“You are beautiful,” remarked Thranduil, his hands encircling his wife’s waist as he whispered in her ear.
“I am ugly.”
“No, you are not,” he admonished, his lips kissing a trail down the side of her neck. “You are so full of grace and beauty,” he said, and she answered with a snort.
“I am fat.”
“On the contrary,” he argued gently, nuzzling his head against her shoulder. “One might say you are full of love, but you are not fat. You are perfect.”
Avisiel did not say anything for some time, leaning back happily against her husband. He massaged her shoulders and her back, and as he worked back up to her arms, she finally said, “I am hungry.”
“Well, I will not dispute that,” Thranduil said mirthfully.
“Shall I get you something, or do you fancy a walk to the hall for supper this evening?”
“Do you mind bringing something from the hall for me?” she began, but Thranduil was already off of the bed and on his feet. “I do not mean to be a bother.”
“You are not a bother, dearest,” Thranduil scolded playfully, fluffing the pillows before helping his wife to scoot back into them. “I love taking care of you,” he added as she smiled up at him. Dropping to one knee beside the canopied bed, he kissed her softly, and said, “What would you like me to bring for you?” Avisiel rested her hands over the one Thranduil had placed upon her swollen belly. “We would like something sweet. Something smooth, like a raspberry custard if there is any, or a cream pie.”
“The whole pie?” he inquired, but not rudely. He was quite certain if she were to request ten of them, he would simply nod and retrieve them for her and their soon to be born son. “What sort of pie, I am sure there are many of them.”
“Just half, and I would have anything but lemon. I do hate lemon pies,” she related to him, in case he had missed the first few hundred times she had mentioned this. Thranduil nodded and kissed her cheek. “Noted. Anything else, my love?”
“Mmm.” Turning her head and brushing her lips against his, she jerked back suddenly. “Water.”
“Just a glass, or-“
“No.”
“What would you-“ Thranduil would have patiently continued to gather of list of what Avisiel was craving this evening and brought it all back to their quarters, except that his eyes took in the look of panic in hers.
Glancing over her, he realized what she really meant, and stood up abruptly. “I will get the healer.” An arm snaked out and Thranduil’s wrist was captured by Avisiel’s slender fingers.
“Do not leave me,” she pleaded. “I do not want anyone here. Just you. Do not let anyone in here, please,” she whimpered.
“I-“ Thranduil struggled to find words, but was interrupted by a knock at the door. “I will return to you as soon as I am able. Let me see who is at the door. I will not let them in,” he promised, having a fairly good idea who was on the other side.
Kissing her hand as he placed it back upon the green bedding, Thranduil rushed to the door and yanked it open. “Erestor.” Holding out one arm, Erestor offered the pile of fresh linens to Thranduil. “Good thing we came across one another in the hallway so that I could go and let your father know what was going on, so that you could return to your wife.” “Ah, yes, very good thing, that,” answered Thranduil, poking his head out and looking down the corridor in either direction to make sure no one was hearing them. Erestor smirked as soon as Thranduil was back in the room again. He held out his other hand, in which was a thick book.
“In case you need it, more something to make you feel at ease. It is a natural thing, you should have no difficulty guiding her through it,” explained Erestor calmly.
Thranduil took the book hastily and added it to the pile of linens. “We were going to have the healer here, but-“
“But you are a much better choice for it,” Erestor finished for him. “You should have no difficulty what-so-ever,” he said as he reached up above the doorway and pressed his fingertips over the door, tracing around the edge of it. “No trouble at all,” he answered as he bent his knees and brought his hands back together across the floor of the entryway.
“Now go back, I will get your father for you.”
“Thank you. Wait, Erestor?” Thranduil took a deep breath and said softly, “Erestor, I have never done this before.”
Erestor motioned that Thranduil should lean forward. “Neither has she,” he whispered back, pointing past Thranduil and into the room. “When it comes to it,” he added, “You are going to have a much easier night than she will.” Straightening up again, Erestor said, “I shall return with your father.”
“Thank you, Erestor,” Thranduil managed, but not until the older elf was halfway down the hall. Shutting the door, Thranduil locked it as an afterthought, and returned to his wife, taking a deep breath and saying a silent prayer to the rest of the valar.
- - -
“Erestor, you have to help me,” hissed Thranduil through the door. His hand gripped the handle, covering it with blood. His head rested on the wooden panel that separated him from the elf he was pleading with and Thaladir. His father, who had stood on the other side of the door to guide him during the delivery of his first child, Ilmendin, was watching the young boy now. Thranduil himself began to sob as he heard the agonizing cries from his wife in the other room. “Erestor, do that thing you did the first time, with the doorway.”
“Thranduil, if I could do something,” explained Erestor helplessly, “if I could do anything, I would be doing it. That was nothing, it meant nothing. It was to give you confidence. There is nothing I can do, Thranduil, or I would.”
There was a pause, and then Thaladir said in a voice calmer than either of the others, “Thranduil, please, allow me to enter. I shall send Erestor for a healer, and-“
“No, she does not want that.” Thranduil brought one hand up to pinch his nose and rub his tears away, leaving a streak of red across one cheek. “Erestor, is there anyone, can you- can you pray to them, can you ask them-“
Hearing the renewed cries of his wife, Thranduil left the doorway and came back into the bedroom, falling to his knees beside the open section of the canopy at the end of the bed. Leaning his forehead against the mattress, he folded his hands together and said aloud, “Blessed Eru, or whomever might be listening, I have never asked for power, I have never desired riches. I am not the best elf, but I live the best I can.” His voice cracked and he looked up, through the gently waving blue-green fabric that encircled the bed. “Please do not take her away from me, Mandos, because I do not know what I would do. I just do not know,” he admitted as tears ran down his cheeks again.
“All I want is a family, that is all, that is all I have ever really wanted. Please do not take that from me. He... he is early, he is too early, but...” Thranduil looked down the length of the bed, at the distress his wife was in. She had panicked more than this earlier, but she was weakening. Ever since the realization had come to them both that their child was not in position to be born, that he was slowly being strangled within his mother’s womb, Avisiel had been in a fit of inconsolable madness. Now, her breathing was slower, her whimpers no more than low moans.
“You probably hear this all the time,” Thranduil said, looking skyward once more. “But I have never asked for anything from you before, and I will not ask for anything again, just please give us a chance, please let us be a family. Please.” He looked up as Avisiel’s weary voice broke through his pleas, a tired scream following after incoherent mumbling. Thranduil crawled up onto the mattress, clenching his teeth and shaking his head to find one tiny limb protruding from where he would have expected to have seen a head. It was limp and cold as he touched, nearly breaking down.
“He is stuck, he is stuck, he can not breath,” sobbed Avisiel, her hands clawing at her sides as if she could do something to help her son. Thranduil took a deep breath and closed his eyes, repeating his pleas to anyone who was listening as he dried his eyes again and pulled a clean cloth from the pile beside Avisiel.
- - -
“Lord Eru
Who dwells among stars
Sacred is your naming
As is your will
To be fulfilled
Guide us in your singing”
“Erestor, is there nothing you can do?”
Pale and looking worn, Erestor looked up from where he was sitting, with his knees draw up to his chest, beside the door. His hands were still folded in prayer. “I am doing all I can think to do, Thaladir.”
“I could not bear to deal with that,” Thaladir said as Avisiel cried out on the other side of the door. Looking down at Erestor with his arms crossed over his chest, he said, “I am never having children. I will not put anyone through such torment.” Erestor said nothing, simply bowing his head once more.
“Help us to choose that which is our path
And forgive those who will forsake it-“
The door was flung open, knocking Erestor squarely in the left knee. Grimacing as he yelped, Erestor heard Thranduil manage between relieved pants, “It is a boy. He is so tiny, but, but he is alive, and, and Avisiel, and... Thaladir, where is Erestor?”
As Thaladir opened his mouth to explain, Erestor managed to hobble around the doorway. “Congratulations, Ada,” he said with a wink, despite holding his knee and wincing. “I will get your parents and your son, no doubt Ilmendin will want to see his baby brother.”
“Ah, well, ah, Erestor.” Thranduil waited for Erestor to turn around. “Maybe... maybe it is best to wait until tomorrow for Ilmendin to come back, Avisiel... she is very weak, I do not know if it is best for Ilmendin-“
Erestor held up his hand and gave a nod, and walked down the hallway, stepping down carefully with his left leg each time he had to. Thranduil ushered Thaladir into the room and shut the door. “Avisiel has- we both have, actually, a request to make. She meant to ask you before now, but- well, I best just ask. Thaladir, you’ve been a good friend, a confidant for both of us; on the few occasions I might have found myself sleeping in a cot in the hallway, you have managed to help us through things. Well, we thought, perhaps- we thought you might name him.”
As the question was finally revealed, Thaladir’s face fell. “Thranduil, it is not proper. I am honored you would think such a thing, but I am not part of your house.”
“That does not matter to us,” explained Thranduil, leading Thaladir into the adjoining room. Avisiel was nearly asleep, cradling the tiny newborn as he struggled to nurse. Thranduil stepped over a pile of discarded sheets and linens to the freshly-made bed Avisiel was resting in. “If that is the case, why not Celeborn? Finduilas? They stood up at your wedding.”
“Thaladir, at the time, we were all fast friends. How often do I see either of them anymore? Barely at all,” Thranduil answered for himself. “I settled down, they still frolic the grounds like a group barely past their majorities. I grew up, they did not,” he said as he helped to hold his son so that Avisiel could relax a little more.
“You certainly did,” agreed Erestor as he entered with Oropher, but his words were too soft for Thranduil to hear them. “Thranduil, Ilmendin was already asleep,” he said, announcing his presence, “but I brought your father.” Oropher stepped forward and sat down on the edge of the bed, keeping his weight forward on his legs so that he would not disturb mother or child.
“Look at those bright blue eyes,” he remarked of his grandson, and with two large fingers stroked the wisps of blond hair away from the baby’s face. “Another little Greenleaf in our house,” he said proudly as Thaladir tried to edge from the room.
“Thaladir,” warned Thranduil, “I expect you to give my son a proper name before you leave.” For a moment, it still appeared Thaladir might have tried to escape, and it did not much seem as if Erestor was going to attempt to stop him.
“I think the name your father used is... quite appropriate,” he finally said. “Thaladir, it is the name of our house, not the name of my child,” Thranduil answered.
Stepping forward again, Thaladir bent down and took the newborn’s hand between his thumb and index finger very gently, for the entire baby was scarcely bigger than his whole hand. “By the will of your parents, I give you the named Legolas.”
“Very funny, Thaladir,” laughed Thranduil as the older elf stepped away. “Seriously, Thaladir, will you please name my son?”
“Goodnight, Oropher. Erestor.” Thaladir bowed to each of them in turn. “My congratulations to you both,” he said to the couple.
“Thaladir, he needs a name,” replied Thranduil.
“A very happy begetting day, young Legolas,” said Thaladir, bowing to the small child. “May it be the first of many.”
“Thaladir!” Thranduil rose up and followed his friend to the door, but by the time he reached it, the other elf had disappeared. Entering the room again, Thranduil shook his head. “I suppose he thinks it to be some joke,” he muttered as he passed by Erestor. Erestor shrugged.
“I would tend to think that it was a joke, Thranduil, except for one very important detail.”
“And that would be?” Thranduil pressed.
With a very serious look, Erestor answered, “Thaladir does not joke.”
