A/N: An elfling is born. Be warned, this chapter contains graphic childbirth. Poor Legolas has a very rough time.
"This isn't working. I cannot get her out."
His voice was quiet, defeated. The hopeless sound of it scared Aragorn more than the actual words.
"You will," Aragorn insisted, but he couldn't quite hide the tremor in his own voice. "You just need to keep pushing."
"What do you think I've been doing these past hours?" Legolas asked, shaking his head. "I'm so afraid—she is so afraid. I feel it's hurting her as much as it is me. If I could just find the strength to move her down a bit more—but I'm so weary, Estel. I-I don't think I can do this."
"Oh, meleth nin, it is all right to be afraid," Aragorn said, hating how useless his own assurances felt. "Try and rest just a little more. Once you gather your strength—"
Legolas leaned forward and grabbed a fistful of Aragorn's tunic, pulling him closer with surprising force. Aragorn could hear the popping sound of stitches tearing free from the fabric.
"You're not listening to me," Legolas hissed. "The child is trapped." He reached with his other hand, tracing a horizontal line at the base of his belly. "If it comes to it, you may need to cut her free—Say that you are willing to do so."
"Legolas—"
"Swear it to me!" His eyes had gone wide with manic terror.
Aragorn reached for the fist that was tightly wrapped in the cloth of his tunic and gently worked the hand free, pulling it to his lips to kiss it.
"I will do whatever needs to be done; that I swear to you. But I need you to trust me. Do I still have your trust?"
"How can you ask that?" Legolas said. But the anger was already fading from his eyes, replaced once more by exhaustion.
"I know you're weary," Aragorn said, still holding the elf's hand in his. "I can't even imagine how difficult this labor has been for you. But you are strong. You are both strong. The child will come, Legolas."
Legolas met his eyes once more, and, to Aragorn's immense relief, he gave a small nod.
"All right," Legolas said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I will keep pushing. But remember what you swore to me."
"Whatever needs to be done," Aragorn agreed. He gave a silent prayer that it wouldn't come to that.
"Drink, Legolas," Gimli insisted, holding the waterskin to the elf's lips for the third time in the past half hour.
Legolas swallowed a few small mouthfuls before turning his head away. He knew he was losing fluids faster than he was taking them in, but he'd been feeling nauseous earlier. There were enough indignities he was already facing without adding vomiting to the list. He was grateful when Gimli didn't press for him to drink more, especially since his next contraction was already upon him.
He leaned forward, tugging on his thighs with both hands as he yelled with effort. It was becoming difficult for him to push for more than a few seconds at a time, and he had begun to shout with each short, percussive strain, his vocalizations seeming to aid him in some small way.
"That's it," Gimli said, "Don't hold back. Fight for her, lad."
The dwarf's hands, so light and hesitant before, were now a firm and reassuring presence on Legolas's back and shoulders. Aragorn had gone silent, his own hands a quiet presence on Legolas's knees, fingers gently massaging.
Legolas panted for a moment before pushing again with another strained cry.
"—sounds like he's being tortured—"
"—not going to die, is he? People die in childbirth—"
Soft, youthful voices began to overlap with Gimli's gentle encouragements.
The hobbits were huddled near the fire, speaking in hushed whispers to each other. Legolas normally tuned out such conversations as easily as breathing, both as a courtesy and to preserve his own sanity. But he had heard his name on their lips combined with the words "die" and "dying" more than once, and in his terror and exhaustion he found their voices suddenly impossible to ignore.
"Hush, Pippin, of course he's not going to die. Elves are made of stronger stuff than that. Just you wait; any minute now we'll hear his little one crying and it'll all be over—like a bad dream."
"More like a nightmare, this is."
"Hush now, all of you." It was Frodo, his tone soft but commanding. "If his ears are as keen as his eyes, he may be able to hear everything you are saying. Tend to the fire and boil more water; they are going to need it."
The other voices went silent, but a moment later Frodo began to speak again, his words a low whisper on the breeze.
"If you really can hear me, Legolas, know that you are not alone."
He paused and then spoke once more, switching to elvish.
"Hope is with you."
Legolas looked up at Aragorn. The man had to be exhausted and nearly sick with worry, but his eyes now held only love and determination. Legolas reached out toward him, and Aragorn grabbed his hand, squeezing gently. Legolas's lips turned up into a soft smile. Aragorn gave a curious tilt of the head, his eyes narrowing slightly, before returning the smile.
"What is it, love? What do you need?" Aragorn asked.
"I think I need to turn over."
Aragorn helped Legolas untangle himself from the blanket as he shifted carefully onto his hands and knees. Legolas was still for a moment, breathing deeply, before lifting his right leg and very purposefully placing his foot down flat against the ground.
Aragorn caught a new feeling and energy this time, and he felt foolish for not suggesting he turn over earlier. The strange, half-lunge position was better, there was no question about that. Legolas's stance was firm and stable, his thighs wide apart and his progress now assisted by gravity.
Legolas turned his head and looked backward, meeting Aragorn's eyes.
"We're going to be parents in a moment."
It was the most confident thing he had said his entire labor, and it filled Aragorn with hope. Legolas turned his head back and began to throw all his focus and effort into finishing what the two them had started nearly a year before.
The next push brought the bottom of the child back into view, but just as it was beginning to recede again, Legolas gave a sudden shout that sounded almost like a rallying battle cry. He redoubled his efforts, fists clenching into the fabric of the cloak beneath him as he moaned through the push.
When the tension finally left his body a few seconds later, the bottom of his child remained in view.
"That's it! She's coming, love, she's coming," Aragorn said.
"Did you hear that, Legolas?" Gimli said, his hand on the elf's shoulder. "She'll be in your arms any moment now."
Legolas went at it again seconds later, the lean muscles of his back and buttocks visibly straining with effort.
Aragorn flinched at the elf's sudden shriek of pain when the child's feet finally came into view, her bent legs tucked up tightly against her body. When Legolas let go of the push, the child receded only slightly, the bulk of her small body now holding him agonizingly wide open.
"Well done, you're doing it. Nearly halfway out now," Aragorn said.
Legolas shook his head, his legs trembling violently.
"It's burning me—it feels like my nethers are on fire—Oh please, please come out quickly, I can't take this—Estel, please, help me, I can't—ah!"
Legolas's tortured babbling quickly dissolved into soft sobs of pain, and Aragorn suddenly felt more useless than ever.
"I know, I know," he whispered softly. He put his hand on the small of the elf's back, wishing there were something he could do to ease his suffering. Legolas flinched at the touch.
"Don't touch her!" Legolas cried. "She wants to breathe—no, little one, you must not breathe yet. Soon, soon."
"I understand, meleth, I will not touch her," Aragorn assured him, rubbing gentle circles into his back. The muscles there began to tense up, and Legolas screamed again as his daughter's body moved down more, pressing him open even more widely than it had a moment ago.
"Oh, come quickly, please come quickly…" he moaned.
Moments later he gave a gasp that was both shocked and relieved when first one leg sprang free, then the other, and in a sudden rush her belly came into view, the purplish cord appearing with it.
Aragorn began unconsciously counting the seconds that her head remained inside, her cord becoming constricted against her own body.
"Well done, love," Aragorn said. "You need to work quickly now."
Legolas nodded, already pushing again. Soon after, the child's arms were born with another pained gasp from the elf, leaving only her head still locked inside. Feeling he had no choice, Aragorn reached out and lifted her body in his hands, relieving the weight off her neck.
Legolas's progress came to a sudden halt.
"Ai, her head is so large," he softly whined.
"That'll be our Aragorn's fault, I imagine," Gimli said.
Legolas gave a weak huff of a laugh before taking another breath and throwing himself into the next push. He released it moments later with a soft, frustrated cry. He began awkwardly pulling at the sleeve of his tunic with one hand.
"H-help me get these off," he said.
Gimli reached out and took hold of the hem of both the tunic and undershirt, pulling them inside out as he tugged them forward and over the elf's head and shoulders. Legolas's pale skin, damp with sweat, glistened in the moonlight, and he began to shiver almost immediately.
He was now fully naked, the blanket and his modesty completely abandoned as he approached the end of his labor, his half-born babe held up by Aragorn between his shaking legs, the bulk of her head still trapped inside.
"You need to get her out now, love," Aragorn urged. "She needs to breathe."
The small body in his hands was completely limp, her skin an alarmingly pale shade.
He saw Legolas give a small nod before taking a gulp of air and bearing down with another low moan.
Aragorn realized Legolas was going to tear a breath before it happened. The elf's scream rang in his ears long after his voice was reduced back to whimpering gasps. But the terrible rip in his flesh seemed a blessing only moments later when with one final heave of effort the head was born at last. Aragorn caught the child in his hands.
"She's here," he said, hardly believing it.
He heard Gimli's voice as if from a distance, "That's it, you've done it, lad, you've done it!"
Aragorn took another towel and swept it over her head and neck, then began rubbing her back. He looked up and saw Gimli helping Legolas turn over onto his back, once again using the tree for support. Blood trickled from between the elf's legs where the cord yet remained.
He looked back down at his daughter. Not breathing. She hadn't taken a breath yet. He lifted her back up and placed his mouth over her mouth and nose. He sucked and spat, sucked and spat. Turned her over again. Rubbed her back. He glanced toward Legolas again. Still bleeding. Badly.
You'll lose them both.
"No," Aragorn murmured, not sure who he was arguing with. "No, they'll be all right."
"Give her to me, please, I want to hold her," Legolas begged, trembling hands held out toward Aragorn. It broke his heart.
"I can't yet, meleth, I'm so sorry," Aragorn said. He gave Gimli a desperate look, and to his credit, the dwarf went right to work rubbing the elf's shoulders and speaking soothing words in his ear. Legolas didn't seem to hear him.
"Why do you keep her from me?" Legolas asked, the hurt plain in his tone. Aragorn blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision of the burning tears those words brought to his eyes as he continued his efforts to revive his daughter.
Gimli spoke up on his behalf, and Aragorn had never been more grateful for the dwarf than he was in that moment.
"He's not keeping her from you, she just needs a little extra help," Gimli said, his hands still a calm presence on the elf's shoulders. "She'll be testing the strength of her lungs any moment now, just wait and see. Look! Her color is already improving."
It was true; her pale skin tone was quickly darkening to a healthy red. Her chest rose and fell once, and Aragorn felt a flicker of hope.
"That's it, just like that, little one. Take another breath for me," Aragorn said, continuing to rub her back. The infant obeyed, her chest rising and falling in a stiff, stuttering rhythm. Then she made a wet, gurgling noise that quickly transformed into a clear, piercing cry. Aragorn burst into tears of relief. He leaned forward and settled the wailing infant into Legolas's waiting arms.
The relief was immense. True, everything still hurt, but the pain felt faded and more distant now. Legolas himself felt more faded and distant, like he was watching everything that was happening from far away. He blinked several times, trying to reorient himself.
Strong hands were settling him gently back against the tree and pulling a blanket over his naked body. He felt so cold and…empty. Something vital was missing.
The baby. He had just had a baby. Why wasn't he holding her? Aragorn was turned slightly to the side, speaking softly, and Legolas couldn't even see the child he had worked so hard to birth.
"Give her to me, please, I want to hold her," Legolas begged.
"I can't yet, meleth, I'm so sorry," was Aragorn's strained reply.
Those same strong hands from earlier were suddenly on his shoulders, their touch firm, yet warm and comforting. Soft words were being spoken in his ear, but he couldn't focus on anything but the child being kept from him.
Somewhere deep down he knew it was irrational, but he could not help the flash of anger that struck through him. Why should Aragorn get to hold her first? And for so long? It had to have been several minutes now since he had felt her body exit his—or had it been mere seconds? Time didn't seem to be flowing properly.
He tried to focus his mind on figuring out how long they had been parted. No, not parted. He could still feel his lifeblood flowing steadily into her through their last physical connection, giving her the final share of nourishment and protection his body could offer. She was so close to him, yet still not in his arms.
"Why do you keep her from me?" he asked, his voice sounding both broken and distant to his own ears. The same voice that had been speaking to him before—Gimli, he realized with a sudden shock of lucidity—returned again.
"He's not keeping her from you, she just needs a little extra help," the dwarf explained, very gently, as if Legolas were a frightened child.
The brief moment of clarity began to fade, and Legolas mentally reached out to grasp it, as if it were a thin blade of grass escaping on the wind. He caught it. Time began to flow as it should again, and he realized it had been barely a minute since he had finished pushing his daughter from the warmth of his womb into the cold night air. Such a short time to live outside of his warm embrace. But such a long time to live without—
Breath! Legolas thought with a jolt of terror. He understood now. Aragorn wasn't keeping her away, he was trying to help her breathe. He listened for the cries of a newborn, but it was Gimli's voice that met his ears again.
"She'll be testing the strength of her lungs any moment now, just wait and see. Look! Her color is already improving."
Aragorn shifted slightly, and Legolas caught his first glimpse of his daughter. Her skin was the healthy red of a newborn, and her chest was moving up and down in short stutters. Breathing.
Alive.
Seconds later, she was making the most beautiful sound he had ever heard, and he saw Aragorn weeping as he scooped the child up and leaned forward. Legolas held his arms out, and his daughter's familiar weight was settled quickly into them.
A/N: Next chapter contains family fluff. Annnnnnnd more elf whump. I literally can't help myself. Also, what to call our half-elven princess? As always, your comments and predictions give me life. 3