A/N: Sorry for taking so long to update, I am recovering from a serious corneal abrasion. I hope you enjoy this as my Christmas present for all you LotR fans here on this site. Let me know what you think about this! :)

THIS CHAPTER IS RATED T, since it deals with issues related to childbirth.

2. Eldarion

"Are you afraid?" Arwen asked. Her voice was reduced to a thin whisper, but there was a certain serenity in her tone that he could not help but envy. She would give birth to their baby in hours, maybe even minutes… but it was he who felt dizzy and lightheaded. He really wished he could just answer "no", but for some reasons his lips seemed unable to articulate the word.

Any word, for that matter.

"Don't worry. I'm here." he finally managed to say, struggling to keep a reassuring tone. Arwen smiled, holding his hand tight.

They had talked much about him being present at childbirth. She had never tried to oblige him, she had not even had to convince him. It was he who had come up with the idea in the first place, he who had defied centuries of Gondorian tradition… and his own nerves. He remembered actually having said something on the line of "Nothing on Arda could prevent me from desiring to be by my wife's side in the moment that will transform our life forever".

Oh, you romantic fool.

Only now was he beginning to understand Arwen's repeated advice not to take "a rush decision". The first time she had said so - even if she had carefully avoided to express any open preference not to condition him - he had even thought she might prefer to be alone with the midwife during childbirth. The way she was now clutching at his hand told him otherwise, and he was forced to realize she had simply known better.

Not that he regretted his choice, not at all. That moment would indeed transform their life together, and he still wanted to be by her side. He was just a bit more on edge than he himself would ever want to admit.

Come on, Aragorn, you have seen lots of things worse than this.

Why "worse"? That was not a bad thing. At least, it should not be a bad thing.

Arwen will be fine. The baby will be fine.

Surely the fact that he was the only man in the room did not help to make him feel comfortable. There were at least five women, apparently perfectly on top of the situation, hurrying in and out of the room with hot water, covers and ointments. None of them seemed to care much about his presence, and one even pushed him gently aside as she made her way to the fireplace, where she laid some wood to prevent the fire from going out.

He had had to let go of Arwen's hand to let the woman pass, so that now he was just standing in a corner of the room, feeling useless like a dirty old cloth, a stranger in his own bedroom.

Then, all of a sudden, the women vanished, the door closed and he found himself alone in the room with Arwen and the midwife, a matron in her fifties whose rubicund face emanated a sense of calm and safety. Everything was quiet. The room was silent, except for the soft crackling of the fire.

"I – I think the baby's coming," Arwen said faintly. For the first time, he heard a twinge of anxiety in her voice.

"Don't worry milady, I'm here to help you. It will be alright. Take a deep breath." the midwife said gently. "Are you ready?" she smiled. Arwen nodded.

She searched her husband's gaze. They exchanged a long, intense look. Arwen smiled at Aragorn, reaching for his hand. He hurried to her. The midwife raised her eyes to him, apparently striving to find something to say to him. She studied him for some seconds before turning back to Arwen, as if his presence were an unexpected minor accident she had no time to deal with.

"At the next contraction you must push, milady. Push with all your strength." She squeezed Aragorn's hand and he felt her body stiffen up, a tear rolling down her cheek.

Then she screamed. Fear reverberated through Aragorn's body as her suffering flowed unleashed through his own veins flooding his soul, his heart stopping for a split second and then starting to beat wildly. At that precise moment the realization struck him that, as a daughter of the Eldar raised in the safety of Rivendell, she had never known true physical pain. He had known many of her people during their exile in Middle-Earth, but the sense of melancholy and spiritual weariness that he had often seen on their faces had nothing, nothing in common with the entirely bodily suffering which was now pervading her every bone. He could not help but thinking that this was a part of the burden she had accepted to carry when she had chosen to share the fate of Men, and an unbearable thought crossed his mind.

She did not want to share the fate of Men. She wanted to share my fate.

Did she know what it would mean?

He struggled with all his strength to stay calm, to prevent his torment from showing on his face. He must be firm, for Arwen and their baby. But what could he do? The sight of her pain was ripping his soul apart and, what was worse, there was nothing he could do to ease it.

I'm here, meleth.

He took her hand to his lips and kissed it three, four, five times, as if he wanted to pour the warmth and vigor of his body into hers. But her elven eyes were veiled, her face pale.

"Don't give up, my lady Arwen," the midwife said. "I know it hurts. But you must do it again. Push milady, help your baby."

"I… I can't." Arwen answered feebly, tears now rolling copiously down her face.

The midwife remained silent for some minutes, pondering the situation. Arwen's screams had now turned into prolonged moans. She was trembling. Her breath grew faster and faster, until she was almost gasping for air.

"Your majesty," It took Aragorn a while to realize the midwife was actually talking to him. Her tone had become more urgent, and she was looking at him straight in the face. "You can help the Queen. Her back. Support it."

Aragorn sat carefully on the bed behind Arwen and wrapped her in his arms, gently laying her upon his chest. Her head was placed right against his heart. He thought of the times when he had held her the same way in the luxuriant gardens of Rivendell, and as he muttered a silent prayer to Eru he felt a new strength pervade his body. His heartbeat was now deep and regular, Arwen's own breath slowly deepening and harmonizing with its pace.

"You can do it, milady." The midwife said softly. "Everything will be fine." Aragorn felt her body shake against his as another strong contraction came. Holding his hands tight, she heaved a deep sigh and finally started pushing.

---

He was still holding her. In her arms was their first child, a boy, wrapped in a soft cloth. His wide grey eyes were squinting at the light.

"Behold the future King," she said. Any trace of exhaustion in her voice had vanished, and brightness and joy seemed to emanate from her and renew the whole world. Aragorn smiled and kissed the back of her head. "I wish my father could see him." She paused. "He would understand now. Everything that is good has not vanished from this world." She was lost in her thoughts for an instant. Aragorn kissed her again and looked at the baby, his eyes filled with an ineffable tenderness. Arwen's gaze went from her husband to their newborn child. "He will be handsome," she smiled. "He looks like you."

Does he?

Aragorn studied his son. Yes, there was definitely something of him in the baby. The shape of his face, maybe. Or was it the nose? At the same time, however, his tiny features had a delicate quality to them, which could never have sprung out of the mortal race.

A true son of the Eldar.

"Eldarion*." Arwen startled at the sound of his voice.

"Man?**"

"Eldarion," he repeated. "What do you think of it as a name for our son?"

"I thought I had married a Man, ruler of Men." she laughed.

"It's curious, I thought I had married an Elven princess. Besides, it was not me who gave birth to him."

"I don't think I would have done it without you," she remained silent for some seconds. "I'm glad you were there."

"And I am glad I was there." They kissed. "But we are changing topics. So, what do you think?" he insisted after a while.

"How did you come up with this name?"

"Do you like it or not?"

"I do, but-"

"It is settled, then."

"Eldarion be it." she said. "Just remember he is also your son when he cries at night."

"I will," he chuckled.

"I love you."

Arwen reclined her head on Aragorn's shoulder, and soon after she was asleep. He could not lift his eyes off the baby.

"Eldarion-nin," he whispered. Eldarion looked at him with his bright eyes.

Elrond's eyes. Arwen's eyes.

Yes, his child was a son of the Elves. But Aragorn felt grateful to be the Man meant to be his father.

---

---

---

* "Son of the Eldar".

** "What?".