A/N: AGH, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! This chapter ran too long to get to the "happy" part!
But hey, a much-faster-than-normal update, eh? And it's not like things can get any worse between our two idiots in love!

Aragorn's mind replayed his exchange with Legolas over and over as he wandered in a listless haze through the healing halls of Lothlórien.

It had all happened so fast. Was that truly the end? Was it already over between them? And if not, how long did Legolas intend to keep Aragorn away? Would the elf ever forgive him for how badly he had mishandled the situation? Would he at least be allowed to say goodbye to Legolas? To Maeryn?

"Dúnadan?"

Aragorn was so distracted by his spiraling thoughts that he nearly ran into the elf standing in the middle of his path. It was Rúmil, his face showing deep concern.

"You were asleep but a few minutes ago," Rúmil said. "Is everything all right between you and Legolas?"

"Is it that obvious?" Aragorn asked, looking away as he tried to hide the redness in his eyes.

"The only time I ever lashed out at my husband was while I was carrying his child. To this day I still regret what I said to him in anger," Rúmil said, gently. "Legolas gave birth barely more than a day ago. He may require a good deal of grace and understanding from you in the days to come."

"Legolas is not the one at fault," Aragorn muttered.

"Oh," Rúmil said, awkwardly. "Then I suppose you must hope for his grace and understanding. Are you accustomed to groveling?"

Aragorn gave the elf a bemused look, and Rúmil laughed softly.

"Forgive me, Dúnadan, I do not mean to mock you. I only mean to point out that a sincere apology can go a long way where a lover is concerned. At any rate, I am glad to have run into you."

The elf straightened slightly before speaking again.

"The Lord and Lady send word that they would like to formally greet you and the rest of your company this afternoon, now that you are all rested and on the mend. I trust that you will be up to attending?"

"I—Of course," Aragorn said, taken slightly aback. Of course they would be wanting an update on the quest—and an explanation for Gandalf's absence.

At least it would give him a convenient excuse to see Legolas and Maeryn again.

"Have you spoken to the others yet?" Aragorn asked.

"Nenna will tell Legolas when she looks in on him, but I have already spoken to Boromir and the little folk. They have all given their assurances. The dwarf in particular seemed eager for a chance to leave his room."

"Gimli. His name is Gimli," Aragorn said absently before his eyes suddenly widened in horror. "—Wait, what? You don't mean to tell me he has been confined to his room this entire time?"

"Well, certainly not the entire time. He has been allowed a few accompanied excursions," Rúmil calmly replied.

"You mean to say the Galadhrim have not afforded Gimli the same freedom granted to Boromir and myself?" Aragorn asked, seething.

"Please understand, it was for his own safety, Dúnadan," Rúmil said, holding his hands out in a placating gesture. "It has been a great many years since a dwarf has even been allowed to set foot in our lands. Our wardens are always coming and going, and there might have been a repeat of the incident from two evenings ago if your friend had been allowed to roam freely."

Aragorn shook his head, the grief in his heart now joined by anger and guilt. He'd been a terrible friend and leader. He had abandoned Gimli for more than a day in a land whose people deeply mistrusted his entire race, and the only elf who could have vouched for him had been unconscious that entire time. He couldn't leave him to wait any longer.

"I need to speak to him. Now. Do you know where he is being kept?" Aragorn asked.

"Of course," Rúmil said, turning and gesturing for Aragorn to follow. "And I assure you," Rúmil added, "—his chambers are no less comfortable than the ones the other little folk are staying in."

"As comfortable as a locked cage can be, I'm sure," Aragorn muttered, following. Rúmil's shoulders stiffened, but he did not reply.

There was a tense silence between them as Rúmil led Aragorn out of the healing halls and further into the city proper. Aragorn could tell the elf was troubled over the matter with Gimli, though he could not be certain if Rúmil felt truly guilty or if he was simply responding to Aragorn's anger.

Aragorn hated that there was a rift between them now. Rúmil was not Lord of this realm, nor was he chief warden. In fact, most of what he did seemed to be under direct orders—whether from his rulers, his older brother, or Nenna. It was not Rúmil's choice what the Galadhrim did with strangers who entered into their territory. And Aragorn still owed him a great debt for what he had done for both Legolas and Maeryn.

"I am not angry with you," Aragorn murmured, speeding up his step so that he was walking alongside the elf.

"I would understand if you were," Rúmil said, steadily, his eyes forward. "Is it true that the dwarf—Gimli—assisted in delivering the child?"

Aragorn nodded. "He did indeed."

"Amazing," Rúmil said. "For a dwarf to be allowed to witness something so rare—so intimate. The prince's trust in him must be truly strong."

It was an apology, in a way. An acknowledgment of the friendship shared between members of their unlikely Fellowship.

"Circumstances have required that we find faith in each other. I am certain none of us regret the bonds we have forged in our short time together," Aragorn said.

"And your bond with Legolas," Rúmil ventured, carefully. "Has it also been strengthened by this ordeal?"

"It—it had been," Aragorn said, ashamed at how his voice trembled with pain. Until I ruined everything.

Rúmil put a sympathetic hand on Aragorn's shoulder as they walked on.

"Be at peace, Dúnadan; you must know the prince's heart belongs only to you," the elf assured him. "I'm sure he will be willing to forgive whatever foolish thing you might have said to him."

His kind words were like a punch to the gut.

He gave me his heart, and I broke it, Aragorn thought, bitterly.

Another sudden, dark thought occurred to him, and he spoke without thinking.

"Was there ever another? For you?" he asked.

Rúmil tilted his head, questioningly.

"Another—?"

"All this time since your husband passed—three thousand years…" Aragorn swallowed, realizing only now how impertinent, how invasive his question was, but he had to ask, had to know.

"Was there ever another? I mean—did you ever love anyone else after your husband?"

Rúmil gave him a bewildered look.

"Another? No, of course not," he responded, shaking his head in disbelief. "My husband and I—We conceived a child together, Dúnadan," Rúmil said, as if that was explanation enough.

Aragorn's stomach clenched. It was not the answer he had hoped for; it was the one he had feared.

"What exactly do you mean?" Aragorn pressed.

"The kind of love that it takes to forge a new and everlasting soul—the kind of love that created your little girl…Among elves, a love like that is irreversible. Irreplaceable."

Rúmil shook his head, his eyes misty.

"No, Dúnadan. I have not loved another. Nor shall I ever."

And nor shall Legolas.

"…I understand," Aragorn said, his heart weighing heavier than ever. "And I beg your forgiveness if I have caused you distress."

"There is nothing to forgive," Rúmil assured him. "Though I am surprised that you did not know this already, having been raised among elfkind."

"I have not had the opportunity to learn about such things," Aragorn said, his tone full of regret. "Elrond did not like to speak of her—your Lady's daughter—and even as a small child I got the sense that he was yet in deep mourning. And I'm sure you know my foster siblings are yet unwed."

"Not for lack of trying on my part," Rúmil said with a small smirk. "I have always thought my eldest brother and yours would be a good match."

Aragorn didn't quite know how to respond to that, though he found he couldn't disagree.

"Here we are," Rúmil said, stopping in front of a modestly-sized square dwelling, a strong, young Mallorn sprouting from its very center. Aragorn appreciated that the dwarf had been put up in one of the smaller, grounded dwellings rather than the ones built on platforms high up in the larger Mallorn-trees. It was nice to see that the Galadhrim were sensitive to the fact that dwarves preferred to keep both feet squarely on—or in—the ground.

Rúmil gave some form of elven salute to the guard standing just outside the door, and the elf returned the gesture, quickly taking his leave.

"A guard at his door? Was that truly necessary?" Aragorn asked.

"For his protection," Rúmil reminded him. "Keep in mind that he survived his encounter with me and my brothers two nights ago. I know more than one elf who would have shot first rather than risk the life of an elfling."

He reached out and gave the door two solid knocks.

Legolas was still weeping when Nenna quietly knocked on the door to his room. He was lying on the bed, still wearing the robe, his back propped up against the pillows. His daughter, finally calm again, was held warm and safe against his chest.

"Come in," Legolas called, furiously wiping at his cheeks, then realizing there was no point in trying to hide the redness there.

Nenna entered the room and took one look at Legolas before rushing over to his side.

"What is it, Greenleaf?" she asked, taking a seat on the bed by his side. "Are you in pain?"

Legolas shook his head, his lip trembling.

"No—Well, yes, but that is not why—" Another soft sob escaped his lips before he could suppress it.

"It is normal to have mixed feelings after a child is born," Nenna offered, tactfully. "Can you tell about your physical pain first?"

"It feels like every muscle in my back and sides is aching, and these cramps in my belly are relentless," Legolas said, figuring there was no point in holding back.

Nenna's eyes grew wide with concern.

"Did Rúmil not offer you herbs when he came to assist you?" she asked.

"He did," Legolas said, quickly. "I'm afraid I refused them, and I am regretting it sorely. I wanted to have a clear head when I spoke to Aragorn, but instead I let my pain and fear speak for me." He met her eyes, his face the picture of misery. "I drove him from my side, Nenna."

"Oh, Legolas," Nenna said, her voice both soothing and gentle. "You have just given birth. No one has a clear head after that, whether elf or man," she said, kindly. "I am certain Aragorn will understand."

She placed a gentle hand on his forehead, then frowned, her demeanor shifting suddenly.

"You may have a bit of a fever," she said, her tone too purposefully casual. "I'm going to bring you an herbal tea right away. Please stay in bed while I go prepare it."

Legolas did not miss the speed at which she hurried from the room, and he couldn't help the twinge of guilt he felt as he immediately got to his feet, laying Maeryn down in her cradle so he could start pulling on his clothes. Nenna deserved a better patient, but Legolas could not afford to wait for her. He needed to fix this.

Aragorn will understand, Nenna had said. Legolas prayed that she was right.

"Come in!" came the call from within Gimli's modest chambers. "Not that you need my permission, pointy ear. You're holding the damned key," the voice added at a barely audible grumble.

Rúmil gave Aragorn an embarrassed look before pressing the key in and turning it. He pushed the door open and took his leave with a swift bow, practically sprinting away.

Aragorn stepped inside the smaller elvish dwelling to discover that smaller did not mean humbler where the Galadhrim were concerned. The bed, while not nearly the size of Legolas's, was made up with silk sheets and thick, silvery woven blankets. The table in the corner was set with more than one selection of wine, a pitcher of water, and a plate with more meat, cheese, fruits, and bread than one could reasonably be expected to eat by himself. Even the rug on the floor shimmered with bits of silver thread that had been woven into its intricate design.

Still a prison cell, Aragorn reminded himself.

"Aragorn!"

Gimli rushed over and wrapped him in a sudden bear hug, and Aragorn gave a soft grunt as the dwarf's hard head collided with his chest, nearly knocking the wind out of him.

"Gimli," Aragorn wheezed, patting the dwarf on the back, partly in friendship and partly as a reminder that he needed to breathe. Gimli quickly released him, and Aragorn took in the sight of him, noting with relief that he looked clean, unharmed, and certainly in better spirits than expected.

"Forgive me, my dear friend," Aragorn began, "if I had known—"

"Never mind all that, is Legolas all right?" Gimli interrupted the apology Aragorn had already been rehearsing in his head.

Aragorn nodded, caught off guard. "They—the Galadhrim didn't tell you anything?"

"They mentioned that he was alive. Yesterday. And I don't think they were addressing me when they said it," Gimli replied, bitterly.

"Be at peace, my friend, Legolas has come through the worst of it," Aragorn assured him, quickly. "He was in a deep sleep for over a day, but he is awake now and recovering. The midwife was able to treat the source of his bleeding."

Gimli released a deep sigh of relief, and he closed his eyes as he muttered something in Khuzdul.

"Gimli?" Aragorn asked, giving a curious tilt of his head. He knew a great deal of Dwarven phrases, but this one he didn't recognize.

"Just saying a prayer of thanks," Gimli said. "The state he was in when last I saw him—all that blood…" He shook his head. "I had little hope that he would live."

"Forgive me," Aragorn said again. "You should have been told—I should have been in to check on you. Legolas would not have let them keep you like this."

"No, I doubt he would have," Gimli said, softly chuckling. "I couldn't believe what I was seeing when he came over to challenge the Galadhrim on my behalf, trailing blood behind him. And I thought dwarves were stubborn." He tilted his head suddenly. "But where are he and the lassie now? Is Legolas yet bedridden?"

Aragorn flinched at the tightening in his chest.

"No, he is not bedridden," Aragorn said. "He is in one of their recovery rooms now, looking after our little one."

Gimli nodded, patiently waiting.

Aragorn took another shaky breath and looked down at his hands.

"…He sent me away," he quietly admitted.

"Oh, Aragorn," Gimli said, reaching up to give Aragorn a gentle pat on the back. "I am sorry to hear that. Our poor Legolas must still be in a great deal of pain, and he may be feeling both tightly wound and out of balance with his emotions. I hope you are not taking any harsh words to heart?"

Aragorn shook his head, still looking down.

"If only that were the reason, I might be assured. But I'm afraid I earned this banishment—and more. What's worse, I thought I was doing right by him—but now I don't know anymore." He looked back up at Gimli, his expression agonized. "I feel I might have ruined everything."

"By the Seven, lad," Gimli said. "You are trembling! Come and sit," He tugged at Aragorn's elbow, and the man followed him to the table in the corner of the room where two carved, wooden chairs were placed. Gimli poured them each a goblet of red wine and pressed one into Aragorn's hand as they sat.

"It's not my preferred drink, but I have found this one calming as I waited for news," the dwarf said. "The elves have been generous enough with their food and wine at the very least."

Aragorn stared at the cup a long time before taking a small sip. Gimli was right; it had a warm, calming effect. He took another drink, then set the cup down. Gimli took a sip from his own goblet, then leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms patiently, as if to say Go on, then.

"You may already know this, but Thranduil—Legolas's father—is here," Aragorn began. He glanced at the dwarf's face, painfully aware that Gimli's father had had unpleasant dealings with the Elvenking in the past—dealings that were unresolved to this day.

Gimli's brows raised in surprise, and he gave a slow nod.

"I was not aware," the dwarf said. Aragorn gave him a concerned look, but Gimli waved him off. "Go on, Aragorn, I'm fine. It was a long time ago."

Aragorn nodded. He took another sip of the wine—

—And then he began to speak, the whole story pouring from him as if a dam had burst. Everything from his first encounter with Thranduil early the previous morning to the events of only twenty minutes ago. He spoke of the agony he had felt at seeing Legolas still and grey upon the bed, the fit of terror that his confrontation with Thranduil had brought on, the joy he had felt at Legolas waking—and the grief of knowing that it was all over, and that he hadn't even had a chance to say a proper goodbye to Legolas or his daughter.

Gimli listened patiently throughout, and when Aragorn was finished the dwarf remained silent for a moment, taking another sip of wine as Aragorn waited anxiously for his response.

"Well," Gimli finally spoke. "—at least it's clear what you need to do now."

"I—it is?" Aragorn asked.

"Sure, lad," Gimli said, reaching out and giving him a friendly, if patronizing, pat on the back. "You need to apologize to that poor elven princeling and beg him to take you back."

Aragorn could not help the short laugh of disbelief that left his lips.

"Did—Did you not hear what I said?"

"Every word. It's clear you've twisted yourself into this mess out of a misplaced sense of duty to preserve something that Legolas has no interest in preserving. You're desperately and hopelessly in love with him, and you think that means the both of you should suffer apart? And for what? Legolas's long, cold years of living without you? That is the trade you desire?"

Aragorn's jaw clenched in irritation.

"I don't want Legolas to die," he said through his teeth.

"And I'm sure he feels the same way about you," Gimli said, shrugging indifferently. "That doesn't change the fact that you could die next week. You could be killed by orc arrows, or you could fall off a horse, or choke on a piece of bread—"

"What are you—?"

"—And Legolas is not safe either," Gimli said, plowing ahead. "Having a little one to worry about may slow him down for a little while, but I am certain parenthood will only strengthen his resolve to defend this world—her home. He may very well die fighting in this war."

Aragorn stared at the dwarf, horrified.

"Why are you saying these things?" he asked, stunned.

"Because we are in a war, and death does not discriminate, lad!" Gimli said, throwing his hands up. "The only thing that is certain is your love for each other. And your little one is proof of that. Do you really want to throw it all away on the off-chance that your death—be it tomorrow or when you are old and grey—will be too much for our Legolas to handle?" Gimli shook his head. "Forgive me, my friend, but I cannot believe you would be that foolish."

Gimli reached for the wine bottle and refilled their goblets, shoving Aragorn's toward him.

"Go on, then, drink," Gimli said, roughly. "It's not as if your mind can be addled any further."

Aragorn lifted his cup and stared at it, then at the dwarf. He took another drink. Then his shoulders began to shake as he was taken over by a fit of helpless laughter.

Gimli watched him anxiously for a moment before a broad smile spread across his face and he began to laugh as well.

It was a full minute later when Aragorn finally regained some semblance of control over himself, wiping tears from his eyes. Gimli had already downed another cup of wine in that time and was refilling it again.

"So? What are you going to do, lad?" Gimli asked, his words slurring only very slightly.

Aragorn took a deep breath, meeting Gimli's eyes.

"I'm going to speak with Thranduil again."

A/N: Thank you so much for reading!
Everyone gets a cookie. Yes, you too, my lovely, you know who you are.