They traveled several more hours as quickly as Legolas and the wounded were able to move, stopping only once for a brief rest once they were sure they were not being pursued. Legolas seemed determined not to falter, refusing to allow Aragorn to carry him, even when it was clear he was experiencing increasingly intense transitional labor pains.

It was about an hour before sunset when they finally reached the edge of the forest, and Legolas's body suddenly became a dead weight on Aragorn's shoulders. Surprised by the sudden change, Aragorn stopped and began to lower him down, but Legolas kept his feet beneath himself, falling into a deep squat. He made a soft, strained noise of effort, his eyes tightly shut.

"Legolas," Aragorn said quietly, his hands now on the elf's shoulders, keeping him balanced. "Are you pushing?"

Legolas's tight expression remained the same, but he gave a small nod, another soft grunt escaping his lips. The others had gathered around them by then, and Aragorn looked up at their worried faces.

"The babe is coming," he said. "We will make it no further today."

No one moved or spoke for a long moment, which made the elf's soft groans of effort sound even louder.

"Don't just stand there like fools, make camp!" Aragorn ordered, his tone taking on a hard and irritated edge. He pointed toward a large oak several meters away where the forest started to become denser. "Near that tree. Quickly now!"

The company was startled into motion by his command, though their movements were sluggish with weariness. Aragorn watched them for a moment, already regretting how harshly he had spoken. At some point, Gimli had begun aiding the wounded Boromir, allowing the taller man to grip his shoulder for both support and balance. Aragorn looked at the hobbits and noticed only now that Sam was bleeding from a head wound, and that Frodo had gone very pale, his breathing shallow and pained. Merry and Pippin appeared uninjured, though the grief and exhaustion showed clear in the darkness beneath their eyes.

"Estel." The name sounded like a soft whimper on the elf's lips.

"I'm here," Aragorn said, bringing his attention back to Legolas. "I'm going to move you to that tree over there," he said pointing to the same area where he had directed the others.

"Hurry," Legolas said through clenched teeth.

Aragorn hooked his arm under the elf's legs and lifted him up. He strode quickly into the shelter of the trees and laid Legolas carefully down beside the ancient oak. He stripped himself of his cloak and placed it on a soft patch of grass at the base of the tree, between two large, raised roots. He lifted Legolas again and placed him on the cloak, his back propped up against the gentle slope of the tree. The roots would help afford them a small degree of privacy while still allowing the company to remain close by. Aragorn quickly undid the buckles of Legolas's light elven shoes and pulled them off.

"Can you unlace your trousers for me?" Aragorn asked.

"I hope I can manage that much at least," Legolas answered with a weak laugh. He reached beneath his tunic and released the ties on his trousers.

"That's it. Raise up for me now."

Legolas placed his hands to his sides and raised himself off the ground just long enough for Aragorn to tug his trousers down.

"Mister Strider?"

Aragorn turned. It was Sam again, this time holding out a rolled-up blanket with a stack of woolen hand towels perched on top of it. He kept his head turned, his eyes averted away from the half-naked elf.

"Mine's the biggest blanket," Sam said. "Well, save for Boromir's, but he'll be needing a good rest tonight on account of his wound. Figuring you might be able to use mine though, maybe help spare Legolas's modesty a bit." He gave a small, embarrassed smile, then lifted the topmost hand towel.

"These were my mum's, that's why the, uh—" He gestured awkwardly to the image of a cat playing a fiddle embroidered on the towel. "—But I've had these taking up room in my pack most of the journey. They haven't seen a wash since Rivendell, but I mostly just use them to keep pans and bottles and things from banging against each other, so they're still pretty clean."

"Sam—" Aragorn said, stunned.

Sam quickly pressed the blanket and towels into Aragorn's hands.

"I know Legolas and our little elven princess deserve better, but I'm figuring you're not feeling too choosy—"

"Samwise Gamgee, you are a treasure," Aragorn said emphatically.

Sam blushed at that.

Aragorn set the towels aside and spread the blanket over the elf's lower half. He turned back to Sam and grimaced at the sight of the dried blood on the hobbit's scalp.

"I am sorry I have not had the time to tend to you and your master's wounds. I will see to them as soon as I am able. In the meantime, I'm afraid I must ask more of you. We are in desperate need of boiled water, as many pans of it as you can manage, for both Legolas and for the wounded. They could all do with a hot meal as well. Are you sound enough to take charge of these things?"

"Oh, very much so, sir," Sam said, nodding and then wincing slightly at the motion. "I'll get Merry and Pip to help; neither of them were hurt as far as I can tell." He turned to leave, but stopped when Legolas called after him.

"Sam."

"Yes, Mister Legolas?"

"I am learning that there is little dignity to be afforded in childbirth," Legolas said with a rueful smile. "Your attempts to preserve mine are appreciated more than you know. You have my thanks."

"I am at your service, sir," Sam said, blushing, nodding, and wincing in turn. He hurried back to the rest of the group and began rallying the two uninjured hobbits to the tasks at hand.

"Is it all right if I look?" Aragorn asked when he and Legolas were alone once more. Legolas nodded, pulling his bare feet back and bending his knees. Aragorn carefully lifted the blanket and folded it back.

"What do you see?" Legolas asked.

"I see…nothing," Aragorn said, truthfully. The opening between the elf's legs looked much the same as it always had, though Aragorn knew that the internal passage had likely been slowly widening over the past several hours. He knew he should probably check the span of it, but he was reluctant to do so without first washing his hands. "What about you? What are you feeling?" he asked.

"A good deal more than 'nothing,'" Legolas said with an annoyed huff. "Pressure, mostly. Deep pressure. Are you sure you can see nothing?"

"I am sure, but that does not mean the child isn't close. Do you feel the urge to bear down?"

"Not at this moment, but I did before. It was overwhelming; stronger even than the pain—which is bad, in case you were wondering," Legolas added, lightly.

"I don't doubt it," Aragorn said, his hand now a comforting presence on Legolas's thigh. "Go ahead and push when you feel the need to. I will be right here."

They didn't have to wait long. Legolas's breathing accelerated with the return of his pain, and he dug his heels into the ground through the cloak beneath him, bearing down with a deep, guttural moan. The push lasted several seconds before Legolas released it, panting and resetting his feet, which had begun to slip. He pushed again on the same contraction, his chin pressed down to his chest and his face turning red with effort. He released the second push with a loud huff of air, his gasping breaths slowly returning to a more normal rate as the pain of the contraction faded.

"This is not how I envisioned my labor would go," Legolas said once he had caught his breath. His tone was light, but he seemed on the verge of tears.

"I know, love," Aragorn said, taking his hand and squeezing it. "I wish you were under the care of Elrond rather than me. I wish you had a full room of healers in the house of Celeborn and Galadriel. I wish it were I laboring in your place. There are many things I wish for your sake."

"Do you wish this child had never come to be?"

"No," Aragorn said quickly. "I could never wish that. Not when you've loved her from the beginning, just as I have since you told me of her."

Legolas smiled at that.

"I am glad."

The hobbits worked remarkably fast for having no assistance from the Big Folk, as they sometimes referred to the others. Aragorn could see that they were building the fire just far enough away to allow him and Legolas to converse privately, but close enough that they would be able to hear them if called.

They soon had a large campfire going, upon which they set several mismatched pots of water gathered from the Silverlode. Before long, Sam sent Pippin over to Aragorn and Legolas, bearing a steaming pot of water held through his jacket pockets.

"Hullo, there!" Pippin called as he approached.

"Hello, Pippin. Sam has had some help, I see. Good lad," Aragorn said. "You can leave the water here."

Pippin carefully stepped over the large root and set the pot of water down beside Aragorn, who quickly washed his hands and forearms.

Aragorn pressed one hand beneath the blanket, then met Legolas's eyes.

"I need to check your passage to make sure it has widened enough for the child to pass through. Is that all right?" he asked.

Legolas gave a small nod and shifted slightly to give him better access. Aragorn kept the blanket over the elf's knees as he reached between his legs and pressed his fingers gently into the soft folds.

Pippin, who had lingered past his welcome in his innocent curiosity, stood nearby. His eyes were frozen on Legolas's face, which had gone tight with discomfort, a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

"Oof," Pippin said, and he sucked in a breath through his teeth, wincing in sympathy. "Does it hurt terribly?"

Aragorn turned his head at that, his eyes widening as he fixed Pippin with a look of exasperated disapproval.

Pippin reddened at Aragorn's wordless reprimand, but Legolas laughed with real mirth for the first time in days.

"Indeed, the whole process does hurt terribly," Legolas said. "I would not recommend it."

"That's good to know," Pippin said with a nervous laugh. "I shall remember not to try it."

Aragorn's expression softened at the easy exchange. It was Pippin's youth that amused Legolas, he realized. At only twenty-eight, the youngest of their company frequently reminded him of a colt clumsily testing the limits of his legs for the first time.

Aragorn removed his hand from beneath the blanket and began to wash his hands again.

"Your passage is ready. It should not take too long; hopefully just a few good pushes." He looked at Pippin. "Will you go fetch Gimli for me? We could use his assistance here if he has finished helping Boromir."

"He is cleaning Boromir's wound now," Pippin said. "I think he means to stitch it shut, though I heard him mention that he is no good with needlework."

"I see," Aragorn said, casting his worried gaze back toward the rest of the company.

"Go on, Aragorn," Legolas said, softly. "The wounded need tending to. I feel there is still some time yet."

"You are already pushing; the child could be moments away," Aragorn said, clearly torn.

Legolas shook his head. "I don't think it is. Indeed, I thought it was, earlier when we first reached this place. But it feels as if I have been straining against a stone wall that refuses to yield. I think there may be something wrong—and I fear my labor may be far from over.

"Legolas," Aragorn said, his voice strained with worry. Legolas just shook his head.

"There is nothing you can do for me right now. I will try to rest for the moment. Perhaps Pippin could remain with me for a little while, if he is willing." He looked at the young hobbit, who swallowed nervously, but nodded. He looked back at Aragorn. "Go on now. I will call out for you if anything changes."

"I will come running," Aragorn assured him. He stood with a lingering glance in Legolas's direction before pulling his pack over his shoulder and stepping over the large tree root that separated them from the clearing that housed the rest of the fellowship.

He found Gimli with Boromir leaned up against another large tree a short distance away.

"He has lost a good deal of blood," Gimli said, shifting over to allow Aragorn to examine the wounded man. "I think I've cleaned it well enough with the water Merry brought, but I have never had much skill for needlework…" He trailed off, giving Aragorn an imploring look.

Aragorn nodded.

"I will stitch the wound," he said. "But first, rinse it once more with this." He drew a dried leaf of athelas from his bag and crushed it in his hands, tossing it into the still-steaming pot. Gimli obediently flushed the wound again, the fragrant smell of the water revitalizing all three of them, both in mind and body alike.

Aragorn drew fresh needle and gut from his pack and began to stitch the wound with swift, precise movements. Boromir's face was tight with pain, but he made no sound when the needle met the edges of his injury.

"I fear that you have suffered much and in silence this day," Aragorn said. "If we had only had time to properly treat your wound, you would not have lost so much blood. I am sorry."

"Do not let it trouble you," Boromir said. "Your focus and leadership since Gandalf fell have been admirable. If it were my child coming any moment now, I would not be nearly as useful as you have been."

Aragorn paused in his work and looked up sharply, meeting Boromir's eyes and seeing the pale shadow of a smile there.

"Does everyone know, then?" he asked bitterly, returning his attention to the wound.

Gimli gave a soft chuckle. "I'm afraid so. Merry was trying to get a rather crude wager going, but his efforts were in vain as all agreed early on that the bairn must be yours. Legolas seems certain it's a lass, so Merry ended up changing the wager to hair color: fair or dark."

Aragorn's smile did not reach his eyes. He had not even considered what hair color the child might have. He was only concerned that it be born hale and sound, and that Legolas would come through it safely and with as little injury as possible.

"What do you think?" he asked quietly.

"Dark," Gimli said with certainty. "It is a rare thing for a child to be fair-haired when one parent has a head as dark as yours."

"You would be surprised by the Rohirrim, then," Boromir said. "Nearly all of their children are born golden-haired, even when one parent is foreign."

"What do you think, then?" Gimli asked, crossing his arms.

"Dark," Boromir said with the same certainty Gimli had shown. "Aragorn's bloodline is strong."

Gimli laughed.

"Are you aware that Legolas is of royal blood in his own right?" the dwarf asked. "His father is a king among elves. As a matter of fact, the same king who once imprisoned my father and his whole company of dwarves—in a different time."

"Aragorn's bloodline is strong," Boromir repeated with a small shrug. He looked at Aragorn. "And what do you think?"

"I think—"

Aragorn turned his head at the soft groans coming from the base of the oak tree across the clearing, intermixed with the sound of Pippin's light, reassuring chatter. He swallowed and reluctantly returned his focus to the task beneath his hands.

"I don't much care, as long as they are both well," he murmured after a moment.

"They'll be all right, lad," Gimli said, kindly. Aragorn just nodded. He finished up the last stitch and wiped down the wound.

"I need to see to Frodo and Sam's injuries. Please bind Boromir's wound and then bring him and yourself some supper. Once you have seen to your own needs, I would be much obliged if you would come assist me with Legolas."

Gimli paled a bit at that, but quickly nodded. "Anything you need."

Aragorn nodded in thanks before standing and moving over to join the trio of hobbits next to the campfire that Sam had started. Merry had taken over stirring the stew, and Sam was in the middle of fussing at Frodo's pierced and torn tunic. He was insisting that Frodo remove it and reveal the extent of his injuries.

"Mister Strider saw it happen, didn't you?" Sam said as Aragorn sat down beside them. "You thought him dead for sure—we all did!"

"Indeed, I did, Sam," Aragorn agreed. He took another dried leaf from his pack and crushed it in his hands, dropping it into the steaming water.

"I am all right," Frodo said.

"That's a lie," Sam said before Aragorn could respond. "He told me earlier it hurts to breathe."

"I am already feeling much better now that I have had a moment to rest," Frodo insisted.

"Please, Frodo," Aragorn said. "I need to get back to Legolas, but I cannot do so until I have checked your and Sam's wounds for myself."

"Very well then," Frodo said with a soft sigh, "But Sam first; he's the only one of us who is bleeding."

Aragorn nodded in agreement.

Sam was initially reluctant, but he seemed happy enough to receive treatment if it meant Frodo would submit to being examined. He held very still as Aragorn cleaned and bandaged the large cut on his head. When that was done, Aragorn shifted his focus to Frodo.

"Come on then, Frodo, it's time you let me see the damage," he said, kindly.

Frodo silently allowed Aragorn to strip him of his jacket and tunic; it seemed to pain him too much to do it himself.

Aragorn gasped at what he discovered hidden beneath the worn tunic, his eyes widening with wonder. The shining coat of ringlets didn't look like any chainmail Aragorn had seen before, but there was no questioning what it was. It was made of mithril, the perfect size to fit an elven princeling—or a full-grown hobbit.

"And just when I thought you were out of surprises!" Aragorn cried. "This shirt is the reason you are not dead or grievously wounded. I'd wager there is not a blade, spear, or bolt that it would not turn!"

He carefully removed the shirt from Frodo's body, marveling at the lightness of it, and then set it aside. He fully intended to discover the truth of how it came to be in Frodo's possession some other time, but for now he was simply grateful for the miracle that had saved the ringbearer's life.

Finally, Aragorn removed Frodo's undershirt, and he winced at the damage that lay hidden beneath. Despite the priceless armor that had prevented his untimely death, Frodo had not been unscathed. His small body was badly bruised all over, particularly on his side where he had been struck by the spear, and on his back where he had been pinned against the wall. Guilt settled heavily into Aragorn's stomach. He had been too distracted with Legolas's labor to notice how badly Frodo was hurt. The ringbearer should not have been made to walk so far unaided.

"Forgive me, Frodo. I should have been carrying you the past several hours."

Frodo looked at him, bemused. "Legolas needed your help more than I did. I am certain his pains were far greater than mine. At any rate, why do you linger by my side when your child is due to be born any minute?"

Aragorn went quiet for a moment as he began to bathe Frodo's bruised skin with the athelas-infused water.

"I swore to protect you, by my life or death. You and your task are more important than anything else. And with Gandalf gone I feel responsible to lead the company now."

Aragorn suddenly felt his throat tighten and his eyes began to burn. He continued to speak, his words now spilling out as if they had been held in by a dam that could no longer hold up against the pressure.

"But three of you were injured, and I could not even offer any help for hours because Legolas was suffering so much—is suffering still. And now he says something is wrong, and I'm so afraid for him and the child that I cannot focus on any of the tasks I am trying to accomplish because the one I treasure most is hurting, and there is nothing I can do to help."

He looked up at Frodo's stricken face.

"Forgive me," Aragorn said, quickly. "Your burden is heavy enough without my adding to your cares."

"No, I am glad you said something. You cannot be protector, leader, healer, midwife, and new father all at once, though I think it should be said that you have managed incredibly well so far. But I think the danger is far behind us now, and I feel at ease in this place. And you must not forget that Sam has nursed me through worse hurts than this. Go, be with your treasured one and await your child together."

Aragorn nodded with a grateful smile and stood, gathering his pack.

An unexpected, beautiful sound came suddenly from the base of the great tree, and both Aragorn and Frodo turned their heads to it.

Legolas was laughing again.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think, I'd love to hear your predictions. :D