course, he had no doubt that his love for Legolas could compare with Thranduil's but what assurances had he ever offered the elf to let him know that? "I'm so sorry, Thranduil; it must have been terrible –"

"Yes and no," Thranduil cut him off before he could sink further into depression. "I would have been happy if Legolas had decided to remain with me forever but he would not have been. It is an entirely different pain to see your child discontented and knowing that somehow you are the cause of it; a father endures much to make sure that his children are happy, Aragorn, and gladly so."

"I can't bear this…"

"Yes you can." No one could argue with the conviction in Thranduil's voice. "We are not as different as I thought we were – in fact, it seems that we are quite similar; if I could get through this so can you. You must, for your son's sake." He fell silent for a beat. "I hold true to my vow that I will not take him, but may I be allowed to see him more clearly?"

Nodding slightly, Aragorn shifted the baby and brushed aside any bits of the blanket that would obstruct Thranduil's view. "He is a miracle," gasped Thranduil, overwhelmed to the point of tears at his first real sight of his grandson. "He is certainly my Little Greenleaf's son, is he not? This is a very special child, Aragorn; not only to us but also to the future of your race. He is the last child born to an elf in Middle-earth." He smiled and tenderly stroked the infant's cheek. "And to two parents with elvish blood. Through his line the blood of the eldar race will flow to ensuing generations so that its beauty and splendor may not be wholly forgotten. Welcome, most beautiful eldarion."

"Eldarion?" repeated Aragorn ponderously, studying his son's face as the baby stared at his grandfather. "Son of the eldar race. He needs a grand and commanding name; one that honors his elvish heritage but isn't out of place in the world of Men. Something – special. Eldarion sounds pretty perfect to me."

"It is most fitting," agreed Thranduil through his tears. "Eldarion…"

As good as it felt to finally have a name for his son, Aragorn suddenly hesitated. "Not quite yet," he said. "Legolas should have a say in this matter. We can't call the baby any one name until we know for sure…"

"Until he wakes," supplied Thranduil resolutely. "We must have hope. My Little Greenleaf has never surrendered a fight willingly and permanently before and he has more incentive than ever not to start now. We only have to wait."

"Until the end of my life, if necessary," said Aragorn, though he knew that he couldn't make his son wait if Legolas continued to linger on like this for months…years. Thranduil put a comforting arm around his shoulder and the Man marveled to find that it didn't feel unusual. "We are here for you, Legolas; please come back to us."

To be continued…

A/N: This story now has over 700 reviews! Thank you all so much!

Just a little note about newborn babies: for those of you who haven't seen a baby so soon after he or she has been born, newborns look odd. Not that they aren't adorable, especially to those who love them so much; when I saw my niece a few hours after she was born she had a conehead and her facial features were kind of flattened and a little squished - I thought she was perfect. All of that corrects itself as the baby recovers from the birth.