A/N: Yes! Another update within the month!
I apologize in advance for this chapter though. Does it help if I promise the next one is significantly happier?
As I said before, I love you all. :)
It wasn't often that Legolas made demands of his father and king, but he found he had no trouble doing just that now—even while holding his sleeping newborn and dealing with the nagging pain in his lower belly that seemed to be increasing by the minute.
Aragorn had not been himself when they had spoken, and Legolas could not shake the feeling that Thranduil was behind his lover's stark change in demeanor. Legolas needed answers, and he would have them now.
"What did you say to him?" he prompted again, his patience thinning.
Thranduil gave a pointed look toward the man still sleeping on the bed.
"I gave him the same warning that you refused to listen to a year ago," he said, both his voice and his expression infuriatingly neutral.
Legolas shook his head, seething.
"Not another of your half-truths, Adar. You gave him far more than a mere warning." He glanced anxiously toward Aragorn, then continued, this time lowering his voice.
"Only weeks ago Aragorn told me his heart yet belonged to me. He called me meleth both during and after my labor. Now I wake to find that you have spoken to him, and his touch is suddenly hesitant, his lips passionless upon mine. He will only call me Legolas, he speaks of our daughter as if she isn't even his, and he pretends to be asleep rather than respond when I tell him I love him. Ada, what have you done?"
His voice broke on his last few words, and he suddenly doubled over with a soft grunt, one hand low on his abdomen, the other holding Maeryn tightly to his chest.
"Legolas!" Thranduil reached out and took hold of his son's shoulders. "Are you all right?"
"I—I don't know. I've had dull and persistent aches since I first awoke, but the pain is stronger, sharper now."
"Sit down, you need to rest. I'll go find the midwife," his father insisted, pressing Legolas toward the nearby chair.
"I don't want to sit down; it hurts down there too," Legolas said through his teeth, a note of both frustration and embarrassment in his voice.
"Then please, ion nin, tell me what you need."
"I don't know. Just—just help me walk a bit. Outside, perhaps," Legolas said. He gave another look toward Aragorn, who had yet to stir. "I want to let him sleep a while longer."
"Of course," Thranduil said, gently. He offered an arm, which Legolas gratefully clung to as they quietly exited the room together.
Neither king nor prince spoke during their short trip to the large, open gazebo where Thranduil had first encountered Aragorn hardly more than a day before. Upon their arrival, Legolas looked longingly at the cushioned benches with pillows along the shape of the structure, but kept walking, still clinging tightly to his father with one arm, his daughter held in the other. Thranduil began to lead them in a slow circle around the elven waiting area, the sun's rays just warm enough to combat the early winter chill in the air.
"I need to know, Ada. What did you say to him?" Legolas eventually asked again, this time more a desperate plea than a question.
Thranduil was silent for a long moment before he answered.
"I told him what your union would cost you. The sacrifice you would make for a life with him. He needed to appreciate it."
It sounded like just another half-truth. Legolas shook his head, unconvinced.
"Aragorn is no fool. He understands the cost," Legolas said.
"I'm not certain even you understand what he has already cost you," Thranduil muttered.
Legolas stopped short, letting go of Thranduil's arm.
"What do you mean?" he asked, sharply.
Thranduil looked down, his expression suddenly stricken. He would not meet his son's gaze, and Legolas could not remember ever seeing his father look so haunted.
"Forgive me, I have said too much," Thranduil said, hoarsely. "You need to rest; we shall discuss this when you are well again."
"No, Adar. You will tell me what you meant by that. Now."
Thranduil slowly raised his head, and his eyes were full of regret when he spoke again.
"The midwife informed me that you have suffered permanent damage to your womb. She said you might never carry another child to term."
"My womb was damaged?" Legolas questioned, numbly. He let one hand fall to his aching midsection as he stared down at Maeryn through a sudden blur of tears. "But I thought I saw…" He trailed off, his tears beginning to spill over.
"I am so sorry, ion nin. You were not meant to be told like this," Thranduil said. He wrapped a careful arm about his son's shoulders, and Legolas did not hesitate to press his face against his father's chest, soft sobs wracking his already weakened frame.
They stood there for a long moment, still and silent but for Legolas's quiet weeping.
"Aragorn brought me through it, you know," Legolas eventually said, sniffling softly. "He brought all of us through it. He guided me through my labor even as he led us out of Moria and into Lórien, even as he treated our companions' many wounds. I cannot remember the last time I saw him eat or sleep." He looked up, meeting his father's eyes. "You were cruel to speak to him of such things when his strength was nearly spent."
"Cruel, yes. I do not shy from that description, nor do I apologize for my timing. You needed to know if his love would hold true even when he was at his worst."
"A test, then," Legolas muttered, bitterly.
"A necessary one," Thranduil said.
A voice suddenly called to them from across the gazebo, and they turned to see Rúmil walking swiftly toward them, bearing a small basket of linens.
"Ah, Prince Legolas!" the healer cried, his eyes lighting up with joy and relief. "You're awake—you're walking!"
"Yes—sorry," Legolas, said. He pulled away from his father, wiping at his face with his free hand. "My adar wanted me to rest, but I felt I needed to move around a bit."
"No, no, your instincts were correct. It is good for you to get a bit of light exercise," Rúmil said, offering a deep bow to each of them. "How are you feeling?"
Legolas opened his mouth to speak, but Thranduil was faster.
"He is having sharp pains in his abdomen. Where is the midwife?" the Elvenking demanded.
"Nenna is checking on his wounded companions right now, but she will pay him a visit as soon as she is able," Rúmil said with a patient nod in Thranduil's direction. "I hope you will find my services sufficient for now."
He looked at Legolas.
"You are probably experiencing normal afterpains. The contractions of your womb are helping to staunch your bleeding and return your womb to its original size."
"And what if it's not afterpains?" Thranduil asked, his voice sharp. "Nenna said his womb had taken grievous injury—"
"Ada, please," Legolas murmured with a glare in his father's direction.
"It's all right," Rúmil said graciously. He looked at Thranduil again.
"We will of course monitor and manage your son's pain. If it increases or lingers for too long, we can discuss other causes and treatments. As of right now, I am not concerned, and it's best if he doesn't fret over what is probably nothing. Better to focus on keeping his body hydrated, nourished, and well-rested. Now an impertinent question, your highness," Rúmil continued, turning back Legolas and lowering his voice very slightly. "Have you made use of the chamber pot yet?"
Legolas shook his head. Everything still hurt down there, and he was acutely aware of how much he was still bleeding.
"…I've been rather dreading it," he quietly admitted.
"It's all right; I can guide you through the process and show you how to change the garments we have been using to catch your blood," Rúmil assured him. "Let's go back to your room and get you some water, then we can see about taking care of your other needs."
"I'll, uh, remain here, if that's all right," Thranduil said, looking rather suddenly uncomfortable.
"That would probably be best," Rúmil agreed. He smiled with delight when Legolas offered Maeryn to him, and he eagerly took the elfling into his arms.
Aragorn woke to the soothing feel of slender fingers combing through his hair. He opened his eyes to find Legolas lying beside him on the bed, his face only inches away. The elf's lips were turned up in a small smile that did not reach his eyes, which appeared dark with a hidden sorrow that hurt Aragorn to see. It took every bit of Aragorn's willpower to sit up, breaking away from his lover's touch.
"Estel?" Legolas questioned, sitting up quickly in turn. Aragorn pretended not to see the deepening hurt in his eyes.
"What time is it?" the ranger asked, looking away toward Maeryn's cradle.
"I am not certain," Legolas answered. "I suppose it must be late morning by now. Rúmil has already come by to help me feed and change Maeryn, and to assist with my…physical needs. Some less pleasant than others."
Aragorn winced in sympathy, feeling guilty at how relieved he was to have slept through that.
"Are you in pain?" he asked. He reached out toward Legolas's face, but hesitated, instead placing his hand lightly on the elf's shoulder. Legolas glanced at the hand, and Aragorn did not miss the soft, frustrated sigh that escaped his lips.
"Some," the elf said, huffing softly. "It is not so bad now, but I've been having near constant cramping, and I'm still bleeding like a sieve."
"I am sorry," Aragorn said, automatically shifting his hand to Legolas's back and rubbing gently. Legolas leaned into the touch, and Aragorn jerked his arm back when he realized what he was doing.
Legolas's face hardened.
"Enough, Aragorn. Tell me the reason why your touch is so hesitant, your words so guarded."
Aragorn stared at him, stricken. He should have known there was nothing he could hide from the elf. But he couldn't say the words. Not yet. He was not ready to deal that devastating, vital blow to his lover's heart.
But Legolas was relentless.
"You cannot think you are fooling me with whatever this feckless plan of yours is. You cannot expect me to believe that so much changed while I lay bleeding, my spirit wounded and wandering. You cannot expect me to believe that your love for both me and our daughter has already faded."
"My love for you could never fade," Aragorn blurted out without thinking. He got up from the bed and turned away, his jaw clenching. Stupid. Stupid.
"Then why, Aragorn?" Legolas pressed.
"Because—because while you slept I had time to think." It wasn't a lie, but neither was it the truth.
Legolas shook his head.
"First my adar, and now you as well. In all this time that we have known each other have I not earned your honesty? I know he spoke to you. Why have you allowed his words to sway you?"
"Because your adar is right," Aragorn said, his tone hardening as his fists tightened at his sides.
"His opinion does not matter where our relationship is concerned. It is an exceedingly simple matter: Do you love me or not?"
"I do love you." More every day—every minute.
"Do you want to be with me?"
More than anything.
But Aragorn hesitated. Too long.
"Estel, please," Legolas whispered, desperate.
"It is not that simple," Aragorn finally spoke.
Legolas closed his eyes and turned his head away, his face tight with pain.
"It is that simple. I wanted to spend my life with you."
"That is just it, though," Aragorn said, quietly. "I don't want to be the reason your life is spent."
A cry rose from the cradle across the room. Legolas moved toward it, turning his back on Aragorn. He made soft shushing noises as he leaned down and lifted his daughter, cradling her against his chest. He stood like that for a long moment, gazing down at Maeryn's scrunched up face. Her cries continued to increase in volume despite being held in her ada's arms.
"She will remember you, you know," the elf finally said, turning and meeting Aragorn's eyes. "She won't remember your words, but she'll remember your voice. She'll miss the smell of you, the strength and warmth of your embrace. She'll remember enough to miss you without even knowing who she is missing."
"She will always have my love," Aragorn whispered, painfully aware of how empty that promise sounded.
"Spare me your cheap words," Legolas practically spat. "If the love you claim is not enough to sway you, then there is nothing more to discuss. You…You may leave now."
Aragorn's heart turned leaden in his chest. He wasn't ready to go. How had it all gone wrong so quickly?
"Leave? But Legolas—"
"Now, Aragorn. I don't want you near us right now."
"Please, meleth, you are weakened and hurting—"
"You do not get to call me that anymore," Legolas said, raising his voice as his eyes widened with rage driven by grief. "—and you have no right to offer me comfort now. Just go away. Go!"
Aragorn stumbled back as if shoved by the very force of the elf's voice.
Maeryn's wails grew louder and more insistent, and Legolas shifted her to his shoulder, softly shushing. He looked back at Aragorn, the tears silent on his face.
"Leave us. Now," Legolas demanded once more.
Aragorn turned and staggered from the room, feeling as though he'd just been stabbed through the chest.
A/N: :(
Please send happy predictions?