A Welcome Surprise.

Whenever Legolas was in Minas Tirith, he and the King would often spend time together, usually in Aragorn's library, which was the one place that remained undisturbed by those seeking the King's attention. At least it had become so ever since he had actually forbidden anyone to enter, unless by royal invitation. It was a decree that amused Legolas greatly.

"I see you have decided to embrace your destiny, and use your powers as King for the good of all?" he teased good-naturedly as he laughed merrily at the scowl on his friend's face.

"Surely I am entitled to a small measure of privacy when my friends visit, am I not? After all, neither you nor Gimli spend a great deal of time here, and we always have much to discuss when you do come," replied Aragorn defensively. He did not need to add that he found a measure of comfort in being able to occasionally distance himself from his royal responsibilities; it was one of the reasons why Legolas came to the city.

"I am sorry to say that is so, but I am here now. What shall we discuss?" Legolas asked sounding much more like a mischievous youth than the seasoned warrior he had become.

"What news do you bring from Ithilien?" suggested Aragorn.

"The garden of Gondor is well on the path to restoration, and now that all those who wished to follow me from Eryn Lasgalen have arrived, we are planning our first Midsummer celebration this year," answered Legolas, his face alight with joy he felt in his new home, and the restoration of the forest that the Elves had already accomplished.

"Arwen and I will look forward to attending," said Aragorn, knowing instinctively that he was welcome.

"I am pleased to hear that," said Legolas as he walked over and removed a large white sheet from a partially finished woodcarving.

"Do you intend to work on that today? Arwen is extremely curious to learn what it is you are making, and I do not know how much longer I can keep the secret," said Aragorn.

"I promise I will finish it before I leave this time," replied Legolas as he selected a small chisel from the elegant wooden toolbox he had brought with him, and began to work, a signal to Aragorn that the conversation was ended for the moment.

Aragorn poured himself a glass of wine, and then looked about for the book he had been reading. It lay on his desk and as he picked it up, he happened to glance out of the window.

Although it was barely midday, the darkness of the sky was such that one could have been forgiven for thinking it was the dead of night. Storm clouds that were thick and heavy with rain, and were so grey as to be almost black filled the sky over Minas Tirith, allowing no ray of sunlight to penetrate the gloom. With increasing regularity, brilliant white flashes of luminescent lightning streaked through the sky, slashing jagged lines across the clouds as they heralded the booming claps of thunder that followed in their wake.

"A fierce storm approaches, it is well you are staying in the city tonight," commented Aragorn as one of the fingers of lightning caught his eye as it briefly bathed the library in an almost ethereal glow. The rumble of thunder that followed was so loud and deep, that he could have sworn the wine glasses on the table by the window shook slightly as the sound reverberated through them. As the rain finally started to fall, and the cold strong winds began to blow, he shivered slightly and looking over to the fireplace, he noticed the embers had almost burned themselves out. Selecting the largest log from the woodpile, Aragorn put it on top of the remains of the last one, and watched the fascinating display of red and gold sparks that danced on the warm air as the fire reignited.

"Ah, that is much better," sighed Aragorn contentedly as he held his hands close to the warmth of the fire.

Legolas, who was sitting by the hearth totally absorbed in the woodcarving he was working on, had not even noticed the slight chill that had crept into the room.

"Ai," the Elf commented without taking his eyes from the delicate pattern that was forming at the touch of his hands. Aragorn returned to his chair, and his book, and the two spent the rest of the afternoon in the comfortable silence afforded friends of long standing.

As the storm raged outside, Aragorn found he could not concentrate on his reading, and so poured himself another glass of wine, and settled back to watch Legolas work. The reddish glow from the fire was enhanced by the diminishing light, and was reflected beautifully from the Elf's golden tresses, and his pale complexion. Aragorn smiled, as he thought, not for the first time that Legolas's fair features were simply a window to the beauty that he held within. He knew that Legolas felt honoured to call him friend, but he felt even more so, because Legolas had risked his immortality many times as he fought at Aragorn's side. The thought that a blade or an arrow could easily have sent his dear friend to the Halls of Mandos was too difficult to contemplate in hindsight, and Aragorn swore to himself that he would not allow another Elf to give up their life for love of him.

"Shall we send for Arwen now?" asked Legolas as he put aside his tools and stood back to inspect his handiwork. The sound of his voice breaking the silence startled Aragorn from his reverie.

"Is it finished at last?" he asked as he moved to take a closer look at the work. "Legolas, this is truly a work of art, Arwen will love it. I will send for her at once." Aragorn went to the door and summoned a page to ask the Queen to come to the library.

"Please inform Queen Arwen that Master Legolas has finished his surprise," he said to the young boy, who nodded his understanding and quickly went about his errand. It was common knowledge throughout the King's household that the Queen was more than eager to discover what was hidden in the library, especially with all the staff sworn to secrecy.

While they were waiting for Arwen to arrive, Legolas entreated Aragorn help him dispose of the many fine shavings that littered the floor. Between the two, the debris was quickly gathered and placed into the fire. The task had barely been completed when Arwen entered the room. Aragorn kissed her lightly on the cheek, then directed her attention to where Legolas was standing in front of the object that was now covered with a sheet, shielding the surprise from her sight.

Without further delay, she crossed the room, and unceremoniously removed the covering and threw it on the floor.

"Oh, Legolas! It is simply beautiful," she said, running her hands along the smooth edge of the gift that was crafted with elvish skill. The tree of Gondor and the seven stars were carved into the head of the crib, and around the sides were elvish runes that offered protection and happiness for the child yet to be born.

"It must have taken you ages to do this," she said as she turned back to her friend, offering him a quick hug and a chaste kiss of gratitude for the gift.

"I have been working on it for some time, but not as long as I would have wished. I can see that you will have need of it sooner than I expected," he said as he looked deeply into eyes that widened with sudden understanding. Arwen smiled happily and turned to see that Aragorn, who at first looked confused, was now utterly delighted when Legolas answered the unspoken question that passed between them.

"Your son will be born this night, Aragorn," he stated simply, and with elvish certainty.

The words had barely left Legolas’s lips when Arwen groaned loudly and unable to stand as a wave of pain gripped her, collapsed into his arms. Aragorn was momentarily stunned by the sound of Arwen’s agony and the deep furrows on her brow that accompanied her pain, but he quickly recovered and moved swiftly to her side to soothingly caress her brow and kiss the fingers of the hand he now held.

“It would seem that the time has already come,” Arwen managed to whisper through gritted teeth. Never before had she felt such pain.

“What should we do?” asked Aragorn, looking for advice from Legolas as Arwen groaned again. The Elf had never witnessed a birth, and had no idea as to what was expected of Aragorn, but he sensed his friend’s uncertainty and distress for Arwen’s pain and tried to help as best he could.

“I think the wise thing to do would be to take Arwen to her chambers,” Legolas suggested as he relinquished his precious burden into the arms of her husband who was now unable to think clearly as feelings of nervous anticipation, and concern for Arwen took hold.

“I will seek out the midwife,” he added as he opened the door then stood aside to allow Aragorn to pass. The King nodded his thanks and as he turned the corner into the passageway that led to the royal chambers, all he saw of Legolas was a brief flash of gold as the Elf made haste on his errand.

“How are you feeling?” he asked Arwen as he laid her gently on her bed and brushed his lips over hers.

“The pain has gone, for the moment, but…  Oh Aragorn! This will be a most wondrous night,” she said her eyes alight with joy.

“Indeed it will. Is there anything you wish me to do before the midwife arrives?” he asked, relieved to see her beautiful smile had returned.

“Yes, please help me change into… aagh!” she moaned as another wave of pain engulfed her. Aragorn held her hand and waited for it to pass, which it did almost as swiftly as it had arrived. Arwen lay panting, tying to catch her breath so that she could complete her request.  There was no need; for Aragorn suddenly realized what it was she wanted.

“You wish to change into the nightgown you made for this very time?” he asked as he walked over to the large chest of drawers and took out the simple white cotton gown that bore no decoration but for the fine embroidery about the yoke. The design Arwen had sewn was a simple pattern with garlands of elanor and nephredil flowers interwoven amongst the distinctive golden leaves of the mellryn of Lothlórien. Aragorn traced his fingers lovingly over the reminder of the night they had plighted their troth on Cerin Amroth.

“You remember?” Arwen whispered in his ear as he reached behind her to unbutton the bodice of the dress she wore.

“How could I forget, my love?” he replied as he helped her into the nightgown just as another strong pain wracked her body. He held her close until it passed, and was relieved to hear the knock at the door that signaled Legolas had arrived with the midwife.

In fact the woman had also brought several others to assist in this most important birth, and without thought for his station, she none to gently pushed Aragorn aside as she prepared to examine the progress of Arwen’s labour.

“Master Elf, would you be kind enough to escort King Elessar outside while I see to my patient?” she asked Legolas in a tone of voice that indicated it was more an order than a request.

“Come, Aragorn, we had best do as she says,” Legolas said to his friend as the midwife glared impatiently at the King. Aragorn reluctantly agreed to do as he was told, but not before he had kissed Arwen soundly and with no regard for the impropriety of such a display.

“I will be just outside if you need me,” Aragorn whispered. Arwen nodded but she was not the only one who heard the anxiety in his voice.

“Have no fear, Your Majesty; the Queen is in good hands. I have brought many a babe into the world, but the birthing room is no place for a nervous father,” she added, her words causing a titter of laughter from the others, Arwen included.

Aragorn glared at the door that had been closed rather forcefully behind him, and suddenly felt at a loss as to what to do next.

“All will be well, Aragorn,” Legolas said confidently as he clasped his friend’s shoulder in a gesture of reassurance. Aragorn started slightly, for although the touch was feather light, he felt a slight tingling sensation as the Elf offered a small measure of wordless comfort. His spirits lifted and he laughed out loud.

“Thank you, mellon nin. Who would have thought that the mighty Aragorn, son of Arathorn would be reduced to such a state by such a wonderful event?” he asked.

“Certainly not I,” answered Legolas with his usual candour as he settled himself on the wide window ledge and watched the now forgotten storm rage over Minas Tirith.

Aragorn rolled his eyes in exasperation at his ever so calm friend, and since he was still extremely nervous, he decided that pacing in front of the doorway to Arwen’s chamber would ease his anxiety.

As a healer, he knew full well that childbirth was an agonizing time for the mother, and although he also knew that intense pains were necessary and disappeared rapidly once the child was born, each time he heard a cry of pain from his beloved, he felt helpless to do anything other than clench his fists against the terrible sound that pierced his heart.

To Legolas’s relief, Aragorn finally gave up the distracting pacing in favour of sitting on the floor with his back resting against the door to Arwen’s chamber and singing softly to himself.

“The storm is ended,” Legolas commented after many hours had passed. Aragorn looked out the window and saw that indeed the clouds were parting, and he frowned as he felt something amiss.

He turned his eyes quickly back to the door as he realized that there was nothing but silence coming from the room. With thoughts that perhaps the worst had happened, and before Legolas had the chance to assure him that he sensed all was well, Aragorn hastily turned the handle and rushed through the doorway just in time to see the midwife lifting the newborn babe into Arwen’s eagerly outstretched arms.

“Come and greet our son,” she called to him as she hugged the tiny bundle and placed butterfly kisses on his brow. Aragorn hesitated for less than a heartbeat before making his way to Arwen’s side. He took a damp cloth and wiped the sweat from her brow, then kissed her tenderly before turning his attention to the wriggling babe in her arms.

“Welcome, Eldarion,” Aragorn said, unashamedly allowing the tears of joy and relief flow. Legolas, who had been only a few steps behind, smiled at the scene before him, and then walked over to the proud parents.

“May the grace of the Valar be with you, Eldarion,” he said softly, as he kissed the child’s brow. He smiled at the happy couple and then wordlessly taking the midwife by the elbow, he gently but firmly ushered her from the room, indicating her helpers should follow.

“But Master Elf…  the Queen needs more attention,” she protested.

“Is not the King a healer also? I will be sure to send for you immediately, should your services be required further. I am sure I speak for them both when I thank you for your assistance,” Legolas said with a polite bow.

“As you say, the King is a healer, and it is right that the new family be alone together,” she agreed, recognizing the dismissal.

When they had gone Legolas moved back to the window and looked again into the sky that was now clear of clouds. To his delight, many stars could now be seen, but none shone as brightly as Eärendil seemed to do.

“Greetings, my lord Eärendil,” he whispered bowing his head respectfully. “Will you join me in a song of welcome for your great-grandson?” he asked.

Epilogue:                                    

Elrond stood on the balcony, wondering at the cause of the unrest he had been feeling of late. As always when he was troubled he looked for the comforting sight of Eärendil as he journeyed across the sky.

“What news do you bring me, Adar? Have you seen Arwen?” he whispered sadly, asking the same questions he had always asked ever since he had sailed to the West.  

“Even though he does not answer, I am certain he hears you,” said Celebrían as she joined Elrond in his vigil, drawing him in a tender embrace that helped to ease his pain. She missed Arwen no less than he did, but she had not suffered the bitter parting that he had endured, and she was startled when he suddenly pulled back, and held her at arm’s length.  

“What is that you are singing?” he asked earnestly.

“I am not singing, my love,” she replied with some concern.

“Then you were mistaken, Adar did answer,” said Elrond, glancing back up at Eärendil and nodding his thanks before turning back to Celebrían, his eyes filled with tears of  joy. 

“She has borne him a son.”