"What did you say?" Aragorn asked as he stared, mouth slightly agape, at the small but distinct swell beneath the pale skin of the elf's midsection.
He had been worried when Legolas had pulled him aside the moment Gandalf called for a brief rest, the great peak of Caradhras just now in sight among the Misty Mountains rising high and white to the east of them. It was the first time the two of them had spoken in private since their journey had begun several weeks ago, and Legolas had started the conversation by lifting his shirt and tunic just high enough for Aragorn to see what had been hidden beneath.
For a brief moment, Aragorn had feared Legolas was hiding a wound, as had happened once before in their travels together. Indeed, his healer's instincts would have mistaken the swelling for internal bleeding if not for the strange, impossible words that had sprung forth from the elf's mouth.
"What did you say?" Aragorn asked again.
"You heard me," Legolas said. "Do not make me say it again."
"With child?" Aragorn asked, stupidly. "You say you are carrying a child?"
Legolas gave a tense jerk of a nod. He quickly let his tunic and shirt fall back down over his abdomen, and the small swell became almost completely hidden again in the natural folds of the cloth.
"I swear to you I did not know when we began our journey—"
"But you must have known soon after!"
Legolas winced at Aragorn's tone, his eyes downcast.
"Yes and no. It was soon after we left that I knew something was wrong, but I mistook my symptoms for—something else. And by then the journey was well underway, and I had committed myself as one of the Nine. I was convinced I would recover quickly, that the strange symptoms would fade. But then the child began to move—"
"When? When did you know?" Aragorn gave a quick glance back toward the rest of the company, suddenly worried that they would hear, though only Gandalf and possibly Frodo had a chance of understanding the elvish language they used when they were alone together.
"Only a week ago. Are you angry with me?"
"What use is there to be angry now?" Aragorn said, a little more harshly than he had intended. "We must deal with the situation, that much is certain—" He paused at the sudden, sharp motion from the elf. Legolas had taken a step back, both hands now held protectively over the tiny swell of his abdomen.
Aragorn's expression softened. "Not like that," he assured him. "But it's good to know your feelings on the matter. Fortunately, it seems there is time yet. We will surely reach Lothlorien within the month, barring any significant delays. There we must leave you and go on. You will be well cared for in the Golden Wood under the protection of Galadriel and Celeborn."
Legolas's eyes began to fill with tears, and Aragorn was swift to reach out and take his hand.
"What have I said?" Aragorn asked. "You cannot have intended to remain with us until your time?"
"That is just it; I'm afraid we may no longer have a choice in the matter. There is a chance we may not even reach Lorien before my time."
"I do not understand," Aragorn said, though his tone was now very gentle. "Surely you are no more than six months along?"
Legolas looked at him sharply, his face a mix of both anger and deep hurt.
"Elves carry for a year, or sometimes less. It is already more than ten months since we last took to bed together. Do you not remember that night as I do? Or did you believe I had given my body to another while my heart still belonged to you?"
Aragorn froze then, the implication of the elf's words setting his mind racing.
"The child—" His gaze dropped to the small mound beneath Legolas's protective hand. "You're saying the child is mine?"
"Yes, you senseless brute! I had thought you already reached that conclusion, or I would have said so before!"
Aragorn's eyes widened, and he released a breath so tremulous it sounded like a soft laugh, both fearful and giddy. He tightened his grip on Legolas's hand, pulling it to his mouth to kiss it.
"Are you pleased, then?" Legolas asked.
"Of course I am pleased! The timing is…complicated to say the least, but yes, I am pleased. Beyond any useful words."
"I am relieved," Legolas admitted with a bright, wet smile. "I had mistaken your ignorance for indifference."
"My feelings will never be indifferent where you're concerned. But please, forgive me! I could only believe what my eyes told me. I have seen women heavy with child, and you do not look—"
"I am not a woman," Legolas interrupted, though the anger had long since faded from his voice. "Nor am I of the race of Men. My child is held deep within, and I can assure you she is a healthy size. I can hardly breathe sometimes for her pressing beneath my lungs."
"A little girl?" Aragorn asked, his voice hardly above a whisper.
Legolas nodded. "I am quite certain. She is restless now; she can feel my heart racing."
"May I…?"
Legolas smiled and took both of Aragorn's hands in his, guiding them to the space just below his navel. Hardly a moment later Aragorn felt the soft flutter of motion within.
"I can feel her," he said, and his own eyes were suddenly bright.
"She moves frequently now, though until very recently she was strangely dormant. It is why I carried her unknowingly for so long. You may already know this, but conception is very…purposeful for elves. What has happened to me is unheard of, as far as I'm aware." Legolas breathed a soft sigh. "She is calming now at your touch. That is, I am more relaxed now, and she in turn." He met Aragorn's eyes again. "And you are not angry? Truly?"
"No, I am not angry. But I still do not understand. What did you mistake your symptoms for? Elves do not suffer from illness; I know this very well."
Legolas looked suddenly uncomfortable.
"I…I feared my grief at losing your love had begun to manifest itself physically."
"Losing my love?" Aragorn asked, bemused. "Meleth-nin, your grip on my heart has never been more tight!"
"But you would not look at me. You have avoided even walking close to me!"
"Only because I feared looking at you too much. I avoided walking beside you because I feared if you stepped too close to me I would not be able to resist taking you in my arms! I have a duty to the ringbearer and to the quest. I could not allow myself to be distracted by my feelings for you, real though they are."
He reached out and stroked a wisp of hair from the elf's face, and Legolas closed his eyes at the touch.
"I am sorry I did not explain myself to you sooner," Aragorn continued, "but we have not yet had a moment alone in all this time. I never meant to cause you pain, though it is clear now that I have. Can you forgive me?"
It was then that the elf's tears finally began to spill over.
"Legolas? What is it?" Aragorn asked, alarmed.
"It's all right, all is well now. I was just so afraid you would be angry; I wasn't prepared for an apology, much less to find your love for me intact."
Aragorn took the elf in his arms then, and he could feel the firm, round shape of the child pressed between them.
"And is your love for me also intact?" Aragorn asked, softly.
"I have already told you to whom my heart yet belongs."
"I am glad. But come now. Before this goes any further, we must tell Gandalf."
Both Legolas and Aragorn had steeled themselves for the consequences of rousing a wizard's wrath, so it came entirely as a surprise when Gandalf's first reaction was joy.
"Of course, the timing could hardly be worse," the old wizard acknowledged, his smile not fading, "—but it has been so very long since I have seen an elfling. It would be an honor to be present for the birth of one."
"Then you think you will be able to assist when his time comes?" Aragorn asked, hopeful.
Gandalf nodded. "I will do what I can—which may be very little," he added quickly. "It would be best if he were with his own kind for the birth. We must hope that we make it to Lothlorien in good time. With any luck, our journey should be unhindered by this most welcome inconvenience."
It was less than a week before Legolas felt it necessary to tell the rest of their companions. The burden in his belly was becoming more and more apparent, and it was clear it would soon be impossible to hide from any of them. The small swell seemed far more obvious to Aragorn now that he knew it was there, and he was beginning to wonder how he had missed it for so long.
Both Gimli and Boromir seemed dismayed at the news, especially when they heard how far along he was, but each offered their congratulations once the initial shock had worn off. The hobbits' reactions ranged from curiosity to outright enthusiasm. Pippin in particular wanted to know everything there was to tell about it, much to Legolas's discomfort, and Sam seemed overjoyed at the thought of meeting an elfling.
Merry didn't realize how much he had appreciated their elf companion's lightheartedness until it seemed to disappear overnight, replaced by a contemplative melancholy soon after their journey began. He had actually been relieved when Legolas had revealed his condition to them, as it gave an explanation for his drastic change in demeanor.
It must be terrifying, Merry thought, to discover you are expecting a child in a time and place as perilous as this.
Still, he couldn't help being happy for him as well. Merry liked children; he was proud to be favorite "Uncle" to more than a handful of wee little Brandybucks, and some Tooks besides. He wondered what elf children looked like—there had been a distinct lack of children or even young adults in Rivendell. Most of the elves he had met seemed as ageless to him as Elrond, though some were more youthful in appearance like Glorfindel. He had hoped to find a moment to walk beside Legolas for a time so he could ask him about elf children, but Pippin had asked so many impertinent questions on that first day that Gandalf had quickly called a brief meeting of just the hobbits to tell them all to "leave the elf alone, for pity's sake!"
Strider had been spending an unusual amount of time by the elf's side, often speaking to him in hushed elvish, and Merry was developing some strong suspicions as to the identity of the other parent.
This evening, however, Legolas was sitting by himself on a large stone, one hand held at the base of his ribs. He looked deep in thought, and his breathing seemed a shade too quick for one at rest. Strider and Gandalf were a short distance away, speaking quietly at the edge of their campsite. The mountain had defeated them just that afternoon, and their path forward was yet undecided.
"May I join you?" Merry asked as he approached. Legolas started at the sound of Merry's voice, but he turned and smiled warmly at him.
"Of course. I should be glad of some company."
Merry made to scramble up onto the large stone, but Legolas was quick to offer his hand. Merry grasped it tightly, and the elf easily lifted him and set him down at his side.
"Thanks," Merry said. He frowned at a sudden thought. "Is it safe for you to be lifting heavy things in your, um, condition? Only, you seemed out of breath just now."
Legolas smiled again. "You are hardly a heavy thing, my little friend. And there is no need to be concerned; the babe has been pressing hard beneath my lungs in recent days. It makes it difficult to take a full breath."
"That sounds terribly uncomfortable," Merry said.
"It is," Legolas confirmed.
They sat in a relaxed silence for a little while, and Merry realized that from here he was able to catch a few of the whispered words between Strider and Gandalf. The words dark, and dwarves, and orcs stood out to him, though he could not make out much else.
"What do you think they're discussing?" Merry asked. Legolas's expression grew a shade darker.
"There is a path under the mountain that they are considering. It seems all other paths are too exposed or too distant. Aragorn is against taking it, but he will bow to Gandalf's counsel. He already feels guilty for how much time we lost on the pass of Caradhras."
"Surely it is a safer path than over the mountain?" Merry asked. He shivered at the recent memory. He had been terrified that they would be lost forever in the malicious snowfall on that pass.
"It may be," Legolas acknowledged softly.
"Would you choose to take it?"
"I do not wish to go that way, and I will say as much if Gandalf asks my opinion. But I fear at this point we may have no choice."
"Does the way under the mountain scare you that much?"
The elf looked at him then, and there was no trace of shame or embarrassment on his face.
"It does," he said. "Now, please, I do not wish to speak on it further. The mere thought of it fills my heart with dread, which makes my child restless."
"She is strong, then?" Merry asked, glad to change the subject.
"She is. I am glad of it, though her twists and kicks make it difficult to find comfortable rest," Legolas said.
"Can't be all that comfortable for her either," Merry said with a shrug.
Another small smile. "Indeed, it probably isn't."
"What are they like? Sorry—elf children, I mean. There weren't any in the group we met during our journey, and none in Rivendell either."
"They are very rare indeed. I have only known a few in the Woodland Realm. Childhood is brief for elves—comparatively, I suppose," Legolas added. "We are considered adults when we reach our hundredth year, though you probably would not notice a physical difference between a fifty-year-old elf and a full-grown one."
"Hobbits come of age at thirty-three," Merry said. "I am thirty-six now, but I suppose I would still be considered a child if I were an elf."
Legolas smiled broadly. "You are still a child, my little friend." His smile faded at Merry's sudden downcast look. "Forgive me, Merry, that was thoughtless. I did not mean to be unkind."
"No, no, it's fine," Merry said, quickly. "You may not know this, but hobbits tend to dislike it when Big Folk treat us like children due to our stature."
"That is understandable," Legolas said with a nod. "I shall be more mindful of it in the future."
"All right, gather round, gather round!" Gandalf called. "There are decisions to be made before we can take our rest!"
Legolas gave Merry a grim look before taking his hand and helping him gently to the ground, then hopping down himself with a soft, breathless grunt. Strider was quick to join Legolas at his side, one of his hands reaching subtly for the small of the elf's back.
Indeed, the subject of their discussion concerned what path to take. Merry was dismayed to hear that the way under the mountain was through a place called Moria, a name he had only heard in dark and fearful hobbit legends. Gandalf asked each their opinion in turn, and though all but Gimli were reluctant, it seemed that come morning they would begin their search for the doors into the mountain.
A/N: More coming soon, please let me know what you think!