Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof

*****

"I am not ill, there is no need for this," Estel informed Elladan as soon as Elrond was out of earshot. Elladan took one look at the pale boy, his face sweat soaked, his breath evenly uneven, as though each puff of air caught in his throat. The elf crossed to Estel' writing desk, an ink- splotched unit, and carried the chair positioned there across the room. Estel looked spitefully at Elladan, sitting nonchalantly beside his bed.

Estel debated scowling at Elladan, but decided against it. Elrond's orders were not Elladan's, the younger had naught to do with Estel's imprisonment. This indeed was Estel's view of his confinement to his bed: imprisonment.

Quietly, he began to play a game with himself. "Imladris. . .Sirion. . .Numenor. . .Rohan. . ."

"Estel?" Elladan asked. "What's that? What are you saying?"

Estel blushed. "It is. . .just a game," he replied. "It is a geography game and so relevant to my studies," he quickly defended his fun.

"May I play?" Elladan only half had an interest in the game, more was his interest in Estel. The boy acted politely enough and docile when he remembered to, but Elladan did not feel like. . .well, like his brother. When his father fostered the child, Elladan supposed Estel had become a part of his family: a brother. But Elladan and Elrohir often absented themselves from Imladris, their need for vengeance for their mother strong in their hearts, and Estel had grown so quickly! He treated them kindly but as removed, and this hurt Elladan, for he did feel some love for the boy. Estel was not comfortable around the twins because he did not know them, however he viewed them as his brothers: this Elladan believed.

"Of course." Estel did not want Elladan to play. The elf was always trying to get to know Estel: didn't he realize? Someday, Estel thought, I will die. I am not his kin. Why will he not leave me be? "The game works this way: I name a place, then you name a place that begins with the last letter of my place, then I a place beginning with the last letter of yours. Do you understand?"

"I believe so. You paused on Rohan? May I say the Nimrodel River?"

Estel shrugged. "I suppose. Lothlorien," he replied, giving Elladan yet another "n" to work off of. Sorely did the boy wish to end this game. Elladan hardly seemed to be enjoying: why did he not quit? At last, Estel ended his pain. "I am going to try to sleep now. . .I am not feeling well, after all, it seems," Estel excused himself. It was true: his eyelids were getting heavy.

Expecting to lie awake in his bed and face the wall, Estel was surprised when he found himself whisked away from consciousness the moment his head hit the pillow.

While the sick child slept, Elladan watched him. In his sleep, he appeared so innocent, so young. . .Estel's hair splayed about him, giving his face an even paler look by contrast. Roses bloomed on his cheeks as though he felt the eyes upon him. Elladan smiled in spite of circumstance, feeling he might sit happily here for hours, why the past half hour had seemed only seconds--

He had his happiness interrupted as Estel began to whimper. Estel squirmed, stretching his muscles as if waking, but he did not. He gasped as his body slammed straight as an arrow, then thrashed about as though at demons.

All this took seconds, and as Elladan moved to hold his brother still Estel went limp, then shook his head from side to side. "You poor child," Elladan muttered, stroking the boy's cheek gently. Estel shivered as though burned, then he began to speak, his words directed at those in his mind, yet these existed without.

In Estel's dream, it was midwinter. Estel, six years old, was amazed by the brightly coloured decorations hung about, proud of the parchment snowflakes he had made. He stayed in a corner, excited but too cowed by awe. Everyone was so big. . .

"Estel, come with us!" Elrohir coaxed, appearing suddenly from the crowd. "Come and sing with us, Estel!" Elrohir and Elladan had been helping Estel learn a midwinter song for weeks; now came their proud time of performance.

"No," Estel said. "I don't want to sing, Elrohir, I am afraid."

But Elrohir, not hearing his brother, who indeed had spoken only in his mind that fear kept him silent, continued, "Are you ready to sing? Everyone wants to hear you, Estel."

"No! I do not want to be heard! Everyone is just here to judge. . .I cannot sing so prettily as you and Elladan, don't make me, Elrohir, please!" Again fear froze his jaw. Estel held up his arms to Elrohir, and Elrohir lifted the little boy into his arms. For a moment the boy believed himself spared, believed that Elrohir had heard his silent pleas, and snuggled against Elrohir, feeling safe.

"There, Estel, it's not so bad, you see? Come on now, everyone is eager for your song."

Estel was too distraught to fight, too frightened to cry, too humiliated to run. All the while, as his voice formed too familiar words, Estel had a strange feeling, as though his soul were lifting from his body, flying. . .freeing. . .

Thirteen-year-old Estel associated this feeling with death, but not a death by fever, not the death threatening him at the moment he relieved his humiliation. "Don't you understand? Don't you know I am not good enough? Why must you display my inadequacies?"

Elladan held the boy in his arms, watching helplessly as tears streamed down the boy's face, tears he had not cried with his song, tears of sorrow and of freedom. Gently the elf stroked the mortal's face and hair, trying to give him the appearance of health. He had never known how upset Estel was about the song, he'd sung well enough. Surely he did not truly feel himself inadequate?

"Wake, Estel, awake," Elladan beseeched the boy, knowing it would not come to be. Estel remained limp and tearful, burning hot in the elf's arms. Elladan bit his lip, torn. He had been ordered to stay, but surely Adar must know that Estel would not wake. . .

"Eh. . ." Estel began to cough, and Elladan breathed freely. "Why are you holding me like that, Elladan?" Estel asked.

At once the elf released the boy. "You were dreaming, having a nightmare. Or. . .a memory."

Estel blushed. "Did I. . .did I speak at all?"

Elladan nodded. "You sang the song from the winter solstice, and said a few things besides."

"Song?" The memory had been selectively removed from the young boy's mind: he dreamed it but in waking did not recall it.

Swallowing, Elladan thought to recall the words, and this he sang:

~When skies are grey and the sun is not here

I look inside myself and I find my fears

Trapped in the forest, frozen with cold

I tread once more on these paths of old

My home is calling; I cannot hear

But step by step I come more near

Near to the hearthside, a fire's roaring warm

And the love of family keeps my soul from harm

We'll sit together like we did before

We'll tell the stories to make our spirits soar

My heart will wander, my heart will fly

My heart won't hurt with you standing by

In winter coldness, when the warmth has fled,

I take the love of myself and give it you instead

Inside we're warming with our love and fire

Inside we're safe from a gathering mire~

As the elf sang, his voice perfecting crescendos and the high and low notes, Estel fought tears. The tale of the story struck his heart too closely. Then all at cone his voice changed, and Elladan sang another song, a second verse yet so different. . .

~Once in the winter, in a gathering storm

A wondering child looked upon the form

Of his home so covered in a snowy hiding coat

Not a single thing looked of similar note

And, "Father," he said, "has the world gone away?"

"No, child: for home is where the heart is, and here that place shall stay."~

The song cost Elladan dearly, for he had not wished to sing it but had done so for the child's sake, because Estel had asked, the song of winter. . .There were more pleasant songs. Why had he not lied and recited one of those? Of course, because Estel would have known the difference. . .but to hurt him so. . .

"I think I should go to sleep once again," Estel said. Dreams hurt more than he could say, but to be awake, to explain to Elladan the terrible dream, this he could not endure.

"Wait! Estel, if you will give me your word that you will remain here, in your bed, I will ask for a draught, something to help you sleep but not to dream," Elladan offered. Estel thought it over, and at last agreed. He would do anything for a decent rest, exhaustion was too much for the fever- weak boy. "Fare well, child; I shall shortly return."

Elladan kissed the boy's brow almost before he realized what he was doing, then strode from the room, in the corridor breaking into a run, needing to escape the terrible realization, the knowledge of the suffering and scarring he had caused such an innocent child. He reached the Hall of Healing in a sweat. Elrohir and Elrond looked strangely at him. "Why have you left Estel alone?" Elrond asked. "I told you to stay by him!" He did not raise his voice but Elladan felt guilty nevertheless.

"Adar, he slept and he dreamed a terrible thing. Is there no draught you may give him to ease his suffering?"

Elrond understood and he said, sadness tingeing his voice, "I cannot. It is best you know now Estel's risk. The illness will rise. Estel will fall into a sleep from which he will not awaken and he will dream such terrors. After he has fallen to the fever such that his brow burns to the touch and he cannot wake, after two days either. . ."

"Either what?" Elladan prompted his father, worried. "What will happen to Estel after two days?"

Elrond closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "His fever will break or he will die," replied the elven lord. "And even should the fever break, the child remaining will not be our Estel. Elladan, Estel will not be himself, if he is at all alive a week from now."

"Then why give him no draught?" Elladan asked, electing not to dwell on the villainy at hand.

"Because that would induce the fever-sleep. The best thing, for the time being, is to keep Estel as comfortable as possible. Do not let him know of his danger. There is a syrup that may indeed help him."

Elrohir, who until now had not spoken, went to his brother. "It is not so awful. There is a chance." He gripped his twin's hand tightly. "Let us see to the child now. Come, do not fear. Be strong for him."

Gratefully Elladan smiled at his brother and the two began to return to Estel's room. Something wriggled in Elladan's mind, itching, until at last he asked, "You remember, Elrohir, how we deemed to divide our time?"

"Evenly," Elrohir replied, "between Arwen, Adar and Nana."

"Yes. But Elrohir, we never counted on Estel. We never considered him. I think. . ." his voice came with difficulty as Elladan spoke against an agreement made in solemnity beneath the moonlight many years ago. "I think he needs us more than Nana needs us, and more than Arwen needs us."

Elrohir swung around and stared at his brother in awe. Was Elladan truly suggesting. . .? "We should talk about this at another time, when so much is not happening all at once."

Elladan nodded, and they continued on in silence. The elder twin quivered once and he bit back tears. Here Elladan saw that one brother lay dying and the other so angry he would not face the elf, let alone speak to him. Perhaps, after all, Estel had the luck.

Elladan shook his head. No. He did want to go on. He was half through a mental slap when he was startled by a cry from nearby. Certainly Estel was not dreaming again already?

****

To be continued

Author's note: Estel will be living mostly through dreams for a time, maybe three more chapters, then he'll play more of a role.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, your encouragement was great. There is no better reward for a storyteller than the appreciation of a story.