Through The Dark

by SkyFire

Fandom: Lords Of The Ring

Paring: Aragorn/Legolas

Rating: PG

Summary: How does an Elf cope with being trapped inside Moria? Not very well. The first 3 chapters are sort of an intro to the real story.

Warning: Mpreg fic. If you don't like those, don't read it!

Rated: PG-13, genre is drama/angst/humor.

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em, wish I did... though me LotRMuses already wish that I had even less access than I do... I wonder why... *g*

A/N: It's 1:15 in the morning. This is the best title I could come up with. It doesn't fit
what the story *will* be like at all, so it's subject to change. *g*

This is mainly in the bookverse, which is why the movie-only folks out there might not agree
with some of the descriptions of Moria. This is one of the things that the movie chopped a *lot.*

Through the Dark
by SkyFire

Well, that settled *that* question.

The echoes of the West-gate being blocked from without by the Watcher in the Water answered it more clearly than anyone's words could have, and with a numbing finality. There was no longer even the option of going back. There was only forward.

Forward, into the darkness that weighed him down even then.

The last echoes faded at last, but once they had, he wished they hadn't. The endless stifling
silence was broken only by the Fellowship's harsh though quickly-calming breathing.

Smothering under the weight of the darkness and the knowledge of the great mountain that sat
above them, deafened by the unnatural quiet of the place, Legolas did not hear the others' short
conversation as to the inability to go back and the choosing of Gandalf to lead them through the
dark dwarven halls to the other side and out.

The Elf started with surprise at a small nudge from Aragorn, managed to shove down the
claustrophobic fear that rose in him enough to move legs like lead weights and follow the others
up a broad stairway.

Two hundred steps passed beneath his leaden feet. Two hundred steps that led them upward until they came at last to a level passage that would take them even further into the mountain. Two hundred steps in which the fear inside him could do nothing but grow, no matter how hard he struggled with it.

The Fellowship stopped at the landing at the top of the stairs. There they ate, though Legolas
had not much appetite and ate barely enough to feed even the smallest of birds. The sip of
Elrond's wondrous *miruvor* helped lighten his spirits a little, enough to allow him to smile
reassuringly in the face of Aragorn's concerned look, and to shrug off his earlier hesetation as
nothing. His facade nearly cracked, however, upon hearing Gandalf estimate that it would take
them perhaps three or four days to reach the way out.

How could he survive four days of this oppressive, stifling darkness? How could he bear it? To
see not the sun or the moon or the stars, nor hear the wind plau through the trees, or the song
of birds? He felt the stone all around him, solid as a tomb. He breathed still air that tasted
of death and despair.

Then Aragorn was there, nudging him once again.

He looked up and saw that the others had already begun to continue on their way, following
Gandalf and his glowing staff.

The pale glow made the already deep shadows seem endlessly deeper, and Legolas was of no mind to be left alone in the dark. Quickly, he rose and followed the others.

Aragorn came last, ever-watchful for dangers, continually casting concerned glances at the Elf.
Despite Legolas' reassurances that all was well, he could tell that *something* was amiss,
troubling the Elf.

*

For hours upon hours Gandalf led them through the maze of roads and passages that wound through the mountain, until they came to a wide arch opening into three passages. Here they stopped, for Gandalf could not remember the correct path.

Weary and also hoping that rest might help restore the old wizard's memory, they decided to pass what remained of the night in a guardroom beside the archway.

Pippin got the first watch as punishment for dropping a piece of stone down a well that stood
open in the floor of the room, and awakening ominous noises from the levels below.

Legolas lay awake in his blankets, unable to find peace enough to sleep. As ever, the darkness
weighed heavily on him. Despite his companions' nearness, he felt so utterly alone, cut off from
everything living. He breathed in the faint stench of old death with every breath, heard the cold stone shout deafeningly, echoing years-gone death-cries into the endless silence.

Then he looked over to see both Aragorn and Gandalf lying awake as well. After a short while, an eternity in stone, the wizard got up and went to take up the watch, sending Pippin to his rest
with the others.

That left Aragorn.

Aragorn, who chose that moment to turn his eyes to Legolas, saw the naked fear and despair the Elf felt revealed in unguarded freen eyes. Elven eyes blinked, shocked at having been caught
watching, then the veil fell once more over them, keeping the emotions behind them carefully
hidden.

But it was too late for that, and Legolas knew it.

In a way, he was embarrassed at having been seen being something other than the strong, capable Elven warrior that he was. But another part of him, a larger part of him, was relieved. He knew that Aragorn would not reveal what he had seen, knew he could perhaps lean on the Dunadan for the aid he needed to take his troubled mind off the spirit-numbing darkness that closed in all around him.

A hand fell to his shoulder, startling him once again. He looked up to see Aragorn there,
crouched beside him, concern on his face.

/Not a bad face,/ Legolas found himself thinking as he stared wordlessly up at the other. /Not a
bad-looking face at all. The rest of him is equally good-looking. Perhaps he *can* help me
drive away this inner darkness..../

"Legolas?" came the hushed query. The strong hand tightened briefly on the Elf's shoulder.

"Aragorn," Legolas said simply, need obvious in both voice and face. He reached up, one hand
sliding over one of the Ranger's shoulders, the other rising to the face, stubble scratching his
palm. "Please?" he asked as he pulled Aragorn down to lie on him. He feathered kisses over the
strong face. "Aragorn, please. Will you...?"

"Yes," came the reply.

Then lips met lips for the first time and their heated passions drove away the darkness within
until they both succumbed to sleep in each other's arms, sleeping an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

(2)

Gandalf woke them the next morning. He had decided during his night-watch which passage to lead them on, and it was time to resume their trek.

Legolas awoke rested, feeling himself again with relief after the depths of darkness that had
been all around him the night before. The darkness wasn't entirely gone from within him, but it
*was* much reduced. His inner brightness, the light that all Elves share, felt redoubled inside,
perhaps seeming all the brighter for the contrast against the Dark.

He got up, joined the others for a breakfast slightly more optimistic than the last meal they'd
shared in the dark fastness under the mountain.

Then they were walking, again following the light of Gandalf's staff as he led them ever onward
toward the way out.

For eight long hours they walked, pausing only infrequently for rests and meals.

The ominous darkness closed once again on him during the long march, though not quite as fast or as overwhelming as the night before. Still, he felt Aragorn's watchful gaze on him more or less
constantly, and was glad for it. For the perceptive Ranger was able to sense when the darkness
was closing in around him, at which times he would move up beside the Elf and distract him with
friendly speech, lightening the Elf's spirits when he needed it the most.

*

They were weary once again and looking for a secure resting-place for to pass the night when the passage ended, opening out into a vast hall. The light from Gandalf's staff lit the area of
floor close about them, though leaving the distant walls and soaring ceiling veiled still in the
deep shadows.

Then Gandalf raised high his staff and called a sharp surge of bright white light. For one brief
moment, all the great hall's shadows were driven back, revealing what must have been a magnificent hall in its day, when it was at all times brightly lit by lamps, torches and lanterns.

Even now it was still glorious, awe-inspiring, with its soaring pillars and vaulted ceilings, all
intricately carved as were all dwarven habitations, and set with bits of metal brightwork that
glinted in the light. Even after all this time, the pillars still stood and the floors were
straight and smooth.

Then the light faded and the shadows came once again. But somehow the companions took heart from the memory; even abandoned as it was and had been for years, the light had showed it to be still beautiful beneath the thickly clinging shadows.

*

They settled in to camp in one corner of the vast hall, out of the strong draft the blew across
the room from one doorway to the next.

Legolas ate the meal with the rest, then laid out his blankets and lay down on them. The others
soon followed is example. Their hushed conversations drifted off into silence one by one as they
settled in to sleep.

Silence fell again.

And again Legolas lay sleeplessly awake, the darkness and unease slowly creeping over him once again. Not even the memory of the hall's grandeur or Gandalf's guess that they just might see real sunlight on the morrow was enough to hold it back for long. Instead, the memory of the
sheer *size* of the room coupled with the darkness to emphasize the feelings of loneliness, of
insignificance.

He felt the unrelenting tide of darkness close in on him, even worse, perhaps, for the brief
respite.

He knew without looking whose hand it was that had just grasped his shoulder reassuringly. He
smiled faintly, rolled over to face the other.

"Aragorn," he acknowledged.

"Legolas," the Ranger said. he was crouched once again at the Elf's side, his expression one of
friendly concern. "Are you well?"

"It is dark," the Elf said quietly, careful not to speak so loud as to wake the others. "It
closes in. I can feel it and the weight of the mountain above. It presses down on me. It
stifles the breathing... and this place reeks of old death." He looked to Aragorn, miserable.
"It is dark, Aragorn. Even with Gandalf's light, it is very dark here."

Aragorn considered Legolas' words for a moment. He knew, having grown up in Rivendell with the Elves, how important inner light and dark were for Elves. It was entirely possible that the
constant darkness was, as he said, stifling his breathing. "And last night?" he asked, speaking
as softly as did the Elf. "Did... what we did...what happened.... Did it help you?"

Legolas nodded without hesetation. "Yes," he answered. "It did. For a time." He paused,
remembering. "When I awoke this morning, I felt amazingly well, as if the light inside had been
doubled. Even throughout the day's march, with the closing darkness, I could feel it. It did
take much longer for the dark to creep in this time. It was only recently, as the others fell
asleep and the silence came...."

Aragorn gently squeezed the soulder he held. "If you need... or want... such help again tonight,
you have only to ask," he said simply, sincerely. "I am here for you, my friend."

Legolas' smile was genuine, unforced. He covered the Dunadan's hand with his own, tugged gently. "Then I am asking," he said. "Help me again, as you did last night."

Aragorn lowered himself to the Elf's blankets, slipping under them with him. Then, as they had
the night before, their lips met. Once again, the flames of passion took them and wouldn't let
go until both were too exhausted to continue.

Once again they slept close together in each other's arms, dreamless, until morning.

(3)

They awoke the next morning in darkness less complete than it had been as they slept. Looking
around, they saw a pale glow of sunlight, slightly brightening the gloom at the archway at the
northern end of the great Hall that they were camped in.

Somewhat heartened by their first sight of sunlight in what had felt to be an eternity, they
shared a meal with more cheer than they had felt since entering the darkness of Moria. Surely
this day would be better than all the rest, if only because of that pale Sun-glow!

Legolas, himself, was heartened as well, feeling the feelings of overwhelming darkness leave him
nearly completely, even as once again feeling his inner light redoubled. It was to the Elf's
great pleasure that Gandalf decided to lead them to where the sunlight shone in, hoping it was a
window he could look out of to get an idea of which way to lead them to get out of Moria before another night passed; the wizard wasn't the only one there who would appreciate a look out of a window!

The mere thought of being free of Moria was more than enough to speed their steps as they once again gathered up their belongings and hurried toward the northern arch where the Sun was, beginning what was hopefully their last day's march underground.

They passed through the archway and into a long hallway. They could see now that the light came from inside a room on their right. They went in, blinking dazzled eyes more accustomed now to darkness, and looked around.

As Gandalf had suspected, the light came not from a window but from a shaft that had been carved into the ceiling of the chamber, leading through to the outside of the mountain. The shaft of light shone down onto a tomb in the middle of the chamber, the carved words on the lid revealing it to be the tomb of the dwarf Balin, Gimli's kinsman who had led the attempt to reclaim Moria.

Looking around for clues as to what had happened there, they saw the skeletal remains of many
dead, buried in dust. And a book, so ill-used as to be now barely legible. In it, they learned
the fate of the doomed dwarven expedition.

Then the drums began to sound, echoing loudly, along with the sound of many feet on stone.

They blocked the door they'd entered by, slamming the doors and wedging them shut. The foul
creatures on the other side of the barrier beat and pounded at it, slowly shoving back the
wedges.

Then they were through.

The members of the Fellowship fought grimly in melee, slaying orc after orc, goblin after goblin,
managing finally to drive them back, repelling their attackers from the room and then managing to block the door once more, again wedging it shut. Then, at Gandalf's harsh urgings, they fled out the eastern doorway and down a long stairway.

Gandalf lingered at the doorway to work some magic to slow the pursuit, then joined them not much later, leaning wearily on his staff, its light extinguished.

Then they were hurrying again, moving ever down the stairs, down level after level, turning
neither left nor right as they followed closely behind the wizard. They heard no sound of
pursuit from behind them, though the sound of drums continued to fill the air and set the stone
of walls and floor to vibrating all around them.

At last they came to a large hall, even larger than that in which they had camped the night
before. It was lit with the flickering red light of fire from a chasm that had opened up in the
floor.

Far in the distance at the far end of the hall was another chasm, this one with a narrow bridge
crossing it. It was toward this bridge that they ran, running as fast as they could, eager to
see the last of Moria and escape the pursuit they knew was coming after them.

A few loosed orc-arrows fell among them, though none found a home in flesh. The orcs were on the other side of the fire-chasm, kept from them by the very means by which they had meant to trap them.

Then the Fellowship reached the bridge.

Even as they began to cross, a creature both large and terrible threw down large slabs of stone
across the flaming chasm and crossed over, followed by the orcs and goblins, who kept a healthy distance from the creatures of darkness and flame.

A Balrog.

The members of the Fellowship crossed the bridge and made for the stairs leading up on the other side.

All, that was, save for Gandalf.

He had seen the Balrog, recognised what it was. He knew that he was the only member of the
Fellowship capable of facing the monster. And so he stayed, waiting for the evil creature,
leaning on his staff in the middle of the bridge, his brightly glowing sword Glamdring in hand.

The rest of the Company paused at the bottom of the stairs upon realizing that Gandalf was not
among them. They watched as he waited on the Bridge.

They watched as he fought the Balrog, shattering its sword of darkness with his sword of light.

They watched as he broke the Bridge with his staff, sending the Balrog plummeting into the
unfathomed darkness that was the chasm.

They watched, horror-stricken, as the Balrog's many-thonged whip snapped up a final time even as the monster fell and wrapped itself around Gandalf's knees, pulling him from the Bridge.

They watched in disbelief as he fell from sight into darkness.

An arrow clattering on the stone at their feet roused them from their shock enough to turn and
flee away up the stairs, following the path out that Gandalf had told them of before they had
crossed the Hall.

Then they were out of Moria, running away down the Dimrill Dale, eyes dazzled by the bright
sunlight and their sadness and shock at the unexpected loss of Gandalf.

They had time to pause only for a moment as their grief overwhelmed them, then they had to force it back and continue on, for they had to be far away by the time that night fell and the evil
creatures set forth from Moria in pursuit of them.

(4)

The eight remaining members of the Fellowship walked quickly away from Moria's eastern gate, left the Dimrill Dale far behind them as they hurried on, trying to reach the hopeful safety of the
Golden Wood before nightfall.

Though their quick pace left the world of dark halls far behind, it was ever with them in their
thoughts, for none could forget that last run and the fall of the only one among them that they
had thought undefeatable. To have had that proven wrong in such a hard way left them all numb
with shock and near-despair, for how could they even hope to succeed when one so mighty had fallen so soon into the Quest?

And so it was with heavy hearts that they finally reached the Golden Wood of Lothlorien, home to the Galadhrim Elves who were ruled over by Celeborn the wise and Galadriel the fair.

Darkness was falling all about them ere they reached the forest's western borders. Hoping the
wood would grant them some measure of safety from the orcs and goblins that they knew would probably pour forth from Moria in pursuit, they walked quickly into the wood a ways, then looked around at the silvery mallorn trees, looking for a likely tree in which to spend the night.

None of them wished to stay on the ground that night, perhaps to be found by evil creatures.

But the first tree they tried was... already occupied.

Legolas dropped back down to the ground at the firm order from the branches above, went to stand with his companions.

Then the grey-clad Elf dropped down from above, bow drawn and ready. He looked anything *but* pleased at their intrusion into the wood. He looked even *less* pleased when he heard that there would probably be a large force of orcs coming in after them.

It was with reluctance, therefore, that he agreed to put them up for the night and guide them to
the capital city to meet with Celeborn and Galadriel the next day.

Haldir of Lorien got his first true look at Legolas as the members of the Fellowship separated to
climb up the silvery rope ladders to their sleeping-spaces on platforms high off the ground in
the branches of the mallorn.

"Who are you?" he asked Legolas as the other made to follow his companions. His eyes grew even wider the longer he looked at the other, and he seemed deeply shocked by *something*.

"I am Legolas, son of King Thranduil, of North Mirkwood," Legolas replied. /Why is he looking at me like that? Do I have something embarrassing on my face?/ "And you are...?"

"Haldir," came the reply as the grey-clad Elf shook himself loose of his dazed state. "Will you
share our talan with my brothers and I, Legolas?"(1)

Still somewhat confused, Legolas hesitated a long moment before nodding his acceptance. "Yes, thank you."

*

It was a while before everyone was settled to their satisfaction, as nearly everyone in the
Fellowship was uneasy about sleeping high in a tree on the railless platforms.

Legolas sat on one of the platforms with Haldir and his brothers Rumil and Orophin, who spoke
together in hushed whispers, casting the occasional disbelieving stare at the golden-haired
Mirkwood Elf.

All at once, the tension in him crested, broke free.

"What?" he hissed at the trio.

"Legolas?" Haldir asked. "Is something wrong?"

"Why are you staring at me like that?" came the reply.

"Like what?"

A hissed sigh. "Like as if I had turned blue and grown three extra heads."

Haldir and his brothers shared a glance. "You do not know?" he asked at last.

Legolas closed his eyes and counted to ten. Again. And once again, in Quenya this time, for
variety. Then he opened his eyes and glared. "No," he hissed from between clenched teeth.

The grey-clad trio exchanged another glance. "I do not think that we should tell you," Haldir
said at last. "If you sense nothing different, it is possible that we are mistaken." He looked
relieved. "Surely it would be impossible anyway, and yet..." He shook his head. "It has been
long and long again since any of our northern kin have come to us, and a Prince beside... we must be mistaken. And if we are not, surely the Lady will see and speak to you of it."

"But you shall not," Legolas said flatly. /What are they speaking of?/ he wondered. /It is
something in me, something I should be able to sense... bah! There is naught ill with me. I
feel more well inside than I have for a long time, even with the loss of Mithrandir. Feeling
well is hardly something to worry about./

"No," Haldir confirmed.

"So be it," Legolas said. He turned away from the three Galadhrim, cast himself down on the
talan to rest and spoke no more to them that night.

*

The next morning, Haldir led the Fellowship into the Wood until at last they came to the city of
the Galadhrim, where dwelt the Lord and Lady of the Wood.

They arrived in the evening and were led to a recieving hall where they were met by the rulers of
Lothlorien.

The Lord Celeborn sat on his high seat, watching quietly as the Lady Galadriel gracefully greeted each of their guests in turn, calling them by name and offering them the hospitality of the Elves.

Last to be greeted was Legolas.

"Welcome, Legolas, son of Thranduil of Mirkwood," she said as she turned to face him. "Be
welcome in Loth-" she broke off, staring. She looked him over from head to toe, her face paling
even as her eyes grew wide and dark with shock. She reached out a trembling hand to touch his
face, withdrew it as though burned by even that light touch. "What have you done?" she breathed. "How is this possible?"

"Dearest one?" Celeborn asked in concern, rising and moving to Galadriel's side. "What is it?"

Legolas was staring at her, confused and a bit worried. /What is it about me that upsets them
so?/ he wondered. /First Haldir and his brothers, now the Lady Galadriel. What is it?/

"Legolas?" It was Aragorn.

The Mirkwood Elf looked over, saw the other seven of the Fellowship staring at him in confusion. "What?"

"What is she talking about? What did you do?"

/One. Two. Three./ A deep breath. Another. /Four. Five. Six.../

"I do not know," Legolas said. "They tell me not."

"You do not know?" came Galadreil's incredulous voice.

Legolas turned back to her in frustration. "No."

"Legolas," she said, going even paler as she watched him. "I know not how such a thing was
accomplished; it should be impossible. But apparently you are proof that that belief is wrong."

"What belief?" he asked, barely managing to keep his frustration-filled voice level. "Lady,
please. Tell me."

Galadriel clasped her Lord's hand, leaned toward him for support. "Legolas," she said. "Your
inner light is so strong. It is only ever seen this strong in those Elves who are with child.
Legolas, you are pregnant."

Legolas burst out laughing. /Surely they do not believe that!/ he thought. Then he noticed that
no one else was laughing. His laughter trailed off and he looked around.

The members of the Fellowship were staring at him in shocked disbelief. The Elves were staring
at him in shocked awe. He swallowed hard. /They do not believe that... do they?/

"Lady?" he asked, shocked to hear his own voice crack and tremble. "Lady, surely there is some sort of mistake...." She was already shaking her head in negation even as he continued. "I am not pr-... I *can not* be pr-... I'm male! I.... You.... But, I *can't*..."

Legolas Greenleaf, Prince of Mirkwood, son of King Thranduil, collapsed unconscious to the floor of the recieving chamber.

(5)

There was no long, gradual rise from the black unconsciousness to full awareness. It was as
abrupt as long years of training could make it, knowing that one day that small time could mean
the difference between life and death. One instant he was oblivious to the world, the next, he
was blinking up at the pale ceiling above him, fully awake and alert.

He frowned slightly, lying still upon the floor as he tried to remember what had been so shocking that he'd passed out. Galadriel. It was something *she* had said, he knew it was.

Then full memory came surging back and he gasped in shock. Galadriel's revelation, then the
realization....

A curly-haired head came into view above him, looking down at him in concern. The hobbit- Merry- smiled to see him conscious, then turned his head to someone else and called, "hey! He's awake!"

Two more hobbits- Frodo and Pippin- joined Merry in staring down at him. Over their shoulders, he could see Boromir and Gimli standing over him as well.

"Are you all right?" Frodo asked in concern.

"I am fine, Frodo," he assured, smiling faintly. "And Legolas?"

"He hit the floor almost exactly when you did, Strider," Pippin said. "He's not awake yet."

Aragorn rose to his feet, shook his head to clear the last cobwebs of unconsciousness, then went over to where Legolas lay on the floor, being attended by Sam and a trio of grey-clad Galadhrim as Celeborn and Galadriel looked on.

Seeing the Prince of Mirkwood brought home exactly what had happened.

Legolas was pregnant. It was crazy, it was impossible... it was happening now. And it was his
fault.

He was the father. Well, *a* father, since Legolas didn't really seem a *mother* exactly, child
or no child. The simple fact remained that somehow, no matter that it was impossible, no matter
that it was contrary to the nature of Elves and Men, he had gotten Legolas pregnant.

He hadn't meant to; Legolas was his friend, only that. Who would have thought that what was only meant to be an exchange of comfort between friends in a dark place would have such impossible consequences? Neither Aragorn nor Legolas had ever seen each other as a possible mate, and would laugh at the concept even now... though there would have to be something done to even the debt between them.

And speaking of consequences... Arwen was going to *kill* him when she found out! And if *she* didn't, chances are Elrond or his sons would be angry enough to do it for her, to say nothing of Legolas' father, King Thranduil of North Mirkwood!

Of course, that was all assuming that *Legolas* wouldn't kill him once he regained consciousness, which was entirely possible. Likely, even.

Suddenly, the world was a lot more dangerous for a Ranger named Aragorn. He was glad then that he was only going to Mordor to face the Dark Lord, absolute evil embodied, instead of having to face Legolas' father....

Legolas made a faint sound, blinked open eyes that had been unnaturally closed with
unconsciousness. A faint frown wrinkled the smooth brow as the Elf tried to recall why he was
lying on the floor of the recieving chamber. Emerald eyes widened as he, too, remembered
Galadriel's revelation. Legolas sat up, head turning to stare in Aragorn's direction, confusion,
fear and anger flashing in the Elf's green eyes. "*You*," was all he said.

Aragorn gulped. "Yes, Legolas?" he asked faintly.

"First, I want to speak with the Lady Galadriel," the Elf said, standing. "*Then* you and I are
going to have a Talk."

"Talk?" Aragorn repeated. /I hope by 'talk' he means 'we'll have civilized conversation' instead
of 'I'm going to rip your still-beating heart out and eat it'./ he thought.

"Talk," Legolas said firmly. Then he and the Lady Galadriel left the chamber, making their way
down to the ground and to Galadriel's secret clearing.

Aragorn watched the two leave, barely able to keep back the urge to run away as fast as he could. He looked to Frodo and made himself remember his oath to see this Quest through to its conclusion. He *couldn't* abandon the Fellowship.

Celeborn invited the remaining companions to return to the ground and to a pavilion that had been set up for them. Food would be brought to them there, and they would have the opportunity to rest and refresh themselves.

Aragorn followed numbly after the others, then lay listless and unsleeping on one of the couches
in the pavilion, waiting in apprehension for Legolas to return for their 'Talk'.

*

Several hours had passed before Mirkwood's Prince made his appearance. Completely ignoring Aragorn, he went and served himself a late supper, ate it. Then he went over to an unoccupied couch and lay down.

"Go to sleep, Aragorn," he said as he drifted off. "We'll talk in the morning."

Aragorn lay on his couch sleeplessly for a long time before drifting off. But his sleep was
broken and fragmented and he got not much rest that night.

Legolas slept... like a baby.

(6)

The Fellowship awoke the next morning on their first full day in the capital city of Lothlorien.
They shared a quiet breakfast, then Legolas gave Aragorn a pointed Look and gestured for him to follow.

With a sigh, Aragorn followed the Elf from the clearing. He had barely gotten any sleep the
night before, apprehension running through him, and was still very tired. His eyes were gritty
with the need for sleep and his step was hesitant. The one stretch of true sleep he'd gotten
had been filled with nightmares about the probable reactions of not only Legolas' father, but
also his foster family and betrothed. He was certain that Elrond and his sons would be
practically rabid when they found out what Aragorn had somehow managed to do, and Arwen! Aragorn winced away from the thought. He didn't even want to *imagine* what *her* reaction would be!

*

The other members of the Fellowship watched as Aragorn followed Legolas out of the clearing and into the woods of Lorien.

Merry turned to Pippin. "Can you imagine what Legolas is going to look like, pregnant?" he asked, smirking. "Can you even imagine him *pregnant* to start with?"

"No," Pippin answered. "But he is anyway, hey?"

"Galadriel said so. I wonder how he got himself pregnant."

"I dunno. I just hope it isn't contagious. Did you see how he just went white and keeled over
when she told him? One second he's fine, the next, bam! Out like a light."

"Yup. Strider, too. The thought of Legolas pregnant must've been too much for him; he's been
really stressed since Gandalf died. Who do you think is the father?"

"Legolas, idiot!"

"No, I mean the other one," Merry said, lightly hitting his cousin upside the head. "I don't
think Legolas did this to himself!"

"Oh," Pippin said. "Well, it's not me."

"Me, either."

"Boromir?" Pippin suggested.

"No," Merry said. "He won't even *talk* to Legolas since the Elf told him off in front of the
Council in Rivendell."

"Oh, yeah. Well, he *was* picking on Strider, so I guess he deserved it. Umm, let's see. You,
me, Boromir. Sam? He likes Elves."

"He's glued to Frodo. It can't be him. Frodo?" Merry said.

"No, same reason. Who's left? Gimli?"

The two looked to each other, remembering all the petty fights between dwarf and Elf. They burst out laughing.

"Okay, not Gimli," Pippin said, still chuckling at the image. "Strider? He grew up in Rivendell
with Elves."

"C'mon, Pip," Merry said. "Strider? I mean sure he acts like an Elf sometimes, walks quiet like
one, likes the same things, thinks like them and is going to marry one, but really now. Strider?"

"Well, he *did* keel over when the Lady told Legolas-"

"So? I almost did, too. And I saw you turn green, so you can't say *you* didn't almost hit the
floor as well."

"You've got a point. But why did Legolas want to talk speak with him so urgently today, then?
Poor Strider didn't look too well, either."

"Pip, Strider knows healing-stuff, remember? Legolas probably just wants to get checked over."

"Good point," Pippin said. "Guess this means we know who the father is, hmm? Poor Legolas must be so sad."

"Yeah."

"What are you two going on about over here?" Gimli asked with his usual tact.

"We figured out who's the other father of Legolas' kid," Merry said.

The rest of the Fellowship, except for the absent Elf and Ranger, gathered close to hear the two
hobbits' guess.

"Who?" Gimli asked.

Merry and Pippin shared a glance, nodded sadly.

"Gandalf," they said.

(7)

Legolas led Aragorn out of the breakfast clearing and away from the others of the Fellowship.
Walking out into the mallorn-wood of Lorien, he clearly heard Aragorn's reluctance in every heavy step the usually near-silent Ranger took.

/What does *he* have to be so upset about?/ Legolas thought in annoyance. /It's not as if *he*
is the pregnant one of the two of us!/

The Elf kept walking, every apprehensive step made by his companion compounding the annoyance growing in him. Finally, well out of earshot of any of their companions, the frustration was just too much. He turned on Aragorn, green eyes sparking angrily.

"*What* is wrong with *you*?" he half-yelled.

Aragorn took a cautious step back, away from the Elf. /What brought this on?/ he wondered.
"Legolas?" he asked. "What-?"

"You know what I'm talking about!" the Elf hissed, eyes glittering with a light that was a short
step from homicidal.

Or at least that's what it looked like to Aragorn. He took another cautious step back.

"You did this to me, human!" the ELf spat angrily. "You somehow managed to get me *pregnant*, and now you're walking around as if *you're* the one whose life is about to change! *You're* not the one carrying a child! *You're* not the one who is going to get fat with it. *You're* not the one who is going to have to *birth* this child! So *why* are you acting like you're going to your own funeral?"

Aragorn blinked at the unexpected outburst from the usually-calm Prince of Mirkwood. Then he actually *heard* what the other had said and a glare found its way onto *his* face. "Oh, no!
Don't you be pinning all this on me!" he said, angry voice kept low with effort. "I seem to
recall you were more than willing at the time. For all we know, that *need* you had was what let this all happen in the first place!"

Legolas' face went from angry red to bloodlessly pale, eyes wide. /He could be right,/ he
thought in shock. /I *was* trying so hard to keep the darkness away and increase my inner
light... *could* that be how this happened?/

"And as for why I look like I'm going to my own funeral, here are a few reasons," Aragorn said.
He ticked them off on his fingers as he spoke. "Thranduil. Arwen. Elrond. Elrohir. Elladan.
Glorfindel, for all I know." He smiled grimly. "Compared to facing them, going to Mordor to
fight the embodiment of absolute evil is a lot safer."

Legolas chuckled grimly. "It would seem so," he said. Then he paled. "Father," he said. He
sank down to the moss at the foot of a mallorn tree, leaned back against the silvery bark with a
tired, confused sigh. "Father is going to *kill* me," he moaned. "Aragorn, what am I going to
do? I will *not* abandon the Fellowship. And yet, I will have to stop, when the time comes."

Aragorn sank to the moss by another tree. "That's your choice, Legolas. You *know* that if at
all possible, we will all wait for you and help in any way we can. But the oaths we swore in
Rivendell were not meant for such occurrences as this. Don't endanger yourself because of it.
If you think you should stay here, then stay. None of us will think less of you for it."

Legolas sighed again. "I don't know what to do. I do not want to leave the Fellowship. I will
stay with it as long as I am able, then rejoin it when I can."

Aragorn nodded. "Think about it, Legolas. We are staying here in Lorien for perhaps a month.
Use the time to ask the counsel of the Lady Galadriel and the healers. Learn what you need to
know. Then, make your choices."

Legolas nodded. "Sound advice, my friend," he said. A grim chuckle escaped him. "Do you
realize that the child I carry will be Heir to both Gondor and Mirkwood? It is a strange thing
to think of, nearly as strange as me being pregnant in the first place."

Aragorn swallowed harshly. "Arwen is going to kill me."

The Mirkwood Elf smiled, stood. "Come, let us return. Surely, the others must fear for your
life by now."

*

They got back to the breakfast clearing to see the rest of the Fellowship gathered close around
the hobbits, Merry and Pippin. Shocked pity was apparent on most faces. Only Frodo was shaking his head, frowning.

"-don't think so," Frodo was saying. He broke off as he saw Legolas and Aragorn enter the
clearing.

Then the others noticed and went to flock around the Elf, a babble of nearly-indecipherable
voices rising from them.

"Legolas!"

"Sit down! You have to-"

"-hungry? I'll get food-"

"-so sorry-"

"-must be so sad-"

"-terrible-"

"-more bread? Water?"

"-relax. In your condition-"

Legolas was pulled over to a couch and lain down upon it, a cool towel placed on his head,
blankets smoothed over him, food and drink brough to him. Aragorn watched in bemusement as the Elf was forcibly tended to, the others ignoring all the Elf's protests as they hovered anxiously over him.

Finally, Legolas was once again fed up.

"Enough!" he yelled, causing his companions to instantly quiet, and attract curious glances from
passing Galadhrim. He sat up, threw off towel and blankets, pushed away hands that held food and drink out to him. "What is this all about?"

Merry looked to the Elf, eyes dark with concern and sadness. "We didn't want you to be sad,
Legolas. What with Gandalf dead and you being pregnant."

Legolas looked confused. The hobbit's tone implied some sort of connection between the two events and he saw none. "I am grieved by M-Mithrandir's p-passing, yes. But you seem to imply something more, and I'm not sure-"

"See, Merry," Frodo cut in. "I *told* you Gandalf wasn't the father!"

The Elf choked, was pounded helpfully on the back by the dwarf, Gimli. "Gandalf?!" he squeaked. He batted away Gimli's pounding hands, glaring. "Touch me once more, dwarf, and you'll be known as Gimli One-Handed!" He turned back to the hobbits. "You thought that I- that *Mithrandir*-" The Prince's face screwed up in shocked disgust.

Merry and Pippin looked disappointed. The others just looked curious. It had been such a
logical conclusion! "But if it wasn't Gandalf, who was it?" Pippin asked at last, once Legolas
had calmed slightly. "We eliminated everyone else in the Fellowship!"

"And it's not as if you just woke up one day pregnant," Merry assed. He frowned slightly at a
thought. "You... *do* know where babies come from, don't you, Legolas?"

Legolas blushed bright red at the question, prompting laughter from his companions. "Of *course* I know where babies come from!"

"So who'd the father?" Pippin asked. "The other one, I mean."

Blush still slowly fading, Legolas frowned. "I can't say," he said. "It would cause too many
problems."

"Problems?" asked Pippin. "We're going to fight the Great Evil Bad Guy. What could be scarier
than that?"

"Parents," Merry said with a shudder that was quickly echoed by nearly every other member of the Fellowship. He looked back to Legolas. "But we won't tell anyone, really. Please?"

The Elf sighed, shook his head in defeat. He knew that once the hobbits got such a question in
their heads, they wouldn't let it go until he answered them. "All right. But you have to swear
you will not tell anyone."

The chorus of promises came from everyone in the fellowship, who looked to the Elf, eager to know the answer.

The Prince of Mirkwood sighed again, then spoke only a single word. "Aragorn."

The six startled companions looked from the Elf to the Ranger and back again.

Then Merry began to chuckle, soon joined by the rest of the six. "Strider, you're in biiiiiig
trouble," was all he said, all he *needed* to say.

Aragorn only moaned.

(8)

Strider woke up one morning nearly a week later to the sounds of someone being violently ill. He groaned. "Not again," he grumbled. Sitting up, he looked around to see most of the other members of the Fellowship awake as well, some of them green-faced at the sounds drifting in on the wind.

Legolas was nearby, hunched over on the ground beside a bush, yet again being a miserable victim of the morning sickness. His lithe body was wracked by fierce shudders and convulsions as he heaved up the meagre contents of his stomach onto the ground.

"Aragorn," Boromir said upon noticing the newly-awakened Ranger. He grimaced at the renewed sounds of sickness from the Elf. "Surely, there must be something we can do," he complained. "Could we not house the Elf somewhere where we would not have to wake to this every morning?"

Mirkwood's Prince had been having these bouts of sickness for nearly four days now, and the other members of the Fellowship had had just about all they could take.

Aragorn looked to the Elf, saw him stand and shakily wander off into the woods, presumably to
find something to wash away the taste, or to continue in privacy. He made it perhaps ten steps
before the heaves sent him to the ground beside another bush. Luckily, that one was far enough
away that the company wasn't bothered by the sounds of sick Elf.

"I'll go get some of that tea that helped him yesterday," Aragorn offered. "As for the rest, it
would not be right to send Legolas away. It is not his fault that the sickness takes him every
morning."

"No," Gimli agreed gruffly. "It's *yours*."

Aragorn frowned. "I know that full well, son of Gloin. Do you think that I planned this?"

"So it was a spur-of-the-moment thing?" Boromir asked, grinning wolfishly. "I must admit the Elf
is every bit as pretty as a girl, but to actually *do* anything about it-"

"That's not what happened!" Aragorn protested. "And I would thank you to stop. I have enough to worry about without this."

"Oh? Such as?" Gimli asked.

"Family; Arwen's and Legolas'."

"And Arwen herself," Boromir chuckled. "Yes, you *do* have problems enough. But still, none of us can rest well knowing what we will wake to."

"I'll see what I can do," Aragorn said. "Surely, this can't last for much longer anyway!"

Boromir shook his head with a wry chuckle. "My third cousin twice removed was telling me once that *his* wife's sister had the morning sickness the whole time; from the start of her pregnancy until she birthed."

Aragorn went pale. "The... whole... No...." He shook his head. "I must speak with the Lady
Galadriel about this."

The Ranger turned, left the pavilion on his way to seek out the Lady of Lorien.

"Don't forget to ask about moving the Elf!" Gimli called after him.

*

It was noon before Aragorn returned to join the others for the noon meal. The hobbits, Boromir
and Gimli ate heartily everything that was placed in front of them. Legolas picked at his food,
showing a distinct lack of appetite as he managed to finish barely a fourth of the small portion
he had been given. Merry and Pippin quickly claimed his uneaten food, as they'd only had six
large servings and were starving.

He was quiet as he sat there and ate, his head full of the memory of his talk with Galadriel. So
many of the phases Legolas would go through were similar to those of a human woman, though for Elves pregnancy usually lasted for twelve or thirteen months instead of nine.

Aragorn had managed to get Legolas moved somewhere else; the Lady Galadriel was having him moved to the quarters she shared with Celeborn so she could keep a watchful eye on his condition. Even as they ate, grey-clad Galadhrim bore Legolas' things away to his new living space.

Legolas didn't react much to the announcement of his move, simply got up and followed the helpful grey-clad Elves to where he would be staying.

The other members of the Fellowship were careful to keep their relief at the move hidden from him, only showing it when they were certain that he was well out of earshot.

To show their gratitude, the four hobbits regaled Aragorn with pregnancy horror stories they knew about their cousins, aunts, grandmothers and every other female they'd ever heard one about. Gimli and Boromir joined in the fun as well, laughing as telling by telling, Aragorn grew paler and paler.

The rest of the day passed in that way, then they settled down that night on the couches in their
pavilion to sleep, Elf-less.

*

Aragorn was awakened the next morning perhaps an hour before dawn not by the sounds of Legolas being sick but by the sound of quiet, furtive movement inside the pavilion. He opened his eyes, sat up and looked over.

He was somewhat startled to see a somewhat unsettled-looking Celeborn standing there, laying
blankets out on another couch, the one Legolas had occupied.

"Legolas returns to us?" the Ranger asked quietly, careful not to wake the others.

Celeborn hesitated slightly, then shook his silver-haired head. "No. He remains with my Lady."

"And the bed?"

"For me. I could not stand to be near Galadriel when she had the sickness, and I can stand the
sound of a pregnant male Elf being sick no better than I could my Lady. I shall sleep here until
he is no longer afflicted."

Aragorn nodded. "Be welcome, then."

Celeborn nodded, lay himself down upon the couch, pulling the blankets softly over himself.

Aragorn slowly drifted off to sleep once more to the deep, even breathing of the sleeping
Fellowship and the nearly-silent breaths of the Lord of Lorien.

(9)

The members of the Fellowship had been startled to see Celeborn sleeping in the pavilion with
them when they awakened the morning after Legolas had been moved, but had since grown used to the silver-haired Elf's company. They had also learned that he had a wicked sense of humor underneath the calm facade, and also that he was not nearly as unapproachable as they had at first thought him to be. He was still away most of the time, attending to his duties as Lord of Lorien, but yet he returned every night and spent some time speaking with them before seeking his rest.

For the rest of their stay in the Golden Wood, the members of the Fellowship only occasionally
saw Legolas, for he was often away with the healers or the Lady Galadriel, learning more than he ever had wanted to know about pregnancy. Occasionally, he joined the company for a meal, but he still slept elsewhere, for he was still taken daily by the morning sickness.

The rest of the Fellowship spent the time in Lorien recovering from their hard journey and the
loss of their guide, and resting up for the next leg of the Quest.

A month had passed in this way since they had come to Lothlorien, and finally it was time for
them to continue on their way.

They were given boats and other supplies by the Galadhrim; cloaks, blankets, lembas, ropes.
Legolas was given a special batch of lembas because of his condition; his was colored red and
contained spices and herbs to soothe the stomach and other ills, as well as the same ingredients
the normal kind of waybread had. Galadriel also gave each member of the company a gift suited to his needs. Legolas was happy with his gift of bow and arrows of Galadhrim make, as well as the soft grey Elven-cloak, though he blushed a brilliant red when Galadriel also gave him a book
about Elvish pregnancy. Aragorn blushed the same red when Galadriel also gave *him* a copy of the same book, as well as another one of midwifery information.

Finally, once all the gifts were given, the eight remaining members of the Fellowship got into
the three grey boats they had been gifted with and pushed out into the river, then left Lothlorien
behind. Aragorn shared his boat with Frodo and Sam, Boromir shared his with Merry and Pippin, and Legolas shared his boat with Gimli and the majority of the Fellowship's baggage.

They paddled down the river until they reached the Anduin.

Aragorn was somewhat startled when Legolas' boat nudged his slightly from one side. "Legolas!" he said, "you're too close. Move further out."

The Elf did nothing, his boat nudging Aragorn's again.

"Legolas!" Aragorn said in budding frustration. He looked back to where the Elf sat in his boat,
saw him sitting there, staring blankly ahead, oar across his legs, out of the water. Gimli was
sitting very still in the boat, seeming barely daring to breathe, his face a sickly shade of
green. His eyes were clenched shut, his teeth were gritted and he wasn't even muttering about
the Elf's steering. "Turn aside!"

Again Legolas did nothing, his boat continuing to follow Aragorn's too closely.

Then the Ranger noticed that Legolas did not seem to be moving at all. "Legolas?" he asked.
There was no reply. He had not expected one, knowing now what ailed the Elf. "Boromir! Come up on the Elf's other side. We'll trap his boat between us and guide it to the shore!"

Soon, the three boats were beached once more, after only a couple of hours travel. Aragorn went over to where Legolas still sat up in the boat, oar across his lap, deep in the realms of Elven dreams.

"What is this, Aragorn?" Gimli asked. He seemed much recovered now that his feet were firmly
planted on solid ground. "What ails the Elf now?"

"Nothing, Gimli," came the reply as the Ranger flipped through one of the books the Lady had
given him. He found the page he was looking for, nodded as he read. "It says in here that he'll
get tired easily for some time, and sleep much. That must be what happened."

"Sleeping while paddling a boat is not a good idea, my friend," the dwarf said. "Perhaps one of
the boat-handling hobbits could switch places with me and paddle the Elf's boat, leaving him to
sleep as long as he likes."

Aragorn nodded. "Yes," he said. "Merry! Take over the paddling for Legolas on that boat. For
we must keep going, but he can't stay awake long enough."

Merry nodded, went to take the paddle from the Elf. After nearly five minutes of prying at the
slender fingers, Merry conceded defeat. "Strider! He won't let go of the paddle!"

At last, everyone was sorted out again, and they were once again ready to depart. Legolas hadn't awakened the whole time. The Ranger had placed the Elf carefully in the bottom of his boat, covered gently with a blanket, nestled cozily among the baggage.

***

It was in the afternoon when Legolas awoke. He was much embarrassed at having fallen asleep,
even more so at being forbidden to paddle for fear that it would happen again. Muttering quietly
to himself about paranoid companions, he settled back down in the boat and began to read some of the book he had been given, nibbling on one of his special lembas. His eyes grew wider and wider the more he read, his face paler and paler. Then his eyes started to glaze again and he was soon lost once again in dreams, much to the amusement of his boat-companion.

Their progress down the river was also slowed by the discovery of yet another unpleasant fact:
Gimli suffered most horribly from motion-sickness from the rocking of the boat, and proclaimed
loudly to anyone who could hear that he was certainly about to die, that dwarves were allergic to moving bodies of water, and couldn't these dratted boats go any slower and smoother?

For Gimli's sake, as well as that of the peacefully-sleeping Elf, Aragorn decided to stop and
make camp several hours before he had planned to.

As they set up camp that afternoon, Aragorn could see that their trip down the Anduin was going to take a lot longer than any of them had foreseen.

(10)

Four days later, the company was no further down the Anduin than a single day's journey would
have gotten them had Legolas and Gimli been their usual selves. Gimli still suffered from the
motion-sickness. The Elf was still easily tired and often asleep. When he wasn't, he had become
somewhat irritable and snappish, and very sensitive about his condition. The rest of the
Fellowship suffered as well, because of the two. They had found that the sounds of a sick dwarf
were even *worse* than that of a sick Elf, and Gimli's loud and constant complaining had almost everyone gritting their teeth in frustration and often imagining things they could do to him to get him to be quiet. The only one who did not seem to be bothered was Legolas, but that might have been because he was asleep most of the time.

"Aragorn!" came Gimli's call as he looked over from where he sat in Boromir's boat. "Surely we
shall stop soon?" He was going to say more, but just then the sickness claimed him again.

Aragorn sighed in frustration. They had gone barely an hour's journey, and already the dwarf
wanted to stop? At that rate, they'd all be dead of old age before they reached the point where
he'd planned to leave the river!

Then Legolas woke up, sat up in the boat from where he'd lain curled up amongst the baggage.
"Aragorn?" he called. "Are we almost there?"

"No," Aragorn answered with gritted teeth.

"Elf," Gimli growled, "if we were *there*, we would have *stopped* already! Right, Aragorn?"

"Dwarf," came the snapped reply as Elven eyes narrowed with quick, hormone-induced anger. "I was not asking *you*. Your stomach is whirling enough I don't think you would know we had stopped even if we *had*! Right, Aragorn?"

"Elf-"

"Enough!" came Aragorn's loud yell. "Both of you! Be silent!!"

The others in the Fellowship stared in shock at the Ranger. He was usually the epitome of
patience; never had they seen him lose his temper in anything other than a fight with the
creatures of the Dark Lord, much less raise his voice.

"Aragorn?" Boromir queried tentatively after a few long moments had passed in shocked silence.

"What?" came the snapped reply.

"Perhaps we should stop for a time, so we can all recall our tempers."

The Ranger was about to argue, but then thought better of it. "Fine. There is a spot just ahead
that looks suitable for a landing. We will stop there. Well enough?" His glare at the others
dared anyone -*anyone*- to disagree. Seeing the nearly-homicidal light in his eyes, no one said
a word as they guided the boats to the shore.

Once there, Aragorn stalked off into the wood to walk off his foul temper. The others set up a
small camp and set watch. Legolas unrolled his bedroll, lay down on it on his stomach and read
more of the book Galadriel had given him. Soon, he was asleep again.

***

Several hours had passed before Aragorn once again returned to the camp, his knuckles
suspiciously bruised and bloodied. He unrolled his bedroll, sat down on it and set about
pulling splinters from his torn knockles.

"What happened?" Boromir asked, gesturing to the Ranger's hands.

"I argued with a tree," came the snapped reply.

Boromir nodded slowly, understanding. He had wanted many times over the past few days to
pulverize something himself. "Who won?" he asked.

"I did."

Boromir stood beside the Ranger for a few moments more, an awkward silence between them. "About the Elf-"

"Boromir. Leave me be."

With a shrug, Denethor's son turned and went to join the others near the fire where the hobbits
were cooking a meal.

As it happened, Aragorn's bedroll lay not far from Legolas'. And so it was that when the Elf
awoke, it was to see Aragorn sitting nearby. He mistook it for the Ranger keeping watch over him from concern, and not the seething mood it was. So Legolas thought it safe to voice the thing that was bothering him, scraping against his nerves, squirming uncomfortably beneath his skin with every breath he took.

"Aragorn?" he called, stretching. "Could you get me some carrots? And some chocolate? No, no, wait. Chocolate-covered carrots." He saw the Ranger's back stiffen, but shrugged it off as
startlement over his sudden speech. "Or perhaps some-"

"No."

"-and cherries, and-" Legolas blinked at the hissed word. "What? Aragorn?"

Aragorn slowly turned, spoke with teeth gritted tightly together. "I. Said. No."

The Elf blinked again. "What? But, Aragorn, I *need* them-"

"No."

"But-"

"No."

Legolas frowned. "But it's for me. For the baby. And I wouldn't be like this if it wasn't for
you!"

Unnoticed by either of the two, the rest of the Fellowship had gathered to watch the argument.

"Oh, don't try that!" Aragorn said, crossing his arms over his chest. "It isn't going to work."

"This is your fault, now get out there and get. Me. My. Carrots!"

"*My* fault? *My* fault? You weren't exactly unwilling, Greenleaf!"

Both Elf and Ranger had gotten up from their beds, now stood face to face, arms gesturing wildly as they yelled, faces flushed with anger.

"And *you* aren't the one that got pregnant! Where is your sense of honor, of duty, of sympathy? What about *my* needs?"

Aragorn ground his teeth together hard enough everyone could hear them. He had just opened his mouth to reply when a group of perhaps thirty orcs and Saruman's Uruk-hai charged out of the wood at them.

Distracted by the argument, the rest of the Fellowship had forgotten to keep the watch.

Legolas turned to face the interruption, eyes blazing.

Orcs and Uruk-hai alike skidded to a stop at the sight, a bit taken aback by the Elf's angry
glare. Also, having been created long ago by the first Dark Lord to be twisted mockeries of
Elves, the orcs were able to sense that something was not quite right about this particular Elf.

Legolas glared even harder when he recognized the dark and twisted forms. He started to reach
for his bow, but then changed his mind and took up his long knives instead. He felt the deep
need to release a lot of purely physical anger and frustration, the driving *need* to hack
*something* -or someone- to bits.

The orcs and orc-kin were a suitable substitute for Aragorn.

With an Elvish war-cry, Legolas ran full tilt at the evil creatures, knives flashing, golden hair
streaming behind like a banner.

The twisted ones, fear coursing through them, tried to backpedal, tried to flee from the
homicidal Elf, to no avail.

The others of the Fellowship could only stare in amazement as the Elf tore through the ranks,
felling orc after orc after Uruk-hai after Uruk-hai. His knives were slicked with dark blood,
and their brightness was undimmed even by the filth.

Within minutes every single evil creature that had joined in the attack lay dead upon the ground.
Legolas stood among them, chest heaving as he gulped in air, hands and arms and face splattered with dark blood.

They watched as the Elf looked down at himself, made a face of disgust and headed for the river to wash.

Aragorn sighed. He'd read in the book that these things could happen; the cravings, the mood
swings. Unfortunately, the book had listed no cure for this but time and emotional support.

Usually, the Dunadan would have given these things without hesetation, but he was distracted by the Quest, by the rising forces of Sauron, by the probable reactions of their families to the
pregnancy... Since Gandalf's death, he was burning the candle at both ends *and* the middle and had no support left in him to give to anyone but the ringbearer.

With a sigh, he decided that he should apologise to the Elf anyway, and explain himself. Surely
Legolas would understand, as he had to deal with a great deal of the same stress himself.

He turned just in time to see Merry and Pippin somehow produce a chocolate-covered carrot and present it to the newly-cleaned Elf.

Legolas took it, eyes gone shiny with tears and took a bite. A blissful smile on his face, he
chewed and swallowed. He smiled at the two hobbits, gratitude in his eyes, then hugged them
tightly. "Thank you!" he said. "It's perfect!" Then he went and flopped down on his bedroll,
ate the rest of the carrot and fell asleep again.

The others stared at each other in bemusement, then shook their heads.

/Pregnant Elves./ Was the thought in many a mind. /Try to figure them./

Before he went to take his place at watch, Aragorn looked to Merry and Pippin. "*Where* did you get chocolate out here?" he asked. "Or *when* did you get it?"

"Celeborn gave it to me," Merry said. Pippin nodded in support. "He said that I should have
some on hand in case Legolas had the same insane craving as Galadriel did. We're lucky he only wanted chocolate carrots. She wanted a lot worse."

"And that was..?"

Both hobbits made a face of absolute disgust. "You don't want to know."

Aragorn growled low in his throat, then stalked out of the camp. A tree out there was waiting
for him to pulverize it, he knew it. After that, he had to keep watch.

***

In Rivendell, a messenger from Lothlorien, his letter newly delivered to Elrond, waited patiently
for a reply while the half-Elf read it.

He was nearly deafened by Elrond's outraged bellow scant minutes later, a bellow that echoed down through the entire valley of Rivendell, startling birds into flight and small animals into abrupt silence, even as every Elf winced and stared reproachfully in the direction of the shout.

***

Thranduil opened the letter the 'Lorien messenger had just handed him, briefly scanned the header and ending signature. /Why would the Lady Galadriel send a letter to me?/ he wondered. He scanned the letter briefly, catching a glimpse of the words 'Legolas' and 'pregnant'.

/Legolas got someone pregnant?/ he thought, frowning in confusion. /Why would Galadriel write me of this? There has to be more to this than that./

Still frowning, he carefully read the letter, frown deepening the further down the page he read,
until he came to the true context of those two small words.

The bellow he sent forth was nearly an exact match for the one heard in Rivendell.

***

The Fellowship had decided to move a small distance downriver, away from the corpses, to make camp for the day. The company all needed the respite from being trapped on boats with the Elf and dwarf, needed time to completely cool their tempers. They would leave in the morning, and Aragorn hoped to get in at least a true half-day's distance before they stopped.

Even if he had to drug Legolas and Gimli into unconsciousness to do it.

Isildur's heir awoke abruptly from his sleep, stared up at the stars above. A shiver of dread
ran like icewater down his spine.

For some reason, he just *knew* that both Elrond and Thranduil somehow *knew* of his and Legolas' predicament.

He looked over to the Elf, was startled to see him lying there, apparently also startled awake.
Sharp green eyes, full of reflected starlight, met with his own. In them, he could see the same
distress *he* felt.

"They know," Legolas said quietly, soft enough even the Ranger's keen ears had to strain to hear the words, "don't they?"

Aragorn nodded slightly. "I think so. But how?"

Legolas said only a single word.

"Galadriel."

(11)

Arwen was passing down the hallway outside of her father's study when the hair-raising, ear-
splitting bellow issued from within. She came to an abrupt halt at the sound, stood there
rubbing her ringing ears for a moment.

The door of Elrond's study opened then and he came out. His face was a mask of anger. He never saw her standing there as he turned abruptly and began to walk hurriedly down the hall in the opposite direction, yelling for Glorfindel, Elladan and Elrohir.

One eyebrow raised in curiosity, Arwen went to the study and slipped inside. A messenger in the colors of Lothlorien sat huddled up against one wall, his knees drawn up, his head on his knees and shielded by his arms. She spared a moment to pity him; Elrond's shout had hurt *her* ears and she had been a closed door and thick wall away. Then she moved to her father's desk and looked over the papers that lay strewn there. On top of the rest lay a letter addressed to Elrond in the hand of her grandmother, the Lady Galadriel of Lothlorien.

//That must be it,// she thought. It made sense, as the messenger was from there and so was the
letter. She took up the fine parchment, unfolded it. //Now what did Grandmother have to say
that would so upset Father....//

Orophin, brother to Haldir, guardian of the borders of Lothlorien and sometimes-messenger of the Lord and Lady, was beginning to uncurl from his tight huddle. He could hear again- usual sounds, not just the persistent ringing and muffled noise that had been all he could hear after Elrond's unexpected shout. He had just stood up, still leaning slightly against the wall behind him, and taken his hands from his ears when-

"I'LL KILL HIM!" Arwen shrieked, nearly as loud as her father had managed. There was something to be said of age and experience, after all....

A veil of blank red rage over her vision, she stormed from the study and hurried off in the
direction of her rooms with every intention of changing her clothes, packing and leaving Rivendell to chase after the Fellowship and chop a few important bits from her 'beloved'. A sinister, bare-toothed smile was upon her face, and all who saw it shrank away in fear.

In Elrond's study, ears ringing anew, collapsed once more upon the floor in an undignified heap,
arms curled protectively over his head, Orophin just whimpered.

***

True to his thoughts the night before, Aragorn managed to slip a hefty dose of sleeping-drug into
Gimli's breakfast the next morning. He left Legolas' food untouched, as he hadn't yet finished
reading the section of the book Galadriel had given him that dealt with things a pregnant person
should not eat. He didn't want to hurt the baby or Legolas, after all. And besides, Legolas was
still often tired and tended to sleep for long stretches. Hopefully, he would sleep through the
journey.

Legolas sat off by himself a little way as the last of the Fellowship finished their morning meal,
nibbling at one of his pink lembas and watching the river flow by.

Once everyone was done eating, Aragorn gave the order to pack the boats for the day's journey. As he was loading the grey elven-boats, he noticed Legolas sitting there on the bank, watching. His pack lay at his feet, but he made no move to pick it up or help load the other baggage.

"Legolas," Aragorn called. "Bring your pack and come help load the boats."

Legolas looked over, still eating his lembas. His lips were stained a deep pink from it. "I
cannot, Aragorn," he said with a slight shrug.

Aragorn grit his teeth, his good mood evaporating quickly. "And why not?"

"The book says I cannot do any lifting. Orc-killing, yes. Lifting, no."

"Legolas, I'm sure it means later on," Aragorn said. "You are not even showing yet."

Legolas lay one long-fingered hand on his abdomen. "Yes, I am!" he said around his last bite of
lembas. He looked down at himself, then amended, "A little bit."

Aragorn looked him over. Even with the Elf sitting, it was plain to him that the 'showing'
Legolas spoke of was not even noticeable with him clothed. Even if he were naked, Aragorn felt certain that one would have to know *exactly* what to look for to see any difference in the Elf's slim body.

"Legolas," Aragorn said in a warning tone. "Come help."

Just then there was a heavy-sounding splash behind the Ranger. Turning quickly, he had the
somewhat dubious honor of seeing three hobbits and a soaking man of Gondor pull and unconscious and soaking wet dwarf from the water. The sleep-drug had finally kicked in.

Turning back to Legolas, Aragorn saw the Elf caught in a fit of near-hysterical laughter at the
sight, peals of laughter ringing in the morning air even as silvery tears rolled helplessly down
the narrow face.

"Legolas," Aragorn said again, his irritation evident in his tone.

As quick as that, Legolas tears changed from tears of laughter to tears of upset. "You do not
care!" he wailed. "You would harm my child, our child!"

Teeth gritted, Aragorn counted silently from one to ten. Again. It seemed he was doing that a
lot lately. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, aching to pound yet another tree
into pulp. "Legolas-"

"No! You do not care about me! You do not care about the child! You wish it would be gone!"

Aragorn could not argue; he had thought several times over the last few days that things would be a lot simpler if Legolas was not pregnant. Still, the Elf's teary accusations did not sit well,
and only served to make the Ranger even more irritated.

It didn't help that the rest of the company, Gimli safely laid down at the riverbank away from
the water, went over to comfort the Elf, casting looks of displeasure and censure at Aragorn.
They hovered around the Elf, patting him gently, offering him nice things to eat, blankets,
comforting embraces. If anything, their cosseting only increased when Legolas stopped crying,
smiled tearfully up at them. Boromir took up the Elf's pack, carried it to the boats even as the
hobbits urged him gently towards them.

Soon, Legolas was settled cozily into a boat in his customary place amongst the baggage and was soon asleep, pregnancy book held protectively to his chest in its oilcloth wrapping.

The dwarf was laid down in Boromir's boat, then Boromir and the hobbits climbed into the boats and pushed off slightly from the shore.

"Come on, Aragorn!" called Boromir to the Dunadan who was still standing on the bank, fists still clenching and unclenching, posture rigid. "The morning flies by while you stand there. We must away!"

"'We must away,'" Aragorn muttered to himself as he turned and walked to the boat he shared with Frodo and Sam. So upset was he that he failed to notice the two open their mouthes to speak with him, then close them again without making a sound, faces paling slightly as they saw the near-homicidal light in his eyes.

And so the day's journey got off to a somewhat rocky start.

***

In Mirkwood, the realm of the Wood-Elves was left in the care of its Council as Thranduil, still
seething with rage, set out from his palace with a small entourage for the first time since the
Battle of Five Armies.

Galadriel had told him that his son's party had recently left Lothlorien and were heading down
the river Anduin in boats gifted to them by the Galadhrim.

Mounted on the fastest horses in his kingdom, Thranduil hoped to intercept Legolas' group before they were forced to abandon their boats above the great waterfall Rauros. He knew that if his party pressed on as quickly as their elf-bred horses would allow, they would probably reach the waterfall before the boaters. He knew how his wife had reacted to *her* pregnancies and did not doubt that Legolas would be equally as miserable, therefore slowing his companions considerably.

Even if they arrived after the Fellowship had already passed, Thranduil intended to track them
down, which was why he had made certain to include several great trackers of Mirkwood in his own party.

He *would* catch up with the Fellowship. And when he did, he had a mind to chop some important bits off of the man responsible for his son's impossible condition.

***

In Rivendell Elrond's party was just leaving, having been delayed by the fact that Glorfindel
could not find Asfaloth. The mystery of his missing elfhorse was answered when they found the
head stableman unconscious in the tack room, a dented shovel lying beside him on the floor.

Arwen, they were told, had done it when he refused to saddle Glorfindel's horse for her. He had done so before, he admitted, but this time had been different as she was packed and outfitted for a long journey.

"She didn't even bother to argue after asking twice," he said. "She just grabbed up the shovel
there and..." he shrugged. "There was a look in her eyes, though. I pity whoever it is that's
made her so angry."

At last, a suitable mount was found for Glorfindel, then they were off as fast as the elfhorses
would go.

In Elrond's head, the thoughts were whirling.

//She knows,// he thought. //Arwen somehow knows about Aragorn and Legolas.// He hoped she didn't do anything irreversible to either one before they managed to catch up with her.

//As for Aragorn and Legolas... I am certain that by the time we catch up with them I will have
thought of a suitable punishment.//

Riding hard beside his lord, Glorfindel shivered all over with dread. He most definitely did
*not* want to know what made Elrond smile so grimly, nor why he heard small snatches of wedding songs coming from the half-Elf's direction.

(12)

//Why couldn't Legolas have *stayed* sleepy?//

It was something Aragorn had thought often over the past day.

Luckily, their journey down the Anduin had been mostly uneventful for the past four days. The
Ranger still resorted to drugging Gimli with sleeping-draught so as not to have to deal with the
dwarf's sickness. Gimli had been upset at first, until one of the hobbits pointed out how much
further they had come and how much longer the river voyage would take if Gimli was awake to see it, as well as how much more miserable he would be. Aragorn expected to reach the headpond above Rauros in three or four more days.

Legolas, though. The previous three days passed as they usually did, with Legolas seemingly
constantly on the razor-edge of exhaustion and often asleep. Those nights passed normally as
well.

But then the fourth morning came... and everything about the Elf changed. He awoke in the foggy grey light before dawn, more awake than he'd been since they'd left Lothlorien, as if all that extra sleep he'd been getting had finally caught up with him. He was like a big Elf-shaped ball of energy, constantly flitting from one side of the camp to the other, words pouring nonstop from his mouth about everything and nothing, and generally driving the others of the Fellowship
steadily insane.

//Valar, *why*??//

The others were barely halfway through their breakfast when Legolas began fidgeting in place. He had bolted down his lembas in three huge bites, finishing eating even before the others had taken their portions of the hobbit-prepared breakfast, so quickly that the pink from the thin waybread didn't even have a chance to color his lips and tongue as it usually did. Then he ate three more just as quickly.

The fidgeting grew until Legolas could not sit still anymore and stood, pacing around the eaters,
constantly turning to Aragorn to ask an impatient, 'Are you done yet? Can we go now?' until the
rest of the Fellowship began fantasizing about tying him up and gagging him simply to get him to
be quiet.

It was even worse after they began their day's journey. Legolas, sitting bolt upright and
wide-eyed amongst the baggage in the boat, found a paddle buried beneath the packs, and began to paddle.

And paddle.

And paddle, the strokes getting faster and faster every time. Poor Merry, sharing the same
boat with the crazed Elf, simply couldn't move or paddle as swiftly as the Elf.

Aragorn ground his teeth at the sight of Legolas paddling insanely and the faintly-green Merry
trying uselessly to keep up.

"Legolas!" the others heard Merry yell. "Slow down! You paddle too quickly!"

"Nonsense, friend Merry!" Legolas answered. "You do not paddle quickly enough!"

"Legolaaaaaaaaaaa-!"

The others watched helplessly as Legolas and Merry's boat went into a slow spin as it floated
down the Anduin.

Legolas was so focused on his paddling that he didn't even notice that the boat was spinning
around. Merry, who had always prided himself on his ability to handle boats without sickness,
was noisily ill over the side of the boat.

Mirkwood's prince stopped paddling as he heard his companion's illness, looked back over his
shoulder to the hobbit. As he stopped paddling, the current seized the boat and set it heading
straight downstream again, the result being that Legolas never knew they had been going anything other than straight the entire time.

"I thought you said that you were good with boats, Merry," Legolas said, eyes glittering
faintly with suppressed mirth.

Merry, still green about the edges, glared. //If he wasn't pregnant, I'd-// A grin spread
across his face as he listed in his head all the things he would like to do to the Elf.

Legolas frowned slightly as the ill-looking hobbit seemed to cheer up all of a sudden. The
other's grim smile made him nervous for some reason.

***

Afternoon of the next day found Thranduil and his party setting up camp by the Anduin. The loud pounding of Rauros could be heard on the air, and the falls itself easily seen even by mortal eyes.

The trackers had scouted the area on both sides of the headpond and found no sign of the passing of Legolas' group. Thranduil was determined to wait as long as he had to so that he could sink his figurative claws into the Man who had done the impossible to his son.

It was nearing midnight when one of the sentries brought word that a group was approaching from upriver.

Thinking it was his son's group, Thranduil ordered the fires built up, water heated for tea,
blankets warmed... and his sword brought out.

Soon, as the Elven king peered out into the night-dark, he heard the sound of hooves approaching. Then the other group came into the light of the fire, led by one of the Mirkwood sentries.

"Peredhel?!" Thranduil exclaimed. "What are *you* doing here?"

***

It was completely by accident that Arwen stumbled across the campsite. She had been drifting
slowly off course since crossing through the Gap of Rohan and was many miles west and north of where she was supposed to be.

She was leading Asfaloth on foot through the woods near the banks of the River Anduin, as the
elfhorse had become steadily more ill-tempered the further they got from Rivendell, the change
even more noticeable after Arwen ran out of bribes for him. He would no longer let her onto his
back at all.

Footsore and seething, Arwen spotted the fire of a campsite through the trees. Tying the horse
to a tree branch, she edged closer on foot, scouting out the camp to see if she should avoid it
or not.

As she snuck closer, she saw two tall, cloaked figures standing silhouetted between her and the
fire. She could not make out any specific details about them, but judged them to be Men. Then
she saw another tall figure, this one sitting with his back mostly to her. He was sitting in a spot that, while she could clearly see his carefully braided golden hair and one elegantly pointed Elven ear, she could not see his face.

But she didn't need to see it. She knew who he was.

Legolas.

That realization planted firmly in her mind, she figured that the two cloaked ones must be her
Ranger and Boromir. Looking around the campsite again, she saw three of the hobbits sitting
around. She had not noticed them at first because she had thought them simply blanket-draped
rocks. She could not see the dwarf, but she was not concerned. Surely, he was out in the woods a ways, posted as a sentry.

Arwen's eyes narrowed as she looked to Legolas and Aragorn, then back again.

That... that... Elf! How *dare* he have taken her Ranger's affections from her?! He *knew* that the Dunadan was Arwen's! He knew it! And yet he had... Arwen couldn't even force herself to think the thought... with Aragorn and gotten himself pregnant.

And Aragorn! He who was supposed to remain faithful to her. He who apparently didn't. He who somehow impossibly got the Prince of Mirkwood- a male!! -pregnant. That child should by right be hers, in *her* belly, not some Wood-Elf male's!

Her anger freshly roused and burning like a Silmaril inside her, Arwen couldn't decide which she
was the most angry at.

Simple expediency chose for her.

With a blood-curdling screech, Arwen charged into the clearing, eyes sparking with a wrath to
match that of the Valar themselves, hands reaching out for the nearest target-- Legolas.

It was only when she was sitting on his chest, her hands were wrapped firmly about his neck, that her anger-reddened vision cleared enough for her to see the purpling face.

Instantly, her hands slackened their grip, and she was pulled off of the Elf by his companions.

She stared, then shook herself free of the hands that held her.

"You!" she said, shaking with the fading remnants of her great anger, her cheeks flushed from
both exertion and embarrassment. "What are *you* doing here?"

The blond Elf caughed, rubbed at his sore neck. He looked to Arwen, motioned his companions away from her. "Lady Arwen," he rasped, grimacing at the slight pain speaking gave him. "Greetings."

"Enough pleasantries," she snapped, angry at being embarrassed. "Glorfindel, what are *you* doing here?"

"His borrowed horse threw a shoe, Arwen," came the reply from one of the cloaked ones, a voice she knew as well as that of her father. "You remember, the horse he had to use because *you* stole *his*?"

"Yes," said Glorfindel. "My horse threw a shoe *and* went lame. Elladan and Elrohir stayed to
keep me company. What are *you* doing here? And *where* is Asfaloth?"

(13)