Darkness and the noise of horses and people. Elrond tried to bring the world into focus but his eyes refused to co-operate. He could find only a dim redness. For several moments he could not understand it, and then the realisation dawned that his eyes were closed. Leaden eyelids slid slowly upward and the elf grimaced at the bright light filtering through the canvas roof of his tent.
He never slept with his eyes closed, unless he was very tired. Elrond tried to piece together how he came to be lying, naked, beneath the warmth of several blankets, in his tent, in broad daylight. His mind told him that he should not need this many blankets either, and yet his shoulder, exposed to the air when he had rolled over, felt cold and he shrugged the woollen fabric upwards to cover it. As an elf he should not be cold and he also had no memory of coming to bed.
Shattered fragments of memory floated, disconnectedly in his mind. The pain wracked faces of elves and men, torn flesh, shattered bones, cries of anguish, the metallic smell of blood mixed with the more foetid smell of other things, expelled from damaged bodies. Elrond gave up trying to remember and tried to make himself forget instead, closing his eyes and swallowing hard. He had seen many battles since his childhood but each time seemed worse, to his bruised fea, than the last.
Yet, there were injured, who needed his help, and he must stir himself. He tried to lever himself up, on arms that felt as though they were made of jelly, and fell back with a groan when the world began to spin alarmingly around him.
"Let that be a warning to you to remain in your bed until your physician says you are well enough to rise."
Elrond turned his, still spinning, head towards the sound of Duinil's voice. His swimming vision managed to make out the surgeon crossing the tent and unhooking his satchel from his shoulder; setting it on the floor by the elf's bed. A blond haired elf, who Elrond felt he should know but could not place, brought the man a campstool and Duinil sat down, waiting patiently for his friend's eyes to come into focus.
When the elven healer's eyes gave one final blink Duinil smiled. "How do you feel?" He reached forward and set a hand to the elf's forehead and then to the pulse at his neck. Elrond's face was paler than was his wont and the pulse too fast. His skin was chilled and yet he was perspiring with the simple effort of trying to sit up. In short, Duinil thought, he is dangerously exhausted. An ordinary elf would probably be on the way to recovery by now but it appeared that Elrond's mortal side was holding sway at the moment.
Elrond swallowed in a still dry throat. "I am a little weary. That is all. I shall arise shortly and return to help you with the wounded." He was surprised at the thinness of his voice and it hurt his throat to talk. He also seemed to be developing a dreadful headache.
Duinil snorted. "You will do no such thing. Until I say you can. Be sensible, my friend. You have spent yourself in your duties and no one will berate you for taking some time to recover. Besides, I have issued instructions to the orderlies not to allow you admittance to the healing tents until I tell them to do so." He chuckled when he saw the indignity in Elrond's face. "You will stay here and rest until I say you are well enough to return."
"I am a healer, and I will decide what my body can and cannot take" announced the elf and he made to rise once more. He almost managed to sit up, then his eyes rolled upwards and he fainted, back onto his pillow. Duinil tucked the blankets back around him and asked the attendant for a cup of water. Then he rummaged in his satchel for the appropriate tincture, mixing it with the water when it was brought.
With a soft moan, the elf stirred and opened pain-shadowed eyes. His head was truly pounding now and the detached healer's side of him recognised the symptoms of dehydration as well as exhaustion. When had he last eaten or drunk? Duinil slipped a hand beneath his head and set a cup to his lips. Elrond swallowed eagerly the water that was offered, recognising too late, the faint taste of the tincture.
"What did you just give me?" he asked, accusingly. Duinil smiled.
"A simple sleeping drought. Nothing more. You need to rest and I know you well enough to know that you will fight it. Now you have no option so you may as well give in gracefully. Aldon here has instructions to feed you a cup of broth and then you will sleep. I will return, to check on your progress, later." He patted his patient's shoulder and rose, giving up his seat to Elrond's new attendant.
Elrond had sense enough to do as instructed, giving in gracefully, swallowing meekly the broth Aldon spooned him and then allowing the sleeping drought to carry him away into healing sleep.
0o0
Aldon turned at the slight creak of the camp bed as Lord Elrond stirred. He added five drops of tincture to a small cup of water and filled a larger cup with the sweet golden liquid Master Duinil had sent. Taking up vigil on the stool by the elven healer's bed he waited for the keen grey eyes to open . . . not that they had looked particularly keen the last time he had seen them, a few hours ago.
When Elrond awoke he was annoyed to find that he had slept with his eyes closed again. It was night-time and a candle had been set upon the table by his bed. The young elf who had been there before was at his bedside with a cup. The elder elf drew away when Aldon made to lift his charge's head however.
"Is that another of Duinil's little surprises?" Elrond was worried at how raw his voice sounded.
The young elf found it impossible to lie to the Lord of Rivendell. The eyes may be fogged with exhaustion and the remnants of the last dose of tincture but there was a keenness still that made dissembling no option. "It is another dose of the sleeping drought, My Lord. Healer Duinil left it when he visited you a little while ago. You were still asleep. He said you are to take it and some of the drink he had someone prepare for you. Then you are to sleep once more."
Elrond was cold, his head ached and his body felt as though it was made of lead. He was annoyed with himself, he was annoyed with Duinil and he was annoyed with this elf . . . whoever he was. "I need no sleeping droughts, thank you . . . what is your name again?"
"Aldon, my lord."
"Well . . . Aldon. If you will prepare my bath I will rise. A walk in the starlight will revive me more than Duinil's potions." He was pleased to find, when he gingerly sat up, that the room did not start to spin. Aldon held out his dressing gown and then left to fetch water for the bath, deciding that he would try to find Duinil on the way.
When he returned, with Master Duinil, Elrond looked up from his desk, where he was trying to catch up on reports. The half-elven lord sighed and the young wood elf tried to avoid his gaze.
"Aldon, I asked you to arrange my bath. I did not tell you to fetch Healer Duinil."
Aldon studied the floor. "You told me to arrange your bath, My Lord, but you did not tell me 'not' to fetch Healer Duinil. But, Healer Duinil told me to fetch him if you refused your medicine or tried to get up."
Duinil advanced on his patient and Elrond glared at him, in a way that usually stopped most mortals in their tracks. Duinil, however, merely picked up the sleeping drought from the bedside table and continued to advance. He held it out to the elf.
"They say that healers make the worst patients and, in your case, it would appear that they are correct."
Elrond made no move to accept the cup. "Allow me to be the judge of what my body is and is not capable of. You forget that I am elven and will heal much faster than a mortal. I promise that I will not approach the healing tents until the morrow but there is other work that requires my attention. The King…." He swallowed as the word brought with it a surge of grief that threatened to drown him if he let it. "The King is not available and those of us who remain must help with the work."
Elrond wanted to pace the room, his mind needing some way to outrun its turmoil. But he had nearly fallen trying to reach his desk and knew that his legs would betray him again if he tried to rise. Perhaps he would be able to face Duinil down. The mortal healer merely frowned and came around the desk, to stand by Elrond's side. He reached down and took an elbow, encouraging the elven lord to rise.
"Very well. Aldon said that you wished to look at the stars. I will walk with you. It has been a long day and I could do with the fresh air."
Pride made the elven lord try to comply and they made it almost to the door of the tent before Elrond stumbled and Duinil had to half lead half carry him back to his bed. Only semi conscious, once more, the elf was not able to make further protest when Duinil gave him the second sleeping draught and a cup of some sweet drink: lying back drowsily, as Aldon tucked the blankets around him. Within minutes he was asleep, his exhausted body easily subdued by the powerful tincture.
Duinil gave no quarter after that. For the next two days he gave instructions for Aldon not to wait for Elrond to wake. The assistant was to rouse him from drugged slumber and press more of the tincture and fluids upon him before he was conscious enough to protest. At the end of the two days Duinil was pleased to see that Elrond's pallor had receded and he no longer felt cold to the touch.