Chapter Six: Of Fever Dreams and Elven Healers

The door creaked gently, swinging in the summer breeze. A scent of honeysuckle and oak leaves drifted inside, mingling with the cooking smells of sage and thyme and the sounds of gentle laughter.

"She will not take the ale! I cannot get her to eat."

"Ai! She burns with fever!"

"None will die in my house, not while I yet live."

I was drowning in a lake of fire, surrounded on all sides by dancing flames. Below me lay a bottomless pit, and I fell and fell…

"This is almost beyond my skill to heal. It was fortunate that you called me when you did."

Into the red-tinged blackness of my pit came a white light, tinted with silver. I fell into it and it lifted me, cool as a caress, covering the flames. Sighing, I sank into a deeper blackness devoid of the monstrous flames…

* * *

"Is the girl awake yet? I wish to meet her!"

"Hush, Denherin! She has been gravely ill, and it is only by the grace of the Valar and the skill of King Thengel's healer that she yet lives."

"I would prefer to credit it all to Eru's grace, milady."

"You know she would have perished were it not for you."

I cracked an eye open. A tall, beautiful blond woman, looking flustered, was speaking to a pale, dark-haired, handsome man.

"Aunt! Aunt! The girl is awake!"

This excited pronouncement came from a small blond cherub of a boy, who was hopping up and down at the foot of the bed. The woman started in astonishment and rushed over to the side of my bed.

"Wh…where am I?" I croaked. "Heaven?"

Wherever it was, it certainly was not Stratford…

"You do not remember, lass?" she asked worriedly. "Eothir brought you here burning with fever. You have lain here three days; luckily, Thengel the King allowed us to borrow his healer-" she gestured towards the man, who bowed courteously- "and your life was

spared. We have waited long for you to wake."

In a torrent the past week returned, and I fell back against the pillows in a dead faint.

* * *

"Girl? Girl, awaken!" Small hands were shaking me, gently but insistently. I gingerly opened an eye, and was greeted by the sight of a tiny blond boy, looking to be about six, shaking me. At the sight of my opened eye, he gasped.

"Oh! Girl! You are awake! You slept a long time. Aunt was worried, but the Elf healer said that the fever was just wearing off naturally. He said you almost died."

I opened my eyes fully, and let my sluggish brain soak up the fact that I was in Rohan. I gazed about me in wonderment at the thatched roof and wooden walls around me, with the sun shining through a large wooden-framed window. I had realized every Tolkien fanatic's dream- I was in Middle-Earth.

The boy, taking no consideration for the dreams of Lord of the Rings geeks everywhere, tugged at my hand impatiently.

"What's your name? Where are you from? Can't you talk? Aunt says that Father found you in a field. How did you get there? Can't you remember?"

The non-stop barrage of questions was exhausting to listen to, let alone answer. My stomach asserted itself, growling mightily as any lion. The boy giggled.

"You make strange noises. Where are you from? Does everyone make those noises where you live?"

My head spun, and I was suddenly seized by a spasm of coughing.

"Denherin! Denherin! Are you in the sick girl's room again? You know Aunt doesn't-"

The speaker, a tall blond girl looking to be about ten or so, stopped short directly inside the room as she caught sight of me sitting up, eyes open.

"Oh, Den, did you wake her? I am sorry," she said, addressing the last to me, "for he is young, and knows no better."

I smiled weakly and opened my mouth to speak. All that came out was a hoarse croak, and I realized suddenly how very parched my throat was. The girl looked shocked at the odd noises I was emitting. I coughed again, and managed an understandable rasp.

"…water, please…" I choked out painfully. The girl just looked more shocked.

"Water? Oh no, you cannot drink water! The stuff is foul, and it will make you sick again! Perhaps some mead?"

My stomach heaved at the memory of the bitter ale I had choked down on the ride, and I shuddered.

"Would you like milk, then?" The girl asked, after a pause. I nodded.

"Yes, lady. I will get Aunt as well."

She swept the boy out of the room, and I heard the patter of running feet outside in the hall.

I sank back against the cool pillow, my eyelids fluttering shut as I took breath after labored breath.

"I do not like the sound of your breathing," came a voice. I started up, my eyes flying open. An Elf, complete with pointy ears, was sitting on my bed, tall and fair, with silver-tinted brown eyes that seemed to have a star captured inside them.

Peter Jackson didn't even come close, I thought as I met those eyes.

"You are like no mortal patient I have ever treated," he said, sounding puzzled. "You are…weaker, somehow. There is something about you that I cannot explain."

I gulped soundlessly, my throat working. No sound came out. Startled, he put a cool hand on my forehead, and his expression changed from startlement to worry.

"There is still fever? The cure I put on you should have left you to heal easily!"

I became aware of the fact that I was shaking like a leaf under his hand. My teeth chattered, and I watched helplessly as leaping flames licked the corners of my vision.

The Elf took a breath, shut his eyes, and adjusted his hand on my forehead. A stream of cool water seemed to flow from his hand into my mind, dousing the fire that had begun to lap at my eyes like molten lava. I sighed in relief as blessed coolness flooded my consciousness. The last sound I heard was the Elf sighing in tired satisfaction. I dimly sensed him stepping back and arranging the pillows behind my head before I was swept away on a tide of cool white light…