Disclaimer: Any recognizable characters, places, events, or concepts are the property of the J.R.R. Tolkien Estate.

Thank you to each of you who reviewed. This has been something very different for me to write, and knowing that there are a few people willing to spend a little time with these rather unfortunate characters has given me something of a boost. Responses to your reviews follow the chapter.

As always, anyone's comments and questions are more than welcome.

--Aranel (aranels@hotmail.com)

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Chapter 2

Late summer evenings in Imladris were beautiful. The paths that led to the House of Elrond were lit with tall lamps, the soft light dimly coming through the frosted glass. In one of the gardens the leaves of a weeping silver pear tree gleamed faintly in the moonlight, trailing into a small pond where the reflections of bright stars glittered on the night-dark water. Nearby a white stone bench resided beneath the tree's long branches, inviting wanderers and lovers to sit and watch the stars, the water, the moon.

The selfsame moon that illumined the leaves and petals in the garden flooded through the windows of the infirmary's long hallways, letting chairs and bookshelves cast their long shadows on the wooden floors. It was quiet now, save for soft voices in one or two of the rooms.

A full day. The sun had made her complete journey across the sky, and not once in all that light and brightness had the little one opened his eyes long enough to notice. There had only been slight flutters of the dark lashes, revealing for a few brief seconds distant grey eyes.

Nimaron sat in a chair, rubbing a thumb along the polished arm as he let his gaze return to the bed nearby. Always before he had thought children, even those hurt or unwell, looked undeniably peaceful in their beds, their small limbs tangled in layers of sheets and warm blankets. There was a goodness and calmness in the sleep of children, in knowing that for a few short hours they lay undisturbed, their minds mulling over their favorite hopes and wishes.

When the worst had seemed over they carefully moved the little one to a bed, putting him in one of the quietest rooms. For some reason Nimaron had taken some small comfort in this, convinced that the child would look somehow better nestled under the white sheets and blankets.

He did not. If anything, the calm atmosphere of the little room made any restless movement on the child's part more noticeable, and it was impossible to picture him resting easily when with every glance the healer could see the dark bruises and painful swelling, the white square of a bandage that he had patted into place himself. Try as he might, Nimaron could not imagine gathering such a damaged child up in a blanket for a sleepy walk under the stars or a few storybooks in a rocking chair. He rubbed his fingers over his temples, as though trying to massage some kind of peace into his mind. What was left for this child? What had he himself saved him for?

"Nimaron?" someone quietly entered the room, pulling the door half-closed.

"Lord Elrond," the younger healer straightened in his chair, moving to get up before being dismissed with the wave of a hand.

"How is he?" the ruler of Imladris moved to the bed, sitting down on the edge and silently looking over the child, "I was not informed until after the evening meal, but Aglariel's report was delivered to me."

The account had not been very helpful, for it was merely a collection of odd notes and unanswered questions, along with a map scribbled over in red and blue ink. It had been difficult to begin reading it…Imladris and the surrounding areas were supposed to be safe. Children were supposed to be safe.

But here was a child found only about two and half leagues from the borders of the city, unconscious and deliberately hurt. The fact that there were fractures on both sides of his head, as well as no more than a few bruises on his body otherwise was a testament to that. No signs of his parents. No signs of his attackers. The guards left to search the area had found nothing…no traces of the child's other belongings, of a nearby struggle, even of departing footprints. There was only a small, badly injured elfling in a simple green tunic, and Aglariel had been able to make very little sense of that.

A plain tunic of green could hail from any of the current Elven settlements, be they Lorien or the Havens or Mirkwood, or any of the smaller groups that made their homes in unknown corners of the forests and woods. When Aglariel had asked the healers attending the child, they had made no note of identifying braids or jewelry, and the child's dark hair and grey eyes could place him among almost any group of Elves. The Lord of Imladris sighed, reaching over to inspect the bandage on the right side of the child's head, "Aglariel says it was your choice to drill, Nimaron."

"Yes," Nimaron responded hesitantly, unsure of the master healer's thoughts on the decision. Choices in such situations were rarely made without the approval of Lord Elrond, and Nimaron could not remember being in such a position before. The decision was irreversibly made now, and he was not yet sure if he should be relieved or regretful at his choice. At this point he was not sure if he would ever know.

Elrond lifted the bandage carefully, scrutinizing the spot underneath for a moment before continuing, "This looks all right; the bleeding seems to have stopped for the most part. The dressing might as well be changed now." He expertly ran his fingers over the child's head, allowing his mind to construct a picture out of what he could feel, "The fractures, from what I can tell, should heal on their own, and the swelling and bruising will go down over the next few weeks." He paused, turning his full attention to the younger healer, "How conscious has he been, Nimaron?"

Nimaron washed and dried his hands, gathering up a clean dressing and bandage roll, "He was unresponsive when Hathel brought him in, but since the pressure was relieved we have noticed him opening his eyes a little, shifting around. Eithel tested him for pain response before she left and I do not think he liked it."

"That is promising then," Elrond nodded slowly, getting up, "What are you going to do when he wakes up?"

"What do you mean?"

"Someone is going to have to be here when he wakes up," Elrond paused, looking pointedly at the younger healer, "I doubt that it is going to go smoothly. Your medical reports state that there was bleeding from his ears—the membranes are most certainly ruptured then, which means that the child will not be able to hear anything you say. You will not be able to assure him that he is safe or tell him where he is or who you are. I suggest you consider that before he awakens."

Nimaron nodded numbly at the instructions, glancing at the child's face as he changed the bandage. There were so many times when the master healer sounded almost unbearably sensible. Lord Elrond seemed to be treating this case just as practically as any other—was he not upset about what had happened? Was he not concerned about the lasting effects of the child's injuries?

"Was it right—what I did?" Nimaron suddenly asked. If Lord Elrond was so very practical and wise, then he must know, "Should I have…should I have let him pass?"

Elrond regarded the younger healer for a long moment before sitting on the side of the bed again. He really did not like to allow himself to dwell on cases like this one—there was so much pain that seemed to pass to anyone closely involved with the particular patients, and if he were to let himself get more than professionally interested he would have drowned in all of the hurt by now. He gestured slightly to the elfling, beginning slowly, "This little person, Nimaron, is someone's child. That is something in and of itself. No parent would ever wish this on their child, on any child; but much less they would wish death, not while there was still a chance of something good. If you ever have a child of your own you will understand better." He managed a thin smile, rising and heading for the door, "Now, I suggest that you go home and rest for awhile."

"But…but shouldn't I be here? In case anything happens?" Nimaron asked, finished with the bandaging. It was surprising how quickly Lord Elrond could switch between pensive moods and practical advice.

"I doubt the child is going to wake up before morning, and on my way out I will send someone to stay here through the night," Elrond stated, "You will be of small use in a state of exhaustion."

Nimaron nodded again, unable to argue against that point. He returned the remains of the bandage roll to a basin in the alcove outside of the room, watching Lord Elrond leave.

"Nimaron," Elrond paused in his departure to turn around, "I believe you have acquired a new charge for yourself."

Nimaron glanced back into the small room, responding in a voice that did not seem entirely his own, "I suppose I have."

~*~

"He was awake?" Nimaron stared at Eithel. He had hurried back to the infirmary after getting up to find the other healer carefully bathing the child with warm water.

"You could call it that," Eithel responded, pushing the bowl of water and towel onto a nearby chair. She picked up a comb, slowly picking through the dark strands of the child's hair, "The poor little one was so exhausted, but we were able to get him to drink a little tea before he slipped away again. We tried to rouse him, but he was not going to have any of that." She tenderly smoothed the child's hair with a hand, "You will be coming around again soon, will you not, Little One? You have just been so busy healing, haven't you? That is hard work for such a little person."

Why did she speak to him even if he could not hear her? It must be something that mothers did. Nimaron moved to sit on the bed, watching as Eithel loosely braided the elfling's hair, "He did not have any problems with drinking the tea?"

"No. I think if he would have had more he probably would have been sick…" Eithel tied off the braid, realization hitting her, "No…he didn't have any problems with drinking it, and he was blinking and moving his mouth and everything. The facial nerves must be just fine." She noticed a sigh of relief from Nimaron, and reached over to rub the other healer's shoulder. She could not imagine how it felt to make such a decision, to have been assigned to such a child, "He is going to be just fine, Aron, just fine." The lady smiled softly, putting one of the elfling's tiny hands into Nimaron's as she got up to leave, "I have to return home. My Silima is going to be looking for her breakfast. There is tea in the alcove if you want some."

Nimaron rubbed his thumb over the limp little fingers after Eithel was gone, looking at the small face again before getting up. He stepped out into the alcove, pouring warm brown tea into a china cup. The healer stirred a spoonful of honey into the beverage, watching the thick substance dissolve.

Just fine.

How?

~*~

Grey eyes stared blearily into the shadows, slowly relaxing as things began to take shape. Everything had seemed so shadowy lately, even in dreams…though he could not remember any of those very well. There was a chair with a towel on it…or a blanket…or something…and here in front of his face were his own fingers, half-wrapped in the folds of crisp, clean sheets. Clean sheets were so nice…they made sleeping easier…and it would be so nice to sleep…

Oh…but his head hurt! The sharp pain that he half-remembered—or thought he remembered—was gone, but instead there was a dull ache all over, seeming to shift and throb in places. Sleeping would help it to go away…it would just go away…

He blinked again, his eyes opening and gradually focusing on a window, a little bird outside—a little brown bird—perched on a nearby branch. Maybe he would watch it, just for a tiny bit before going back to sleep. Hopefully it would sing. On such a sunny day it should happily call tswitt-witt-witt! Hello little elfling!

The tiny feathered body hopped about on the spindly branch, and after a moment the dark head began to bob up and down before the tiny creature stretched its neck, the minute beak opening and closing. The actions of the song were all there—he had watched them in the trees a hundred times—but where was the sound? Where was the sound?

And then he remembered.

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Author's Notes: It is hard to say how long it would take for our elfling to 'wake up'…the times vary for different people, and when you figure in the fact that he is an elf, if gets even more difficult. The fact that he opens his eyes spontaneously, responds to administered pain (do not worry…a typical way to test this is to press on a fingernail), and moves around without being prompted are all very promising. If he could hear (and Lord Elrond is right in stating that he cannot [the 'membranes' that he mentions are the eardrums]), he might also respond to verbal commands. It is also very typical that, when he does start to wake up, he is very sleepy and somewhat disoriented.

You may have noticed that, aside from the surgical site, the elfling's head is not bandaged, even though he has skull fractures. Unless these fractures are depressed (think of parts of an eggshell being pushed inside the egg), they usually heal on their own and don't cause much of a problem all by themselves. Because the skull is so thick (even in children) it is far more likely that a fracture would be like a long crack.

Responses to Reviews

A big thank you to each of you…all of your reviews were very encouraging, and they do give me that extra push to continue this story.

*daw the minstrel: The rabid plot-bunnies have been biting for a few months now, and DofN managed to ask enough questions that needed answering. I would not have wanted to make the decision either…it is easy to say you'd decide one way, but I think that when you're actually in the position a lot more floods you.

*Dragon-of-the-north: The little elfling in the prologue is Little One, and aside from a few fragment-y style memories, it is the only time we'll see him before the story takes place. : (

As for the place and people they are talking about in the prologue…that will come later on in the story, as will the "fate" of the child's parents.

The world can seem especially peaceful or wonderful right before you realize that something unfortunate has happened, and it doesn't stop for anyone. It reminds me very much of reading magazines at the hospital during codes.

Mardil is harsh, but as a surgeon who has probably been seeing the most gruesome injuries over the years (and seeing several people fade off even after being 'healed'), I think he would also be hardened and…pained…to a certain degree.

Thank you a million times over for your questions and encouragement…the chapters probably would never have gotten up otherwise. *hugs*

*Bookworm85: I am glad that you enjoyed the first chapter, and hope the story continues to intrigue you. This is something different for me, so we will have to see how I do. *g*  *points to genre blank* I changed it a bit—thank-you for your input on that…I have always been horrible at specifying genre.

*Freya writes: You are going to have to let me know if I make any major medical mistakes in this story! I am a nursing student, so digging up the information was interesting for me (woo-hoo---burr holes and pediatric coma scales!).

I'm glad you liked Nimaron and Mardil's differing views…these sorts of decisions are not made simply, and in a setting like this I think they would be even harder than in our own world (since such an event would not come up as often, and Elves are not, under normal circumstances, disabled in any way).

*Lutris: I am glad you enjoyed the first chapter, especially Nim and the other healer's struggles. The medical notes didn't seem to work well when put right into the story, and I am glad you found them helpful where they were.