At first Boromir could hardly believe how foolish Legolas had been, traveling on a mission as important as this one in his condition. He had thought the babe would surely weaken the elf, sapping his strength and slowing his reflexes. However, after the events of the previous evening, Boromir was forced to admit to himself that the elf's presence had been to their great advantage, with child or not.

It was Legolas who slew the warg chieftain in the night, along with many other wolves, though it was not the first time Legolas had proved himself a worthy member of the company—his keen eyesight and expert aim had already come in handy on a daily basis.

But this was the first time the elf had saved his life.

Legolas's arrow had caught a warg in the eye just as it leapt onto Boromir. It had rolled harmlessly off of him, dead before it even had the chance to close its jaws. Legolas had hardly acknowledged the deed; once the danger was gone he'd simply nodded in Boromir's direction and went to work collecting his arrows.

Now, as they searched for the doorway to Moria along the narrow path between the mountainside and the black lake, Boromir resolved at the very least not to take the elf for granted, and to keep his eyes open for a chance to return the favor. He was now indebted to Legolas—and Men of Gondor honored their debts.

It was not much longer before Gandalf called a halt, and they observed with wonder the elegantly carved doors of the West-gate to Moria. When it became apparent that it would take more than a simple wizard's charm to open the steadfast doors, the company began to spread out a bit, each member taking what rest they could in their own way while Gandalf muttered phrase after phrase in tongues Boromir had never even heard the names of.

Boromir took a seat on a flat rock at the edge of the water and watched as Aragorn moved to Legolas's side once again, speaking to him in hushed elvish, his tone concerned. The touch of his hands was gentle—and welcome, by the looks of it—on the elf's shoulders, his back, the swell of his middle.

The realization hit him in a quick rush, and Boromir counted himself a fool for not seeing earlier—not seeing immediately—why Aragorn's watchful eye was continually split between the ringbearer and the elf. He understood more than most the dual meaning of 'brothers in arms,' but this was beyond the intimacy he'd often observed and even shared in during the darkest, quietest, and loneliest times of war. This elf and the child he carried were precious to Aragorn, perhaps even to the detriment of the quest.

It was then that Boromir heard Gandalf speak one simple elvish word that he had heard many times before in Rivendell. The doors slowly swung open, revealing a steep set of stairs that climbed swiftly into deep darkness.

Legolas saw the orc-chieftain slay Frodo in the burial chamber.

He had been too far away to assist beyond the three arrows that the massive orc had barely reacted to. He nocked his last arrow, screaming in grief and rage as he saw the spear skewer Frodo's tiny body.

"Legolas!"

Something large suddenly crashed into Legolas, and he couldn't catch his balance fast enough. He hit the ground on his left side, his thigh and buttock taking the brunt of the impact. He looked up in shock to see Boromir in a blade lock with another enormous orc who brandished a long, black knife. The orc kicked Boromir's leg from under him and Boromir fell forward. The orc's knife was freed from the bind, and the creature ducked beneath Boromir's sword, then swung for Boromir's side. The blade met flesh, and the orc was raising the bloodied knife for a killing blow when Legolas's last arrow found its throat.

Legolas lowered his bow, gasping for air. A strange, foreign tightness was gripping his midsection as he struggled to take a full breath.

Aragorn was there moments later, on his knees at Legolas's side, already checking him for injury.

"Are you all right? No, don't try to stand just yet—"

"Never mind me, Boromir is hurt—and the ring! Did you rescue it from Frodo's body?" Legolas asked in a sudden panic.

"His body—? No, indeed! Frodo lives, though I have no idea how. He is on his feet and walking as if nothing happened!"

Legolas closed his eyes with a relieved sigh and a silent prayer of thanks. He had been certain their ringbearer was dead.

"But what about you?" Aragorn insisted, seeming unnerved by Legolas's sudden silence. "Where are you hurt? Is the child—?" Aragorn's hands continued to search the elf's body, his fingers pressing and prodding.

"Let go of me, I am fine," said Legolas, suddenly irritated. He pushed Aragorn's searching hands away as he got to his feet. "Do you not see that Boromir is wounded? He stopped a blow that would have ended me."

Aragorn turned and saw that Boromir had staggered back away from them, one hand now against the wall for support. His other hand was clamped on his left side, and blood welled up between his fingers.

Aragorn only hesitated a moment, searching Legolas's posture once more for signs of injury before rushing to Boromir's side, aiding him in a slow descent to the stone floor.

"Is the elf all right? I knocked him over when I came between them. How—how did he land?" Boromir asked, looking suddenly horrified.

"Both he and the babe are all right, thanks to you," Aragorn assured him, gripping Boromir's shoulder appreciatively. "It is you we must be concerned about right now. Show me your wound."

"It is not so terrible as it looks," Boromir said. He reluctantly peeled his hand away from the wound to allow Aragorn to examine it.

"Perhaps not, but it will require needlework at the very least," Aragorn said. Boromir hissed in pain as Aragorn pressed at the wound, his fingers checking for signs of internal injury. There was a good deal of blood, but the wound was not deep. Aragorn let a soft sigh of relief pass his lips.

"You're right; it is not so terrible. Your insides were not damaged," he said with a reassuring smile. Boromir returned the smile, clearly relieved. They had both seen soldiers suffer the slow, agonizing death caused by leaking entrails.

"Mister Strider?"

Aragorn turned at the soft voice and was surprised to see Sam holding out the saddlebag.

"I thought you might be needing this. For bandages and things, sir." Sam glanced at Boromir and seemed to turn a shade paler at the amount of blood coating the man's side.

"Thank you. Your thoughtfulness does you credit," Aragorn said, taking the bag. He fished out a rolled up strip of cloth and bound Boromir's wound tightly with it. It was the best he could do for the moment; they were not safe here, and Gandalf was already trying to rally them out of the chamber.

"Can you walk?" Aragorn asked once the bandage was tied off.

"Do I have a choice?" Boromir asked with a wan smile. But he stood then with one hand held over his wound, and he nodded at Aragorn. "Lead on. I have a few miles in me yet."

It was more than an hour later before Gandalf called a rest, and Aragorn checked on first Frodo and then Boromir, both of whom insisted they were fine to keep moving as soon as Gandalf was. He then looked around for Legolas and found that he had strayed several meters from the group, his back to them.

"Legolas?" Aragorn called softly, approaching the elf from behind.

Legolas had gone deathly still, both hands on the now-prominent swell of his middle.

"Are you all right?" Aragorn spoke again, reaching for Legolas's shoulder.

Legolas seemed to awaken from the brief trance at Aragorn's touch, and he turned and looked at him with terror in his eyes before blinking and quickly assuming a more neutral expression, his hands dropping to his sides. Aragorn took his arm, glancing back at the others who were now well out of earshot.

"What is it? Do not lie to me," Aragorn said in elvish, a little more harshly than he had intended. He purposefully softened his tone. "Are you in pain?"

Legolas met Aragorn's eyes and nodded.

"I think it's starting," he whispered. "I'm sorry, I don't know what—"

"Do not apologize," Aragorn whispered back, fiercely, though he could not mask the fear in his own eyes. "There is nothing you could have done to prevent this."

Legolas smiled ruefully. "I can think of one thing I could have avoided."

"Then if anyone is to blame, it is me. I can think of one thing I could have not done to prevent this."

Legolas laughed softly at that. "You rangers are so vulgar. I've never heard my own language treated so poorly."

"Your language? I'm practically a native speaker," Aragorn said in mock-offense. Legolas smiled again, but with less humor than before.

"Thank you for trying to raise my spirits. The pain has passed for now. I should be all right to walk for a while yet. Please do not speak of it to anyone, they will only worry."

"Come now, Legolas, if you are in labor—"

"It makes no difference whether I'm in labor or not. We must keep moving."

Aragorn shook his head, but said nothing. It was true; they had no choice but to walk on if they were to have any hope of reaching Lothlorien in time, and there was no way he would allow their child to be born in the darkness of this tomb.

It soon became clear how pointless it was to try and conceal Legolas's labor from the others. Aragorn remained practically tethered to the elf's side as Gandalf led them down staircase after staircase, but Legolas refused to let Aragorn assist him, or even touch him. It was obvious Legolas was in a great deal of pain, on the verge of exhaustion. After another hour of walking through increasingly painful contractions, the elf had dropped all pretenses and was now gripping his belly with a tight grimace each time the pain returned. Aragorn could hear the hobbits' soft, worried whispers, and the concern showed plain on their faces.

They had just entered a great cavernous hall when Legolas suddenly faltered, holding himself up against one of the great pillars that lined the center of the enormous chamber. Aragorn called out to Gandalf, who was a good twenty meters ahead of them. The wizard turned and began to walk quickly back toward them, the rest of the company following suit.

"Are the pains getting worse?" Aragorn asked.

"I am in labor; of course the pains are getting worse," the elf said, not bothering to lower his voice.

"Then let me help you! You cannot walk on like this; the pains are too frequent and strong now. If you would let me carry you—"

"No!" Legolas cried, still pressed up against the pillar, his face a mask of agony. "No, that will slow us down too much. I can fight through it. I can—" He gave a choked off cry and his knees buckled beneath him. Aragorn caught him under the arms and gently lowered him down, helping him to a sitting position against the stone.

"You have done what you can, and more than was asked of you," Aragorn said, gently. "Let us figure out what is to be done now. You just rest. Breathe through the pain."

Gandalf strode quickly over and knelt on one knee beside the two of them.

"I think it is time for me to make good on my earlier promise to the both of you," he said. "I had hoped it would not come to this, as I am weary—as we are all weary. But the Gates are near, just beyond the Bridge ahead. He must be able to walk, and even run if it comes to it."

Aragorn looked at Gandalf, his expression tight with worry.

"But what can you do for him?" he asked. "Is there a healing spell you could cast on him?"

"It is not healing that he needs right now," the wizard said. "But there may be something I can do; I just need to think for a moment… Yes, I may be able to calm his body for a time, perhaps make it less eager to give birth."

"You mean you can stop his labor?" Aragorn asked.

"There is no stopping his labor at this point," Gandalf said, gravely. "But I can perhaps delay his pains for a short time." He placed a gentle hand on the swell of the elf's middle. Closing his eyes, he began to utter an incantation, the words of which were incomprehensible to the others. Legolas seized up and cried out in a sudden mix of pain and terror.

"Shh, shh, be still," Aragorn murmured, wrapping his arms around the elf's shoulders. "Breathe, Legolas. He's trying to help you."

Moments later Legolas was taking slow, relieved breaths, and his was the face of one who had just been rescued from a cliff's edge. He nodded gratefully at Gandalf, who himself seemed a touch older and grayer than he had a moment before.

"The pain is gone," Legolas said, looking around at the rest of the group. Their collective relief was palpable.

"Gone for now," Gandalf said, "but the respite will not last. And I dare not do it again for fear of harming your child. It was her terror that you felt. It is dangerous to do battle with nature in this way."

"Then we can waste no more time," Legolas said. He got to his feet, batting Aragorn's hands away when he tried to assist.

The light of the sun was nearly blinding when at last they reached the exit of Moria an hour before midday. There were white clouds high overhead, and the weather was so beautiful that it seemed to be mocking them in the face of their grief. The Fellowship wandered listless and leaderless in separate directions for a brief moment, most of them eventually dropping to the stone ground in their weariness and sorrow, while others paused on their feet, their eyes staring out at nothing through a blur of tears.

Legolas tucked himself behind a large stone out of sight of the others and pressed his back to it, sliding slowly to the ground. He bowed his head and began to weep for their loss, arms crossed over his chest, hugging himself. It was his fault. His fault. Who else might be injured—or killed—for his sake while he still carried his precious burden?

As if in response to his dark musings, a tight, squeezing pain began to spread through his middle, building quickly in strength until he released an involuntary gasp at the intensity of it. Fresh tears of pain and grief fell from his eyes. The return of his labor had to mean that Gandalf had finally passed away in the depths of the mountain. It made him sick to think that the wizard's death had been so drawn out.

A tall figure stopped before him, casting a soft shadow over him, but he did not raise his head.

"There you are." Aragorn's voice was relieved. "Come along now, Legolas. We need to be far away from here when the sun goes down." Aragorn crouched and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Do you think it weakened him?" Legolas asked, sniffling softly.

"What?"

"When he used magic to stall my labor. He used the last of his strength to aid me."

"Everything Gandalf did was his choice alone. Without his sacrifice, the Ring would not have made it out of Moria. You must not blame yourself." Aragorn stood straight again and reached for Legolas's hand. "Come now, we need to put some distance between us and the enemy before your pain returns. The forest of Lothlorien is mere hours away. We will be there long before nightfall."

Legolas took Aragorn's hand and allowed the ranger to pull him to his feet. The moment his body was raised off the ground, he felt a soft pop within, followed by a sudden rush of fluid between his legs.

"Legolas, your waters!" Aragorn gasped. He made as if to lower the elf back down, but Legolas let go of his hand and backed away, looking down at the state of his soaked trousers. The fluid looked clear, at least. Legolas swallowed and took a deep breath before speaking.

"Our child reminds us that she will not wait long. Go and help get the hobbits up; I need a moment of privacy to change."

Aragorn swallowed his protests as he watched Legolas make his way downward toward a cleft in the rocks, carrying his pack with him. Shaking his head, he turned and walked back to the group, lifting Sam to his feet and calling for Gimli to rally the other hobbits. He approached Boromir's side and knelt down. The injured man was resting on one knee, trembling and pale. The bandage covering his wound was soaked through with blood.

"Forgive me for pushing you so hard," Aragorn said, bringing out another bandage and beginning to wrap it over the soaked one. "I will clean and stitch your wound at our first opportunity."

"Never mind me," Boromir said. "I can bear the pain well enough, and it is not a dangerous wound. How does the elf fare?"

"I don't think he's in pain, but his waters have broken. It is best if we move now, and with haste. Can you walk unaided?" Boromir nodded. Aragorn tied off the bandage and helped raise him to his feet. Boromir swayed only a brief moment, one hand on Aragorn's shoulder, before finding his balance. He released Aragorn and began to walk stiffly and purposefully towards where Gimli had already gathered the hobbits.

Their youthful faces were all damp with tears, and Aragorn almost envied them in their grief. Gandalf had been a very dear and old friend to him, but he could not allow himself to grieve yet; there were too many people depending on him to lead them. If he succumbed to sorrow now he risked losing focus on the task at hand.

The seven of them began to move again, heading down the mountainside and toward the trees. They found Legolas leaning heavily against a large stone, his hand on his midsection and his brows knit together in a grimace of pain. Aragorn felt the knot of anxiety in his stomach tighten. He had hoped the contractions would not return for a while yet, but it was clear that hope had been in vain.

Legolas started when he noticed them, and there was guilt in his eyes when he looked at Aragorn. He had been hiding the return of his pain earlier, Aragorn realized. He rushed to the elf's side, and he was both relieved and worried when Legolas accepted his help, draping one weary arm over Aragorn's shoulders and allowing the man to bear most of his weight as they went to rejoin the group.