By: Eleniel
For full heading, including disclaimers, see Chapter One.
Reminder: encompasses thoughts
A/N: I'm sorry that this chapter's a bit shorter; it's just how it turned out.
Elrond sighed wearily. It had been a long, long day.
Estel had been found only the day before in an Orc camp. The small boy had four broken ribs, probably from his fall out of the tree, a sprained wrist, various cuts and bruises—two of which had become infected over the night and would require reopening in order to clean them, which was not something Elrond wanted to do—and to make it all worse, he had bronchitis complicated with pneumonia.
To put it in a nutshell, his chances of survival appeared to be slim to none.
Hearing the cries for him once more, Elrond raced back to his chambers, which were only across the hall from his current location. Still, however, the servant who'd been assigned to watch Estel was trampled in the process. Elrond didn't have time to apologize; he could only rush to his son's side.
The servant only smiled as she watched Elrond work furiously to help his son. The little one had stopped breathing again, though his heart had never once halted.
"May I be of assistance, hîr nin?" Aimithe asked, brushing herself off and poking her head into the door.
"Fetch Glorfindel and my sons," Elrond said without looking up. He was trying once more to force air into Estel's small lungs, but they did not seem to want to take it in. Estel's eyes were half-open now, glazed and unfocused, and his small body was shivering and shaking with convulsions, presumably because of his dangerously high fever.
"Ada?" both twins said at once, stepping into the room. They took one look at the blue-purple color of their foster-brother's lips and hands and immediately stooped over him.
"Elladan, get the coldest water you can find, soak a cloth in it and put it on his forehead, we need to get his temperature down, he's having fever seizures," Elrond said, removing his hands as Estel began once more to seize. "He will never be normal again if we cannot stop the seizures, his brain is swelling. Elrohir, I need you to breathe for him, Glorfindel, thank Elbereth, he's crashing again, do what you can to loosen the mucus in his chest, it's clogging his airways," Elrond was snapping out orders as quickly as they could be carried out. Elladan dashed out, soon returning and placing an ice-cold cloth on his brother's forehead, rewetting it frequently to keep it cold. Elrohir began forcing air in through Estel's mouth, and the blue-purple color of his lips lessened slightly. Glorfindel started tapping on the child's back to try and loosen some of the thick, viscous liquid choking the child. Elrond was also working, quickly but carefully concocting a very strong-smelling paste.
Spreading some across Estel's chest and holding the bowl beneath his nose, Elrond hoped the mixture of mints would open his airways a bit, and the other herbs added in should dilate his bronchial tubes.
Slowly, painfully slowly to those present, Estel began once more to gulp small, quick breaths. His lips remained tinted blue, as did his extremities, but his eyes closed fully once more.
It went on like that for several more days—Estel would turn blue again, his heart would beat erratically, frantically, or maybe he would have another seizure. Soon Elrond would not leave the room, and Elladan and Elrohir often stayed with their father and brother, trying to soothe Estel in his feverish tormented nightmares. He tried often to scream, to call for help, but every time he tried he ended in a coughing fit, coughs racking his fragile body until he turned blue again.
"His fever is slowly going down, but it will be a miracle if he has no brain damage after that," Elrond commented one night, five days after Estel had been found. Estel's small face was neither red with fever nor blue for lack of oxygen now, and he had had his last seizure a day and a half ago. His breathing was still hoarse and ragged, and he had yet to wake, but surely he was recovering.
"Ada?" a hushed, pained voice came from the bed.
Elrond jumped up, quickly kneeling by Estel's side.
"Ada...wha...it hurts ada," Estel mumbled. His face was pained terribly, and it broke Elrond's heart knowing he would not feel better for a while yet.
"Elrond, here...Estel, you've woken," Glorfindel commented, surprised. He sat the food tray he had been carrying down and kneeled next to Elrond.
"Man naikele lle," Elrond asked in the Grey Tongue. Estel had been raised since the age of two in the House of Elrond, and so he'd grown up speaking first the Grey Tongue and then Westron, but the Grey Tongue was more soothing. ((What hurts? (Literally 'what pains you')))
"Iluve," Estel responded, curling in on himself in an attempt to ease the pain. He found he could not move well, however, for even though the Elves had continued moving his arms and legs to prevent them locking up with disuse and to keep circulation going, he was very stiff. ((Everything))
"Man naikele ner?" Elrond asked gently, easing the child back into a straightened position. He swept his hands over Estel's bare chest, feeling for a moment before putting his ear to the child's skin and listening to his wheezing. ((What hurts most?))
"Eller," Estel said, pointing a shaking hand towards his chest. ((There))
"I see," Elrond said, switching back to Westron. "Estel, I need you to lay still and we will try to help the pain and help you breathe, but you need to tell us if you feel any worse at all, ok? Can you do that for me?" he asked tenderly. Estel nodded, and Glorfindel and Elrond stood up.
"Help him sit a little higher, so his head is above his chest once more," Elrond told Glorfindel. "Wait, I think it may help him a little better if you were holding him, he seeks comfort," he corrected himself as Estel latched onto Glorfindel's hand, which had been trying to sit him up a bit.
Glorfindel nodded and asked for his hand back before he carefully climbed onto the bed behind the boy, settling with Estel leaning back onto him as he massaged the little one's sore arms and legs.
"Uuma dela," he whispered to the child, seeking to comfort him. ((Don't worry))
Estel did not respond, only bowed his head and sank into Glorfindel, struggling to breathe.
"Estel? Lle desiel?" Elrond asked, holding a strong-scented cup of tea before the boy. Estel raised his eyes. "Sana sina." ((Are you ready? Take this))
Estel shook his head once, stopping immediately. His chest felt like it was on fire, and now that he thought about it his wrist was slightly sore too. He looked at it only to discover it was still contained in a wrap—his body hadn't been healing quickly due to the extreme sickness.
"Estel, tampa. Sana sina," Elrond said again, forcing the mug into the boy's hands. When he handed it right back, Elrond sighed and shook his head. He is so strong-willed...it will help him, but I am afraid it will someday harm him as well he thought. ((Stop. Take this))
"Glorfindel..." Elrond said quietly, tipping his head a bit. Glorfindel had helped him raise two other stubborn children, and this quiet sign language had been perfected between the two Elf Lords long ago, occasionally coming into play when a wounded Elladan or Elrohir refused to swallow something.
Glorfindel nodded, moving his hands from Estel's small arms and catching his head. He tipped it back a bit, and Estel opened his mouth on instinct.
"Estel, I am going to give this to you one way or the other. Do not struggle and swallow without hassle and I promise this won't happen again, but you have been very, very sick and you need to take your medicine," Elrond said wearily. He'd been up almost constantly for the past eight days, first worrying and then tending the small human child.
Estel did not struggle; merely let Glorfindel hold his head while Elrond poured small amounts of the tea in. It tasted horribly bitter, and Estel swallowed only because he had no choice.
"There, was that so hard?" Elrond asked when he had finished. Estel glared at him, and he smiled slightly. "Hiraetha im," he apologized, "but it had to be done. Lle anta yulna en alu?" ((I'm sorry. Do you need a drink of water?))
"No," Estel said dreamily. The tea Elrond had given him was making him very sleepy, although it did help the pain in his chest a bit and it was getting easier to breathe. The last thing Estel remembered before falling asleep was his foster father smoothing a minty-smelling, gooey paste onto his chest once more.
As soon as Estel was asleep once more, adrift in a dreamless black world, Elrond breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn't wanted to force the tea into the child, but he hadn't had much choice—one way or the next it had to get into the child.
"I will stay with him tonight, he needs to be held and you need to rest," Glorfindel said as Elrond smoothed a blanket over both of them. "He will be fine, mellon nin. Get some rest." ((my friend))
"Thank you, Glorfindel," Elrond said, putting a cover over the candles in the room to dim their light. He quieted the fire until it was just smoldering before he left.
Glorfindel smiled once and settled down into the bed for the night, soon falling into a light sleep. Estel never once moved in his drugged sleep, and it was safe to assume he did not dream either. He was finally resting peacefully, and his breathing was easing. His body was on the mend.