Through Wind and Fire (LOTR)

VI

Lo, children are an heritage of the LORD: and the fruit of the womb is his reward.

- Psalm 127:3

With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come

- William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice

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Nervously, the Elvenking paced back and forth, awaiting the news. He wondered how all the other elves before had felt when in this same position, even how his own parents felt. It seemed like an eternity before he would be able to hold that little thing that would change his whole life. Thranduil made sure to push down the horrified look on his wife's face as she went into labour. It was one of pure pain, something he wished he could take from her, but he knew he could not. His heart pounded quickly against his ribcage, and he took slow, shallow breaths. All the horrific tales of ellith dying in childbirth, or the elflings dying before taking their first breaths were certainly plaguing the king's mind. He prayed to Eru that none of those tragedies would befall him.

••••••••••••••••••••••••

She screamed. The pain was becoming to much for her to bear, and she wondered if she would even make in out of this alive. The queen only hoped her husband did not hear any of her shrieks, or he would surely lose his mind. Just when she thought she could no longer take the torture, the healer screamed excitedly, "'Tis a prince, my queen! Oh, he is darling! What will you name him?"

"I do not know. Get Thranduil. I am wasted on this stubborn elfling." Stubborn he was indeed, taking his sweet time to make his entrance into Arda.

The queen was exhausted, and soon she fell into a deep sleep.

••••••••••••••••••••••••

"My lord king, your wife summons you, and your son awaits your presence."

Your son, the words repeated in his head. My son, he thought. Son. Thranduil breathed out, relieved that his wife was in good condition, and elated that he would soon meet his child. He sprinted down the hall and flung the doors to the queen's chambers open. There, on the bed, lay his beautiful wife, holding a tiny little bundle with golden hair and soft features. The king almost squealed with delight at his adorable son, but controlled himself. The queen smiled at him, and he grinned back, the tears dropping from his eyes.

She handed him the bundle, and Thranduil took it hesitantly, afraid to make any wrong move, however minuscule it may be. He cradled his son in his arms, taking in the beauty of fatherhood. The look on the king's face could only be described as love, a great undying love for his wife and child.

Thranduil stood there with the elfling in his arms, speechless, unable to form words. He continued to cry, for the emotion was overwhelming. The love he felt for this small creature was indescribable, and though it brought more responsibility, he was willing to take it. Anything for love.

Finally, he found his words.

"He is beautiful," the king choked out.

"Our son, Thranduil. Ours!" his wife said, crying with happiness.

"What shall we name him, meleth nin? Maybe I should name him, for if you do, he will inherit your failures with words," he teased.

"Do close your flapping mouth, Thranduil. You always said you wanted to name your son something close to your father's name, and now that said son is here, we could name him something like, oh, I don't know, Legolas?"