His hair blows softly in the warm summer's breeze, reminding me of golden fields of wheat I had once ridden through when still a Ranger of the North. His azure eyes are closed as he inhales deeply. His whole body is at peace, reveling in this rare Indian Summer that has descended upon Imladris.

"How are you feeling?" I ask him, wrapping my bronze arms around his porcelain perfection.

He takes my calloused hand and rubs it across his slightly rounded abdomen. "I'm carrying our child," Legolas replies, smiling, the joy shining upon his face. "I've never felt more alive."

THE END