By: Eleniel
For full heading, including disclaimers, see Chapter One.
Reminder: encompasses thoughts
Earlier that morning...
"...Ahhhhhh!" Estel's screams echoed through the canyon. While his brothers on the other side rushed to get to the source of the sound, Estel fell from the tree he'd slept in.
He hit several branches on the way down, and for a moment his fall was broken.
His tunic snagged on one particularly sturdy branch. The child hung for a moment, swaying in the breeze, praying his shirt and the branch would hold until he was found—he was sure his father and Glorfindel would be searching for him, sure as only a child could be that they would find him even if he wasn't in the valley anymore.
Unfortunately, not many hopes are fulfilled and Estel heard a loud ripping sound. He dropped several inches, but stopped again. For a moment, he thought his clothing would hold, but it was hurting his ribs how he hung now.
Estel's shirt tore no more, but instead he began to slide out of it. It was being pulled over his head just as if his Ada was helping him dress for some special occasion.
He fell to the ground, leaving a small impression in the hard dirt.
The child lay there for several minutes, thrown off by the sudden pain. It hurt to breathe now—he did not know it but Estel had broken several ribs. His arm was still sore from yesterday.
Finally rising, Estel made his way further into the woods, hoping he was going in the right direction. He was totally and utterly lost now, and he knew it. Despair was finally setting in on the little one's heart, but he still had hope—it wasn't just his namesake, as Elrond had long known.
Estel walked long into the morning, stopping once for breakfast. His bread was soggy and inedible, but the apples he had taken were still good, if bruised. He ate one before walking more.
The more he moved the worse Estel felt. He had been sick before, with the sniffles and once with pneumonia (he had spent the day in the snow with a preexisting case of the sniffles and no coat), and he recognized how he felt now. He was sick.
"I wonder..." Estel broke off midsentence as a fit of coughing racked his tiny body. He stood for a moment, catching his breath, before continuing to walk. As with all other children, Estel did not realize how sick he truly was. He would not stop until he could no longer walk—unfortunately he wasn't far off.
Still, Estel managed to walk far into the afternoon. His ribs ached with every breath and every step, and even worse when he coughed, which he was doing more and more of.
"I don't feel good," he said miserably, sitting down. There wasn't any water on the ground in this part of the wood, and the trees weren't so easy to climb. Within minutes, Estel was lost in a fitful sleep, yelling out for his Ada at some points, Elladan and Elrohir at others. He even screamed for Glorfindel once.
His screams were unnoticed by the Elves, who had returned to Rivendell after they'd been attacked that morning, but the Orcs did hear them.
"Well, what has we got here?" said one Orc, creeping out of the woods cautiously. No one was standing between him and the small form on the ground—a child, and an Elf child by his dressing. The Orc could not be sure, however, because the little boy's ears and face were hidden by his wavy black hair.
Estel did not wake when the Orc lifted him, nor when we was bound and thrown roughly to the bottom of a tree.
He did wake, however, when a coughing fit seized him. Hacking up a lung or two woke the whole camp, which, although it was small, did not bode well.
"Shut up, Elf brat! You Elves don't get sick, we knows you're just fakin'!" a random Orc called, getting up to slap the child in the head.
This action not only intensified Estel's coughing fit but it exposed his ears. The Orc who'd hit him stood for a moment, letting his slow brain put the pieces together.
"Hey, this ain't no Elf! He's got round ears! He's a Man!" the Orc screamed.
"Maybe he's juss a disformed Elf, ain't go no ears," another Orc replied sleepily. The first Orc, not being particularly bright, accepted this as truth.
Finally, Estel's coughing fit ceased and the camp went back to sleep until early in the morning, while the stars were still shining.
Back in Rivendell, later that morning
Elrond awoke at first light, quickly rousing Glorfindel, who hadn't been injured in yesterday's attack, and Legolas, who had requested to go out with them again and had proved invaluable yesterday—he had taken down several Orcs and saved several Elves. The twins were also awoken.
The two Elf Lords and the Princes of both Mirkwood and Imladris quickly gathered another search party, with Glorfindel's best archers, swordsmen, and two who were also skilled in healing, for a total of about twenty Elves. Five of them were good healers, and all carried ample supplies, so any wounds that were not life threatening could be taken care of on the trail.
It was the third day Estel had been lost in the woods, and hope for the child wasn't plentiful.
Elrond's party soon made it to where they had been the day before, and Elladan and Elrohir were able to pick up a small trail leading towards the outer edge of the Misty Mountains. They followed it to what looked like an Orkish camp.
Drawing their weapons the Elves marched into the camp, prepared to fight. The camp was empty, however. It had been emptied hours ago.
"Ada! Estel was here. They have him...he was bound here last night," Elladan said, pointing to an imprint at the base of a tree. It was small and curled in on itself, obviously that of his youngest brother. Panic rose in his throat...Estel had been captured by Orcs...he was only a child, he wouldn't be able to withstand most anything they did to him...
The Elves rushed off, following Elrohir, who was tracking the trail as well as he could.
By nightfall the Elves had caught up to the Orcs, and it was a relatively small camp, but they had something at this camp that they hadn't at the last: wargs.
"We will wait until they are asleep; I see Estel, he seems to be sleeping, he looks only slightly injured," Glorfindel said, taking charge before Elrond could say anything and making the decision. "It will be easier and faster if we can get out with little or no fighting." In his heart Glorfindel hoped his guesses were not wrong and Estel was not terribly injured...
The camp soon quieted, all except a wheezing sound. It was coming from Estel...the boy was apparently ill.
It was a quick raid, including only the deaths of Estel's guard and an Orc who'd woken and seen the Elves. The wargs, of course, had been killed too, or they would have woken the whole camp.
The Elves did not stop until they were far away from the Orc camp, running silently in the night. When they got to a clear spot, however, Elrond forced them to stop—Estel was failing, and fast.
The small child coughed constantly, and when he wasn't coughing he was wheezing. His ribs were apparently broken and his arm was injured, and his lips and fingers were blue.
Elrond splinted his wrist to prevent further injury, gave him an herb to try to help him breathe, and wrapped him in the Elf Lord's warm cloak, as well as the cloak Glorfindel gave, before moving on as swiftly as he could.
It did not take long before the group got back to Imladris, and Elrond and his sons rushed immediately to Elrond's chamber, leaving Legolas and Glorfindel alone in the hall.
Before long, Elrond was calling out to Legolas and Glorfindel for herbs, mixtures, cloths, water, and almost every other medical need one could think of. The two complied, rushing back and forth all night, until Elrond deemed he had everything he needed.
Early in the morning a very sleepy, harrowed Lord Elrond came out.
"He has bronchitis, complicated with pneumonia it looks like, and four of his ribs are broken. His wrist is sprained and he has bruises and cuts from the Orcs..." at this point Elrond's eyes narrowed in fury. He continued after a moment, "...I am not...I am not sure he will survive...he is struggling to breathe and his fever is far too high...he's not responding to anything I'm giving him," Elrond said, lowering his gaze.
Even after everything they'd done to rescue him, the youngest Prince of Rivendell still might die...that was heartbreaking for the Elves present to accept.
Glorfindel stood in shocked silence. Elrond was very upset; he would do anything to save his adopted son, and this was a double blow; he was watching his son die and he could not save him...he had failed a patient, and not only a patient but a child and his son at that.
Before long, Elladan and Elrohir called Elrond back in with Estel, and the three of them stayed with him for the rest of the night, willing him to get better...
The next morning was indeed a sorrowful one. The residents of Imladris knew the child had been found but they did not know his condition, nor why their Lord refused to leave his house and canceled his meetings that day. They did not know how critical Estel was—the child required round the clock care now if he was to even have a chance. Elladan and Elrohir had bedded down, and were sleeping although it was day now; they would stay with Estel through that night. Glorfindel and Elrond were with him now.
"Elrond, you need to rest. The boy will not get any better if his caretakers are too tired to realize they are using the wrong herb," Glorfindel said seriously as he replaced the mint herb in Elrond's hand with Athelas.
Elrond frowned as he added the right herb to the mixture and carefully poured it down his ill son's throat.
Estel's face was red with fever, but his lips were still blue, and the shade was darkening. His body was shaking although it was covered with various blankets, and his breathing was very labored. Elrond had tried everything...herbs to thin the mucus clogging his lungs, to take the water out of his lungs, to ease the swelling of his airways...but the boy was not responding. He was dying, letting go of life.
Please, Estel, for me, hold on, don't let go...fight it...Elrond thought desperately, praying to every Valar he could think of to save the small boy's life.
Estel made it through the night all right, leading Elrond to cautiously hope he would not have any more problems...how wrong he was.
It was only the second day Estel had been home, but he was already causing problems...
"ELROND! ELROND!" Glorfindel screamed, not caring what he looked like to the household staff.
Elrond came running at Glorfindel's panicky calls. "What is it!" he asked, bewildered.
"Estel isn't breathing, he's not responding to anything I'm giving him. His heart hasn't stopped but he can't draw breath, there is too much fluid in his chest," Glorfindel said breathlessly, immediately dashing back to the child's side.
Estel was a deep blue-purple shade, staring with glazed half-lidded eyes.
Elrond immediately began working to force air into his child's lungs, while Glorfindel shouted orders to any Elf within range (including Elladan and Elrohir, who came running) to get various herbs and anything else he thought Elrond might need that wasn't already there.
Worry and panic coursed through Elrond's veins. If Estel was lost now, what would that mean for mankind in the future?
They won't have a future... some instinct in Elrond said, and he continued to work even more furiously on his adopted son.
After what seemed like hours but must have been only minutes, Estel began breathing again, hoarse, ragged breaths, irregular and shallow, but at least he was breathing.
Now if only Elrond could get the fluid out of his chest, things would be ok.
If he couldn't...well, he'd rather not think about it.
But how to go about it? Elrond began to ponder as he set aside all meetings and things for the next few days that were not downright necessary. The rest were moved into the hall right outside his chambers, where Estel rested, and both twins stayed with their brother, in case he stopped breathing again.
Before long, the familiar cries for Elrond sounded again, and he snapped out of the light sleep he'd fallen into, rushing once more to save his son.