-1Sorry it took me a billion years to post another chapter. But thank you to all of you who have commented! I really appreciate it; it makes me so happy to read them. This will be the last chapter, unless there's some great demand for another, I think it's a good place to end. It was fun to write, I hope it's fun to read.

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings and all names and characters associated with it are property of Tolkien and his estate. I have no claim to them, aside from my adoration, and earn nothing from this.

The Risks of Knitting

Two main halls were of oft used by the King and his court. One, its marble floors an unwavering pattern of squares, was so spacious that voices echoed dauntingly, mingling above as they rebounded towards the arched celine. This hall was reserved for those occasions whereupon the King entertained dignitaries, or tended to matters of great and dire import. It was a solemn place, cold and gray, its meager warmth dependent wholly upon its occupants. A long table, enormous by other standards seemed dwarfed by the vastness of the Hall. The chairs, stiff and straight of back, offered no solace. They cascaded downwards in height equally, none standing higher than the one prior nor the one at the head, the King's chair. A merry blade, surrounded even by the most lusty of gentlemen would feel the hall's weighty formality press down upon him.

However, there was another hall, smaller and less formal, its floors an unimpressive stone and its celine considerably less reaching. Strewn nearest the hearth were fur mats, comforting on cold nights. The oak table, standing awkwardly in the center of the hall, had lost its sheen from overuse; scuffs and stains adorned its surface. Iridescent light danced through three stain glass windows at the far end and a crackling fire warmed its guests. In gloaming, the last sunbeams, orange and intense, radiated a glowing cordiality. In night, silver strands of moon and star shimmered hauntingly across the floors, giving all that it touched a ghostly beauty. It was in this hall that the King preferred to dine.

Early in his reign, ere he had stumbled through the neglected wooden doors of this second hall, the King was wont to dine in the first, the hall that countless Kings before him had used. But, after numerous expeditions to the far reaches of the fortress, searches in wings and corridors long unused, he had located what he dubbed the second hall. Anon he forsake the hall of his forefathers to bask in the conviviality of his own.

Here the Fellowship had gathered for dinner with the King. His absence, then, was immediately noticed. Nine chairs there were and four were empty. One would have been occupied by Boromir, who had perished in their quest and was not expected to attend, his chair left of courtesy for his memory. Another would have seated the wizard once the Grey, now Gandalf the White, but he would not be arriving for two days more, and thus his absenteeism explained. The King's chair, at the head of the table, and the chair to the King's right hand, belonging to Legolas, remained unfilled.

"What has become of the punctuality of the Elves!?" Gimli exclaimed heatedly, pacing up and down the length of the table. "And he chides me for tardiness!"

"Gimli, you will wear a path in the floor if you do not stop pacing," Merry sighed, eyeing the silver platters of food that the kitchen staff had laid out. Delicious scents taunted his nostrils, their curling wafts drifting in and out of reach. Gimli had been pacing since arriving to find Legolas gone. He was worried, though he would not say it, that perhaps Aragorn had not located Legolas as he had requested. Or perhaps, worse yet, he had found the Elf and further complications had ensued.

"Dinner at sundown, that was the agreement. The sun has set and where is he? Admiring the stars, I do not doubt!" Gimli took his seat in a huff, crossing his arms across his breast. He was silent for a time, narrowing his eyes at the inexplicably empty chairs. One finger tapped anxiously against his forearm. The Hobbits watched it in waiting, knowing the Dwarf's quiescence could not last long. Sam counted the seconds as they passed, hardly reaching fifteen ere Gimli was storming in the direction of the door, grumbling about having to retrieve an Elf from a tree. He slammed the door loudly behind him.

Immediately the Hobbits looked at each other, each having the same thoughts on their minds. With Gimli gone, they felt it safe to discuss the conspiracy that had started earlier that day.

"Frodo, you don't suppose Legolas is still with Aragorn, you know, as when we saw them?" Merry asked, glancing over his shoulder to reassure himself that Gimli had truly left.

"If you are going to try to convince me of what I think you are, then I am not sure if I should answer you." Frodo raised a brow in expectance of a reaction to his cryptic response.

"But Frodo, we saw him, you were there! He was not judging a bout, Aragorn was examining his stomach!" Pippin enunciated the word stomach, elongating it so that its emphasis would not go unnoticed.

"That is the proof, he must be. Why else would Aragorn do that?"

"I think that they would both be offended to know that you were spying," Frodo answered knowingly, unwilling to accept what the other Hobbits were so convinced of. Certainly he was open-minded, but in this instance, he was sure. Mayhap Elves could do what Sam, Merry, and Pippin were saying, but nevertheless, Legolas would not, at least he had not yet.

"They almost saw us because of you, you know. The only reason they did not is on account of that noisy bird. " Still Pippin could remember Legolas' sharp eyes pinned on the place the four Hobbits had lay hidden.

"I wanted to ask them in person, so that this might be resolved," Frodo reasoned. Had Merry and Pippin not lunged upon him, he might have accomplished it. "Why not ask Legolas when he turns up, since you do not believe me?"

"But Mister Frodo, what if we are wrong?" Sam asked nervously. They could not simply ask Legolas lest they insult him.

"Ask Aragorn, then," Frodo suggested just as the doors creaked open again. Gimli had returned, more frustrated then when he had left. Merry, Pippin, and Sam stiffened, having come close to being discovered.

"I cannot find him," Gimli sighed as he again took his seat. His foot began to tap.

"They are not so late," Sam piped up. The sunset was as fireflies floating hindmost the stain glass windows, the faintest glowing orange in a field of the deepest blue. Aragorn and Legolas were at the most ten minutes late, for in truth, all had pre-accounted for lateness, though on neither the King's nor the Elf's part.

"Are you worried for them?" Pippin asked innocently enough.

"Peregrin Took, wherefore should I worry o'er so flighty a creature as an Elf? And Aragorn," Gimli sniffed, "he ought to be a better influence on Legolas." The Hobbits realized that Gimli must be worried for the pair, for he had not answered the question. There was silence save for the pop and snap of the fire. And then there was a voice that could not have been the chattering flames. "Do you hear that?" Gimli listened hopefully.

It came from the other side of the wooden doors, muffled and barely audible, but a voice so otherwise distinctive that it was impossible to mistake. It sounded as though it was protesting something. The door groaned as it was pushed open. The doors burst, but not so loudly so as to hit the stone walls with more than a dull thud.

"Put me down!" It was Legolas, "pleeaase," but he was not walking rather being carried. It would have been no easy task to carry him, not for his weight, truly it was slight, but for his squirming.

"I have counted your stitches, Elf, and will know if you have torn one from your fidgeting. We are almost there now." Aragorn quietly reassured him, not loosening his grip on Legolas. No one spoke, for no words could describe their confusion. All eyes followed as Aragorn reached the head of the table, observing with peculiar expressions. Almost Gimli leapt from his chair and ran to Legolas' side.

Aragorn hooked his foot around Legolas' chair, pulling it out from the table. Carefully he placed Legolas in it, next pushing it closer to the table.

"Valar, was that so horrible?" Aragorn asked, calmly taking his own seat.

"Yes," Legolas murmured, eyes latched onto the tabletop and face flushed.

"No one saw, really."

"Yes they did," Legolas said, fearing his chagrin would last forever, his hands clutching the chair, shoulders stiff. There came a sputtering sound from around the two. Merry and Pippin were covering their mouths, trying desperately to keep from laughing. Frodo and Sam had the heart to look apologetic, tho' their lips could not help but quiver, now and again a titter escaping Sam. Gimli was the first to resign to his fate. He sniggered and chortled, in both relief and humor.

Legolas stared morosely at the table. He who was a proud, brave, Elf did not need to be carried. But as he heard the happy laughs of those around him, his chagrin faded. These were friends; there was no shame in showing weakness in their presence. He knew these thoughts to be true, as he felt Aragorn's strong hand drum against his back.

"You see, my friend, we would laugh with you, save you are not laughing," Aragorn comforted, with a side glance to his Elf friend. A twinkle grew in Legolas' eyes, and the King knew that all was well. Legolas looked up with a growing grin.

Gimli twice smote the table, his eyes teary for laughing so hard. "So this is what you do in my absence?"

"'Tis a privilege to sweep Legolas from his feet, if you must know, so much that many an envious maid and blade alike turned their heads in jealousy as I passed. How could I resist?"

"A willowy lass you looked, swept off her feet by your King,"

"Happily, I would be a willowy lass than a stout Dwarf," said Legolas with a friendly

smile. There was no sting in his words, nor ill intent.

"Yea, Legolas, and happily will I walk whither you yourself must stoop."

"Forsooth, because your beard has weighted you down."

Aragorn held up his hands. "You both have had your sport. Come now, the food will grow cold."

"Here, here!" exclaimed Merry who began at last to dish out the food that had for so long tempted him. The room echoed with the sound of plates and silverware, platters and bowls. There was the comfortable silence of eating, when mouths are too preoccupied to talk.

Aragorn noted with a disapproving eye, that Legolas was not eating. That was not good; he must still feel ill. He was not the only one to notice. Gimli was watching the Elf not unlike a mother hen, now and again offering him foods, all of which were politely declined. Verily, the smells of food could not be comforting to a disquieted stomach, but Gimli was growing irritated with his friends refusal to eat; and whether he would admit it or not, his irritation was a mask for his worry.

Luckily, Legolas knew how to assuage his dear friends' fretting. Aragorn watched, mesmerized, as the Elf placed a hand on the table, caught the Dwarf's eyes, and calmly responded to the other's questions. His eyes showed only a faint cloudiness, his wound hurt and he would not lie, but he convinced Gimli of his well-being.

Of a sudden, there was an immense crash. The great doors flew open once more, this time rattling menacingly on their hinges. All seven heads swiveled as one. A silhouette stood in the door, as inscrutable as the night. Gimli's strong hand tightened about his axe, and Aragorn stood from his chair.

"Name yourself!" Aragorn demanded, commanding all his kingly authority.

The figure drew nigh, and leaned against the head of the table as if resting. His head was bowed, and the fire threw dark shadows across his face. And lo, he began to laugh. It was a deep, and throaty, ancient laugh which filled the room. He stood straight, and threw down his unkempt cloak.

"Gandalf!" The hobbits cried.

"You started without me," the figure said, as though that were explanation enough. There was a smile in his voice. He pulled out a chair and took a seat, in the slow manner of all those truly old. He drew back his sleeves, and rested his white staff against the table. His eyes crinkled into a grin, wrinkles etched across his face.

"You're early!" Aragorn managed, utterly staggered.

"Indeed," Gandalf huffed, tidying his weather blown beard.

"But a wizard arrives precisely when he means to," Frodo quoted. Gandalf nodded in his direction.

"Which means I am on time, in fact" Gandalf said to Aragorn. "Now sit Aragorn, your food will grow cold." His eyes crinkled into a grin. Aragorn sat down, shaking his head in bemusement.

Aragorn felt like commenting on the fact that the doors of Minas Tirith did not appreciate being so rashly tossed about, and that he happened to be particularly fond of these doors.

"So tell us, Mithrandir, why it is you are here on time?" Asked Legolas, glad for a distraction.

"Aye, tell us, Gandalf. The scare you gave us warrants a proper explanation!" Gimli said gruffly.

"Oh hoho," the wizard cleared his throat and proceeded in a decidedly cryptic tone. "Well it is in the nature of all wizards to come and go from whence they have been, to where they wouldst be. And since I am no more one to defy nature than the West wind to change its headings or the tide to defy the moon, I simply came from whence I was sooner than I said I wouldst be." There was silence. Gandalf had succeeded in saying a lot, and imparting naught. The hobbits were thoroughly befuddled. "But no matter where I was! I am here now!" Gandalf announced. "Let us eat!"

"I can toast to that!" exclaimed Gimli, who lifted his tankard, some froth spilling forth from its rim. Gandalf poured himself some wine and passed the decanter. As the wine came to Aragorn, it was obvious that the King was reluctant to pour Legolas a glass. He leant close and whispered something in the Elf's ear. Legolas shook his head defensively, and Aragorn begrudgingly filled his goblet. Pippin grew anxious. He tugged subtly at Merry's sleeve.

"Merry, what if he doesn't realize he can't drink that!"

"Who drink what? Legolas? Why not?" Whispered Merry.

"Because, you loon, it's bad for. . . well, you know!" Sam piped in, flushing. A look of comprehension spread across Merry's face. Everyone was raising their glasses to toast, and the hobbits watched in horror as they clinked together.

"Wait!" Sam cried, just before the liquid touched the Elf's lips. "Wait a minute!"

Everyone turned to Sam; he reddened under the force of so many questioning eyes.

"What is it, Sam?" Asked Aragorn, raising a brow. "Was there something you wished to toast to?"

"No, no, it's just that. . . !" Frodo jabbed Sam in the side and gave him a ferocious glare, begging him not to say anything. Let it be, Sam!

"What is it? Spit it out, lad," insisted Gimli.

"Legolas, you can't drink that!!!!" Sam shouted.

"Now Sam, I know he cannot hold his liquor, but I think he can handle a mere glass," chortled the Dwarf. Legolas was about to retort to this newest slight, but was interrupted.

"No, you don't understand, mister Gimli, he can't drink it!" Reiterated Sam, increasingly desperate. He did not want to say it here, not in front of the whole world. He had hoped Legolas would understand, or Aragorn, but both only looked more confused. He had children of his own, it would not be right no to speak up. Sam looked to Merry and Pippin, relieved to find them all equally concerned.

"This is getting ridiculous. Elves drink wine all the time," Aragorn began, "Now, let us. . . "

"But he can't drink it because he's expecting!!!!" Shouted Merry, Pippin, and Sam together.

Gandalf's eyes widened; well, it certainly was a good thing he arrived early. He would regret missing the expressions on everyone's faces, Legolas appeared specifically shocked. The Elf blinked. Aragorn opened his mouth but no words came. Gimli spat out his drink. Frodo, well known for his composure in sticky situations, smacked his forehead in frustration. Gimli turned swiftly to Legolas.

"What, you are!? Wait, that is not even possible!" Gimli leapt from his seat. "Expecting what!?"

"Expecting what indeed!" was all the Elf could murmur, his ears burning bright red.

"A baby, what else!" piped Pippin.

"And just how, Peregrin Took, do you fathom that?" Demanded Aragorn, leaning towards the hobbit fiercely.

"We thought you already knew!" Merry announced matter-of-factly, coming to his friend's defense. "We saw you examining his stomach earlier! He has morning sickness, he hasn't eaten a bite of dinner, and he was knitting!" Merry emphasized accusingly, turning to Legolas.

The Elf said nothing; he was too astounded to speak. Aragorn stood abruptly. This was beyond ridiculous.

"Legolas is not expecting," he proclaimed, his tone daring anyone to challenge him. But the hobbits would not be bought. They had seen undeniable evidence.

"Prove it!" interjected Pippin, himself standing up.

"Legolas has yet to deny it!" Merry pointed out, standing up next to Pippin. Sam did not know what to do. He was caught between the act of sitting and standing, in what looked to be a highly uncomfortable position. Frodo had crossed his arms, and refused to look at any of his fellow hobbits. Gandalf and Gimli slowly turned to Legolas.

Merry did have a point.

"Enough! I will prove it!" Bellowed Aragorn. Legolas was clearly too flustered to properly defend himself, and this misunderstanding had gone from comical to exasperating. And Aragorn was losing his patience.

Gingerly, he pulled the chair in which Legolas was seated, and the Elf with it, back from the table so he could be seen by all.

"I examined Legolas' stomach this morning because of this," and Aragorn lifted up Legolas' tunic to reveal the bindings he had earlier applied. His stomach was as flat as e'er it had been. Pippin gasped.

"Legolas, you'll strangle the baby if you do that!" Cried the hobbit. Legolas rolled his eyes and pulled down his shirt. He was speechless.

"Those are bandages, Master hobbit," corrected Gimli, who was beginning to understand wherefrom stemmed the hobbits' confusion, and finding it increasingly hilarious. Gandalf chuckled quietly, congratulating himself again on his early arrival.

"I wrapped them myself, because Legolas is injured," continued the King before the hobbits could interrupt, "and he has been feeling ill and not eating properly as a result. Not impregnated."

"Oh."

The hobbits became wholly silent as the weight of realization came crashing down upon them. Merry and Pippin sat down. Aragorn pushed Legolas' chair back in, and flopped down into his own, resting his forehead in his hand. Ridiculous.

Frodo coughed, and glowered at the three offenders.

"Ahaha, sorry Legolas," Pippin smiled nervously.

"Sorry, Mister Legolas," croaked Sam, eyes glued to his mashed potatoes. Oh how he wished he could be mashed into an unrecognizable blob. "We didn't mean any harm, honest."

"I mean, you really can't blame us for wondering, he looks feminine enough. . ."

"Merry!" hissed Frodo.

"Sorry." He twiddled his fingers. "It was meant as a compliment, though. . ." he murmured.

Legolas had yet to recover his composure. Indeed he was sure it had headed for the hills, and bade him a fond and permanent farewell. And did Merry just say he looked like a woman?

There was another awkward silence that pervaded the room. Gandalf cleared his throat.

"Well, now that that is settled . . ." Gandalf began, but mid-sentence, an odd, mischievous, wizardy twinkle entered his eyes. Legolas spotted it, and sent his iciest, most menacing glare in the Grey Pilgrim's direction. He knew just what Gandalf was thinking. . .e'en Gandalf the Grey might have crumbled in the face of such intensity, but Gandalf the White would not be outlasted. "But why were you knitting, then, Legolas?"

All heads whirled to face the Elf.

Aragorn raised his brows. He had not thought of that. "That is a good question, my friend. Why were you knitting?"

Legolas was unsure of what to do. He had a justification, a simple one at that, but to say it would reveal some details that were not his place to reveal. He turned to Aragorn, obviously harried, and motioned for him to come close. He whispered something in the King's ear.

"Ahh. . . I see."

"What? What did that pointy ear tell you?" Demanded Gimli.

Aragorn stood up once more, sharing a glance with Legolas as he did so. The Elf nodded, granting him a supportive smile. Gandalf was simply brimming from his seat at the table. Had he been wearing a hat, the shear mirth emanating from his being would have blown it clear off. Frodo looked from Gandalf to Legolas, and sensed that both knew some secret. Both possessed the same pleased, reassuring gaze.

"Well," began Aragorn, "I was not going to announce this until dinner tomorrow, but considering the circumstances, I suppose you all deserve to know." He paused. The hobbits were entranced, what would he say? If they blinked mayhap they would miss it! Merry and Pippin gripped the edges of their seats, leaning nearer as though their proximity could coax the words to come out. Aragorn gently nudged Legolas, who continued with his part of the explanation.

"I was knitting because I was making a gift," the Elf reached into a pocket and withdrew two tiny silver slippers, carefully crafted and embroidered with the white tree of Gondor, and placed them on the table. "A gift for Aragorn and Arwen." Frodo began to smile; at last he understood.

"Arwen and I will be having our first child, you see," proclaimed Aragorn proudly.

"And I could not let my Lord's child go shoeless," Legolas handed the slippers to Aragorn, in whose hands they were no larger than his thumb.

"Ohh," said the hobbits as one.

"Oh ho ho," said Gimli, and patted Aragorn heartily upon the back. "That does explain it. Congratulations, man!"

"Well, somebody is having a baby, so we weren't completely off the mark," Merry added, elbowing Pippin.

"It's true, our senses are nigh infallible,"

"Well, that' s overdoing it a bit, Pip, but the point is. . ." And the hobbits had begun

another argument amongst themselves.

With the amount of commotion that already they had caused, their quarrel was as a distant lull, and no one bothered to mediate. When the fire had at long length died down to glowing embers, and the moon was high in the sky, the hobbits dispersed to their quarters, after offering a few more apologies to the object of their well-meaning torture. The tall-folk remained, "comparatively tall" as Legolas opted in the case of Gimli, and watched the night sky from the balcony while the torchlight threw shadows that danced at their feet.

The city was calm and still save for a few lonesome flickering lanterns below. The air was chill and lingered on the flesh. It was a clear and cloudless night, and from their lofty far-flung perches, the stars observed their onlookers with mild curiosity. The moon meanwhile acknowledged that it was not her business to intrude, and more unobtrusively shed her light.

Legolas leaned against the balustrade in silent reverence of the world at rest. Gandalf pondered, starring off into nothingness, twisting his long beard betwixt his fingers, and puffing smoke rings from his pipe.

"I hear Legolas has named you Elf-friend, Gimli son of Gloin," Gandalf said suddenly. The three others turned to the wizard.

"How did you know?" Gimli asked, puzzled.

"You can hear anything," Gandalf responded, motioning vaguely with his pipe towards the inky firmament. "If you listen."

The Dwarf harrumphed, "well, that goes without saying."

The wizard chewed on his pipe, and peered down at the Dwarf from hindmost the length of his nose, "it took courage for him to bestow, and it took courage for you to accept. He puffed his pipe. "I am sure you know, the very wise and the very old are not always right. But they are stubborn."

"Gandalf, you have described yourself," Gimli muttered, "therefore you could be wrong."

"Ah, well, there are always exceptions," the wizard winked. "But I also said I could be right. No, they will see. Now I am off to bed. Congratulations, Aragorn, and you too, Legolas, and goodnight," with that, Gandalf wrapped his cloak about himself and departed, as abruptly as he had arrived.

The Elf blushed, though it was obscured by the dim light.

Not long after Gandalf's leave-taking, Gimli excused himself from such "Elfin folly as star gazing," and headed to bed, however only after inquiring as to the condition of a certain Elf.

Now only the King and his follower lingered beneath the moonlight. They stood in silent reverie until anon, Aragorn yawned. He was tired. Legolas had not moved for some time, perhaps he was dreaming? There was a contented look upon his fair face, and the silvery moonbeams shimmered in his hair.

"Legolas, I fear I must sleep. It is late, and the morning will come too quickly," Aragorn began, and took a few steps away from the balcony.

"Oh, yes, of course," and Legolas made to follow.

Aragorn paused, and then turned around. With care and speed he scooped the other into his arms and headed indoors. He felt the other's gaze upon him.

"What is it?" Asked Aragorn.

"Oh, nothing," the Elf looked away, "only that soon, you will have a little baby to tote around instead of me."

"Yes, well you are very childish, which makes this good practice." He could feel Legolas' quiet laugh against his chest.

"Do you think I will make for a good father?" Aragorn asked suddenly. Legolas looked up at him.

"I am certain of it." He paused. "Save shave your beard; babies do not appreciate prickly kisses, e'en from their father."

Aragorn carried Legolas to the quarters he would share with Gimli (as a good healer, he refused to let the Elf spend the night unattended). He glanced down at the Elf, who, though no longer struggling, did threaten to dart if not held onto. His arms were crossed as he stared blankly ahead.

Aragorn wedged the door open; he could hear Gimli snoring soundly, and noisily. The Dwarf, in his kindness, had prepared a bed for his friend. Gently, the man let the Elf to his feet. "Stand here but a moment, my friend."

Legolas could hear Aragorn rummaging in the room next, and when he returned he held nightclothes. Carefully he helped Legolas out of his tunic and undershirt, and into the loose, gathered shirt. It would be more soothing against his wound than a close fitting tunic. Lifting the slight form to the bed, a question entered his mind. Standing in the doorway, and gazing at the silhouetted features of his dear friend, he could not resist.

"Legolas?"

"Hm?"

"It's not possible, what the hobbits were. . .?"

"No!"

"Huh," Aragorn thought for a minute. He grinned. "Do you think you can walk?"

"Not now, why do you ask?"

"Oh, well, then I will know to check on you in the morning. . . . . and also that you cannot catch me if I say you would make a beautiful mother to be!"

And even with the knowledge that Legolas would not be able to pursue him, Aragorn ran for his life. Because Legolas was an archer, and Aragorn did not know where his bow was hidden.

---------- END -----------

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