A/N: Oof, finally an update. I promised you a reunion, but I suppose it's up to you to judge how happy it is.
If you are still reading this story THANK YOU SO MUCH for putting up with the stupidly long wait times. I love you!
"Any idea what time it is?" Boromir asked as they made their way down the silent hall of the elven recovery ward. He had wanted to take his exhausted companion back to his own room to make sure he received food and water right away, but Aragorn had insisted that he had been too long parted from Legolas. Boromir had relented when it became clear that Aragorn would be rejoining the elf with or without assistance. Hopefully they would find rations in whatever room the elves had Legolas holed up in.
"Less than an hour since sunrise, I think. It's…it's been difficult to keep track," Aragorn said, the small hitch his voice lingering evidence of his earlier ordeal. His arm was still over Boromir's shoulders, though he was no longer leaning on him for support.
"After sunrise," Boromir mused. "That must have been the longest sleep I've had since Rivendell."
"Blood loss will do that to a man," Aragorn replied, and Boromir could not tell if his words were meant in jest or not. He gave a soft snort in response.
"I suppose you're right about that."
"Here—this is his room," Aragorn said, patting his companion's shoulder lightly.
Boromir halted, gazing with wonder at the elaborately carved door that stood out from the others they had passed by.
"I keep forgetting our Legolas is a royal himself."
"And I think he would prefer it if you continued to forget," Aragorn replied. He unwrapped his arm from Boromir's shoulders and gave two soft knocks before turning the handle and pressing open the door.
Boromir didn't know what he expected to see, but it certainly wasn't this.
The overly large bed dwarfed the pale, slender figure that lay motionless in it, eyes closed in a deep slumber. Boromir didn't know much about elf physiology, but he had seen Legolas sleep enough times to know that this was not normal. He never thought he'd actually miss seeing the unnerving, sightless gaze of their elf companion's waking rest.
In the chair beside their unconscious companion sat the most beautiful man—or male, Boromir supposed—he had ever seen. The resemblance to Legolas was unmistakable; tall, lean, and not one strand of that light, pristine hair out of place. But for all that, he lacked Legolas's warmth, and Boromir did not miss how Aragorn's whole body seemed to tense at the very sight of him.
"You certainly took your time," the elf said, his gaze still trained on Legolas, one limp hand held in both of his.
"Forgive me. I needed a moment to gather my thoughts," Aragorn said.
"Did you indeed?" The dry smile on the elf's lips faded quickly when he looked up and saw the state of them, Aragorn's hand back around Boromir's shoulders, the newborn cradled safely in Boromir's left arm.
The elf's eyes widened, and he stood as if to rush over to them, but Aragorn held out a hand, shaking his head.
"I'm all right," Aragorn said.
"Then why do you require support?" the elf accused.
"I do not require—"
"He has been tending to both his family and his allies without rest for days," Boromir spoke up. "He needs food, water, and sleep."
"And you are—?" Thranduil asked, fixing his sights upon the child Boromir held, as if he planned to snatch her away from him at any moment.
"Boromir of Gondor," Aragorn said, his grip on Boromir's shoulder tightening. "He was wounded less than two days ago while saving your son's life under the mountain. Boromir, this is his majesty King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm."
Legolas's father, Boromir remembered, stupidly. The elvenking. Aragorn had mentioned that, hadn't he?
"Your majesty," Boromir said, inclining his head in Thranduil's direction.
Thranduil stepped forward, and the way he carried himself made him seem even taller as he approached them, hands clasped behind his back.
"Is this true? You bled for my son and my grandchild?" Thranduil said, his chin slightly raised as his eyes flicked down upon Boromir.
"And I would do so again," Boromir said, his head still bowed in deference. "—As Aragorn would as well, given the chance," he added more awkwardly, glancing at the man beside him. Aragorn turned his face away, but not before Boromir saw him shut his eyes with a pained grimace.
"I'll have to take you at your word," Thranduil said with a thin smile, "—since as of this moment the throneless, self-professed ranger of the north who stands beside you is the only one in the room who hasn't bled for either of them."
Boromir felt more than saw Aragorn's posture tighten at his side. Boromir had grown up with a father who excelled at using words as needle-thin daggers, striking with precision where his victims were most vulnerable. He looked to his right and saw not Aragorn, but his own brother, his face obscured by a curtain of dark hair, his shoulders hunched in shame. And although Boromir had no idea of what had transpired between Aragorn and Thranduil in that room before he arrived, he suddenly knew without a doubt that it was the elvenking who had caused Aragorn's earlier fit of terror.
"Why do you speak so cruelly to the father of your grandchild?" Boromir pointedly asked, surprised at his own boldness.
Thranduil's face immediately hardened, though he kept his voice light.
"I would say the answer is in your question, if I thought you had any chance of understanding my meaning," he said, steadily.
Boromir shook his head, disgusted.
"You should be on your knees thanking him for saving Legolas—for saving all of us after Gandalf fell."
"Boromir," Aragorn whispered sharply. Boromir ignored him, plowing forward.
"If you had any idea what Aragorn has been through these past two days—" He flinched and nearly gasped as he felt a sudden sharp pain in his side. Aragorn had subtly dropped his hand from Boromir's shoulder and was now pressing two fingers into his wound.
Momentarily stunned, Boromir turned and met Aragorn's eyes. He could see in them both an apology and a desperate plea.
"I have some idea, young steward," Thranduil seethed, either uncaring or unaware of what had silently transpired between the two men. "And I know for certain it was my son who nearly died in childbirth last night, not Aragorn."
Neither of the men offered a reply, though Boromir only kept his mouth shut because he knew how to follow a silent command.
Thranduil gave a soft huff before addressing Aragorn once more.
"Yours will be the first face he sees—"
"—when he awakes," Aragorn interrupted, bitterly. Thranduil gave an approving nod.
"And when he is strong again?" he asked.
Aragorn met the elvenking's eyes, his expression dark.
"I will do what must be done."
Thranduil stared hard at Aragorn for a long moment, as if he were trying to decide if that was an acceptable response. He eventually gave another soft sigh and made for the door to the room, pausing just long enough to spare a small nod in Boromir's direction.
"Thank you—for Legolas. I am grateful."
"Drink, Aragorn," Boromir said, pressing the crystal glass into Aragorn's hands.
Left on their own, they had been relieved to find Legolas's room just as well-stocked with refreshments as Boromir's had been, and Boromir had wasted no time filling several glasses with water, all while still holding the newborn his left arm.
Aragorn sank into the seat beside the bed and raised the glass to his lips, drinking until it was empty. Boromir plucked it from his hand and quickly passed him the next glass, wincing as the motion pulled at his stitches, his wound more tender now than it was before.
"Forgive me, brother," Aragorn said, his brows knit with guilt. "It seemed the fastest way to gain your attention in the moment."
"I do forgive you. I just wish I understood why you are so afraid of him."
"It is not Thranduil himself I fear," Aragorn said, quietly. He paused, spotting a piece of furniture that he hadn't noticed before on the other side of the bed.
It was a cradle. Elegantly carved, upholstered, and in pristine condition. Aragorn wondered if it was the sort of furniture the healers kept on hand, or if it had perhaps been intended for another elfling who never got the chance to use it. The thought of it made his heart ache.
"They must have brought it here for your little one," Boromir said. He moved to the other side of the bed and carefully lowered the elfling into cradle, then reached out to give it a gentle rock. "Looks like she'll take to it well enough. Better than my baby brother did, anyway. He used to scream whenever he wasn't being held."
Aragorn raised the second glass to his lips and drank so fast that he choked as he finished and had a brief coughing fit.
As soon as he had recovered enough to even out his breathing, Boromir placed a flat loaf of lembas bread into his hand.
"Go slower with this," Boromir warned. "It would be a shame to lose you to a wafer of elvish waybread after everything you've been through."
Aragorn snorted softly with amusement, but said nothing as he began to eat, barely tasting it.
"Does she have a name yet?" Boromir asked.
Aragorn glanced up from his meal, amused at the irony of warning someone not to choke and then asking them a question. He made sure to swallow before replying.
"The elves here have been calling her Lassig, but that is only a placeholder for now. Legolas has yet to give her true name to her."
"If Legolas means Greenleaf…" Boromir mused, mostly to himself. "Then Lassig would mean…Babyleaf?" He looked at Aragorn with a questioning tilt of the head.
Aragorn chuckled softly.
"You've been studying your Sindarin, I see. There is no single translation that fits perfectly, but I would prefer if you thought of her as Legolas's leafling rather than his…undergrown lettuce," he said, grinning at Boromir.
Boromir returned the smile.
"She's your leafling too, Aragorn."
Aragorn's face fell, and he quickly turned his gaze back to Legolas's still form.
"Aragorn? What is it? What have I said?" Boromir asked, concerned.
"Nothing. You have said nothing wrong," Aragorn said after a moment. "I am worried for Legolas. That is all."
He quietly finished the rest of the piece of lembas and drank the third glass of water Boromir placed into his hands. Then he reached down and removed his boots before quietly slipping into the bed with Legolas, gently taking the elf's limp form into his arms.
"Right then. Sleep well," Boromir said, taking his cue to leave.
"You do the same, my friend," Aragorn replied.
Aragorn awoke to a gentle hand on his arm shaking him softly.
"Legolas," he said, but his hopes were dashed immediately when his squinting eyes met Nenna's apologetic expression.
"What—" Aragorn grunted, swallowing at the hoarseness in his voice before trying again. "What time is it?"
"It is only noon. You have slept maybe five hours," Nenna said. "I am sorry to disturb you, but we need to check his bleeding and change him."
The elf-midwife was standing beside the bed, Rúmil and another elf healer behind her, bearing a pitcher of water and a basket of linens. Aragorn gave a soft, exhausted sigh as he untangled himself from the comfort of the blanket and the warmth of Legolas's body. He felt yet half-asleep, and he swayed slightly upon standing, to his own embarrassment.
"You may stay, if you wish," Nenna said, and Aragorn was relieved that he would not need to argue with her. Still, he didn't know where to look when Rúmil and Nenna's other assistant pulled the sheets off of Legolas, exposing his naked legs and revealing the padded breechcloth wrapped around and between them. Legolas showed no sign of consciousness; he still appeared pale and still as death, his breathing too slow to easily detect.
The healers undid the ties on the breechcloth and turned Legolas on his side, removing the blood-soaked garment. Aragorn's jaw clenched at the sight, though he was well aware that Legolas would likely continue to bleed for several days while his body recovered from the birth.
The elves methodically cleaned and reclothed his lover's most private places, and for once Aragorn was grateful that Legolas wasn't awake to bear the indignity of it. Not this time, anyway.
They finished their tasks quickly and took their leave, all except for Rúmil, who stayed behind to show Aragorn how to change Lassig's cloth diapers and bottle feed her.
"Have you tried placing her on his chest yet?" Rúmil asked once Aragorn had finished feeding her. "It may help him rest more easily—or perhaps encourage him to wake."
"No, I hadn't thought of that," Aragorn said, shifting the elfling to his shoulder and patting her firmly on the back. "Is it safe?"
Rúmil nodded, a gentle smile on his face.
"We always encourage close contact between parents and their newborns. We find that it benefits both."
"What do you think?" Aragorn murmured to the child at his shoulder. "Do you want your Ada?"
He gave Rúmil a nod, and the elf healer pulled the soft blanket down to Legolas's waist, then worked open the silver buttons on the silk shirt. The child began to fuss and squirm in Aragorn's arms, despite having just been fed. Rúmil tugged the front of Legolas's shirt open and Aragorn unwrapped his daughter from her swaddling and placed her against his lover's bare chest, her tiny body naked but for the small cloth diaper she had been dressed in.
Aragorn hesitated for a moment, then reached out and placed Legolas's hands on Lassig's back, taking a small piece of satisfaction at how quickly her cries diminished to soft whimpers while in the warmth of her Ada's embrace.
"That's it," Rúmil murmured. "They can build strength in each other more effectively this way, sharing both their physical warmth and spiritual life force."
"His life force?" Aragorn questioned, warily.
"You need not fear," Rúmil quickly assured him. "Nothing more is being taken from Legolas, only shared between the two of them."
Aragorn nodded in understanding.
"Thank you, Rúmil. Truly. For everything."
"You're welcome," the elf replied, turning to take his leave. "Get some more rest while you can. You'll find that parenthood is exhausting even in its quietest moments."
Parenthood. Aragorn swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. Little did Rúmil know, Aragorn's parenthood would only last a few more days at the most. He would need to cherish every moment of it, exhausted or not.
He watched Rúmil leave the room before slipping into the bed and taking his family back in his arms.
The next nineteen hours passed in a blur of sleeping, waking, eating, drinking, feeding, changing—but sleeping most of all. A steady rotation of elf healers came through in that time—usually Rúmil or Nenna—but Aragorn was only dimly aware of these visits at best. He suspected that Thranduil may have also come through a few times, though it was possible he had only dreamed it.
Legolas slept soundly through it all, and he was so still that Aragorn had noticed even his eyes remained motionless beneath their dark lids.
A new dawn was breaking its way through the heavily shaded windows of the room when Lassig began to softly fuss, a beam of sunlight laying directly across her tiny, squinting eyes. Aragorn shifted at the sound, groaning and flexing the fingers of the arm that had been trapped beneath Legolas the past several hours.
"Shh, shh, it's all right. I'm here," Aragorn murmured against Legolas's shoulder. He reached out blindly with his free hand to rub his daughter's back, but found Legolas's hands already there. That was strange; he hadn't remembered placing them there again.
Then the hand beneath his moved, slender fingers interlocking themselves with Aragorn's, and a soft, familiar voice whispered only inches from his ear.
"I'm here too, Estel."
Aragorn opened his eyes and gasped in shock to find Legolas's face turned toward him, the elf's own eyes bright and a soft smile upon his lips.
"I'm here too," Legolas said again, blinking back tears. "And I'm so very sorry I had to leave."
"Oh, Legolas," Aragorn breathed, his relief so sudden and strong that it hurt.
"I've missed waking by your side," the elf whispered. He leaned toward him, closing his eyes and raising his chin, and Aragorn closed the space between them with his lips.
Aragorn again had to fight the instinct to linger on those lips, though not before he pulled his right hand from Legolas's grasp and pressed it to his smooth cheek, tracing the shape of one perfect pointed ear, and then burying his fingers into the softness of his lover's silken hair.
He broke the kiss while he still had the strength and will to do so, and he did not miss the flicker of disappointment in Legolas's eyes when he pulled away.
"Help me sit up?" Legolas asked, quietly.
"Of course."
Aragorn quickly untangled himself from the blankets and stood, stacking several pillows at the head of the bed. Legolas held onto his daughter tightly with one arm and groaned softly as he used the other to push himself up into a sitting position.
"Slowly, Legolas, slowly," Aragorn insisted, reaching out to help him get settled against the pillows before taking a seat in the chair at his bedside. "How are you feeling?" he asked.
But Legolas shook his head, cradling his daughter against his chest, one hand stroking her softly curling hair.
"Me first. How long?"
"A little more than a day. This is our second sunrise in the realm of the Lady."
"Our girl?"
"She has wanted for nothing but your voice."
"And the wounded? Boromir? Frodo? Is the Ring—"
"Slow down, Legolas," Aragorn gently chided. "Everyone is safe and well."
"And you?" Legolas asked, and it was his turn to reach out and touch Aragorn's cheek, dark and rough with several days' growth of stubble.
Aragorn almost burst into tears right then.
"I've been…very well," he lied, his lip trembling. Legolas tilted his head, his expression wary, but Aragorn plowed ahead before the elf had a chance to question him further.
"But what of you, Legolas? How are you feeling?"
"Very well," Legolas answered, too quickly, pulling his hand back. He offered a small smile, but Aragorn saw the flicker of pain in his eyes, the tension in his brows. "—As long as we're lying to each other," Legolas added, pointedly.
"Legolas, please—"
"I'm better, Estel. Not well at all—but better," Legolas said, tersely. "And that is the truth of it."
A tense silence came over them, and Aragorn feared that Legolas would question him further, that he had already seen through the care Aragorn was putting into every word, every movement. If Legolas were to find out—if Aragorn were to break and tell him everything in his heart—it would be over. He wouldn't be able to leave him. And Legolas's fate would be sealed.
"Estel?" Legolas finally prompted, softly.
Aragorn blinked and took in a quick, trembling breath.
"What do you remember?" he asked.
"I remember Haldir and his brothers, and I remember you lifting me into your arms. Only dreams after that, I think. I dreamed that my adar—"
Legolas paused and raised his left arm, discovering the bandage at his elbow.
"Ada gave me his blood," he said, his eyes widening in wonder. "That's why..." He shook his head, looking back at Aragorn. "My adar is here?"
Aragorn nodded.
"He is."
"And you've spoken to him?"
"Briefly, yes. He has been in several times to check on you."
"And he isn't—" Legolas swallowed, his lip suddenly trembling. "He isn't angry?"
"Oh no, Legolas, no," Aragorn soothed. "He is not angry with you." Before he could stop himself, he was climbing back into the bed and wrapping an arm around the elf, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. "He adores your little Lassig."
"Our lassig," Legolas said, softly. He looked up, meeting Aragorn's eyes. "I never got a chance to tell you her name. Estel, this is Maeryn."
"Maeryn," Aragorn repeated, reaching out to place a gentle hand on her back. "For the kindness of the forest."
He gave a soft sigh and laid his head down on Legolas's shoulder, and Legolas lowered his own head down against him. A comfortable silence filled the room as their breathing evened out into perfect time with one another.
"Sleep, Estel. I will be here when you wake," the elf whispered. "I love you."
Aragorn did not reply. For all Legolas knew, he was already asleep.
Aragorn was still fast asleep when Legolas woke in the mid-morning, and he did not stir at all when Legolas carefully untangled himself and his daughter from the man's embrace.
Legolas cringed at the gush of fluid he felt between his legs when he stood up. Of course he was still bleeding.
Another indignity I might as well get used to, he thought, awkwardly pulling on the robe that had been left on the nearby chair for him.
"Legolas?"
Legolas nearly jumped at the sound of that voice, and he whipped his head around to find his father sitting in a chair on the opposite side of the bed, a book lying open in his lap.
"Ada," Legolas said. "You're here."
"Of course I'm here," Thranduil said, closing the book and setting it down beside him. He stood quickly and crossed the room to embrace his son and granddaughter, then kept hold of Legolas's arm.
"Your spirit was wandering," Thranduil said, gravely. "I have not been so afraid since the days after your mother gave birth to you."
"You needn't have worried. I had too much to return to," Legolas said, glancing down at his daughter and then toward the sleeping form on the bed. "And I saw things that we shall need to discuss—all of us, in good time." He looked back at his father. "I think it was your blood. I seem to have…borrowed a small shred of your power."
"What did you see?" Thranduil asked, his grip on Legolas's arm tightening.
"Me first, Adar," Legolas said.
He pulled his arm free and met his father's eyes.
"I need you to tell me exactly what you said to Aragorn."
A/N: Oh man, Thranduil has some 'splaining to do.
Thank you again! Writing and sharing this story has brought me such an incredible amount of joy. :'D Please send coffee and predictions!