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

Thank you to those of you who reviewed. I really do appreciate each and every message, especially for this story.

--Aranel (aranels@hotmail.com)

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Chapter 3

In the gardens that framed the back section of the Imladris infirmary, a finch lighted on the spindly brown branch of a young maple. It hopped along its perch, finding a place between the tender green leaves where the sun shone with early morning warmth. Such pleasantries merited some small thanks, and so the bird raised its tiny voice in song, a fitting offer to those who had shaped the world with music themselves.

Nimaron leaned against a wall in the alcove, slowly continuing to stir his tea as he watched the finch outside. A glance back into the little room showed him that the child had shifted slightly in the bed, still just a small lump under the white sheets. The healer took a long sip of his tea, his mind never ceasing to mull over his recent choices yet again as he stared into his drink. What would he do when the little one woke up? What would happen? What…

A sudden cry caught the healer's attention, rapidly rising in volume and intensity.  The teacup was hastily abandoned on the counter in the alcove, tipping and overturning to spill steaming liquid over its matching saucer and a few blank papers. Nimaron leaned into the little room for a moment, frozen for a few long seconds before actually doing anything.

The child was still in bed, his eyes tightly closed and his small hands ever at his ears. Pulling, slapping, poking…as though through all of this he might be able to force some sound into them. Equally paining were the cries the little one emitted…such varying, panicked cries, and within them Nimaron could catch what sounded very much like calls for 'Ada' and 'Nana'. Where were Ada and Nana? They should be here. Not anywhere but right here.

In half a moment the healer was sitting on the bed, haphazardly drawing the child within the sheets onto his lap and catching the flying hands within his own. At this the elfling only stiffened, continuing to cry out. Nimaron released the struggling little fists, moving to hold the child with one arm as he rubbed the quivering back in circles with his free hand, murmuring the usual words of comfort even if only he could hear them. Now free, the elfling's hands pounded against the healer's shoulders and pulled at his hair, as though there was some need to lash out.

Never, never, had he ever heard a child scream like this. There was something more than the usual pain in the little one's cries, something angry and hurt and—more than anything else—something terrified. He had heard hints of these cries before, but always they had been quickly soothed away by a concerned mother or father or other close adult, hardly lasting long enough to be considered. Always there had been a comforter, always.

There was no ada, no nana now…only a healer working on impulse, and a very frightened child.

~*~

Where were Ada and Nana? Where were they? The child shut his eyes against the unfamiliar surroundings, against the undeniable truth that this was not where Ada and Nana were.

A swirl of memories was in his aching head, seeming to slosh back and forth without forming a good picture.

'Ada! Ada!'

'Stop! Wait! Valar, do not!'

'You wanted this, did you not? By your own words…'

 'No!'

'Ada, help me!'

He could remember being held, held in a way that Ada and Nana had never held him, and being so scared…so scared…and Ada and Nana…Ada and Nana had not been able to help…

The world that was now exploded with the white light from the world that was then as he edged open his eyes, wanting desperately for it to just stop. Slowly the sensation of a hand rubbing his back edged its way into his consciousness, and he felt himself gently rocked by someone who was most definitely not Ada or Nana, but who did seem bad either.

He drew in a long breath, feeling the air shudder within him before surrendering to whoever it was that held him now. There was some slight shred of relief in focusing on the repetitive circles on his back, in dropping all resistance to simply be held.

~*~

Nimaron felt the small body slump against his chest, the child's panicked cries now reduced to shuddering sobs. The grey eyes stayed half-lidded as the little one drew in trembling breaths, having chosen some spot on the pale wooden wall to stare at.

Was it right? In grace and mercy, was it right to make a child endure this? The healer struggled to let a long breath out smoothly, fighting to keep a rational perspective. The decision was made. The child was alive. He was awake. It was the responsibility of a healer to ensure that he received what he required in order to heal. Nimaron rubbed the little one's back absently, trying to determine most critical of the child's needs.

It quickly became apparent that he could not fulfill a single one.

~*~

Aglariel heard the child's cries from her desk in the hallway, the legs of her chair grating against the wooden floor as she pushed it out with her feet. She hurried to the little room at the end of the hall, leaning through the doorway to see Nimaron sitting on the bed, slowly rocking the child on his lap.

"Is he all right?" she walked towards the bed, sitting next to the other healer. She was not sure exactly how to respond to the elfling, but former experience had taught her that Aron might want to talk at least a little, "Did he say anything?"

"He called for 'Ada' and 'Nana'," Nimaron responded quietly, pulling the blankets up around the child's shoulders, "Would you fix a cup of chamomile tea…no, valerian, with honey? The decoction from earlier this morning should still be in the preparation room, just be sure to halve the dose." He did not feel entirely at ease with giving the elfling something that would only give him a false sense of calm, but it seemed better than no comfort at all.

"I can do that," Aglariel started to get up, relieved to have something helpful to do. It was unnerving to only sit there watching as Nimaron tried to soothe the obviously upset child, especially since she had absolutely no idea what to do herself. "Is there anything else you need?"

 "Would you mind asking Eithel if she has something that he might wear? And…" Nimaron searched his mind for something that might reassure the little one. Other children he had treated usually clung to some scrap of a blanket or stuffed animal when they were unwell or upset, huddled up on their parents' laps all the while. The healer sighed heavily, noticing how the elfling had wound his fingers into the sheets, nuzzling them to the side of his face. "Do you have any idea where his parents are, Aglariel?"

"None," the lady headed out of the room, "Hathel and a few departed earlier this morning to visit a nearby settlement; perhaps they can gather some information." She paused, standing near the door, "The only person who really knows what happened is the little one, Nimaron. If he says anything, anything, tell me."

~*~

Silima stirred milk into her cereal, watching steam rise as the table was splattered with bits of her breakfast. Her small fingers stretched across the table to pull over the spice shaker and a small bowl of raisins that her mother had set out, sure that Nana would not mind if she helped herself. The little girl pushed back against her chair, bracing her bare feet against one of the table legs in order to lean back just far enough to see Nana talking with Lady Aglariel in the front room.

"That's mine!" The blond-haired child was out of her chair in a moment, scampering over to where her mother was folding the long top to one of her night outfits before putting it into a basket. Baskets were generally given away as gifts…there had been a basket of jams and jellies for Lady Aglariel's house party, and a basket of little knitted booties and washcloths to welcome the neighbors' baby. The child twisted a few fingers in her blond hair, observing Nana fold the matching shorts, "That's mine, Nana."

"I know, Silmë," Eithel paused for a moment to look at her daughter, "We need something for an elfling at the infirmary to wear though, and I thought he could borrow this until we find him something else."

"Doesn't he have his own?" Silima pulled the long, pale green shirt out of the basket, holding it up. It was not a favorite…in fact, she could not remember wearing it more than once or twice. Nana had not had time to embroider any flowers across the front or to add any scalloped lace to the hem. "Can't his nana bring him something?"

"We do not know where his ada and nana are," Eithel told her daughter gently, folding the top again as it was handed back, "The guards found him lost and hurt on the path." Noting her daughter's concerned look, Eithel reached over and smoothed the child's hair, "Isn't it good that they found him, Silmë? Now Nimaron can take good care of him at the infirmary, and the soldiers can look for his ada and nana. Nimaron asked if you knew of something that might be nice for him to have while he gets better; why don't you go pick something out?"

"He is little like me, right Nana?" Silima picked up the pajama top again, trying to figure out how big or small a person would fit into it.

"Maybe a little younger," Eithel responded, wondering just how many times she would have to re-fold the article of clothing.

Silima folded it herself this time, placing the bundled cloth into the basket, "Can we play?"

Eithel stood up, lifting the basket, "Oh, Silmë, his head is hurt very bad, and he is not feeling very good right now. I do not think he will want to play."

Silima let out a disappointed sigh, then looked up at her mother again, "What about tomorrow?"

~*~

"There we are, little one," Eithel guided one of the elfling's arms through a sleeve of the nightshirt, tugging the garment onto the child's small frame, "I think that is better." From the child she got hardly a response: by the time she had arrived, he had taken to staring at the wall with half-closed eyes, Nimaron still rubbing his back in slow circles. He had shuddered and flinched a little at being moved, then regarded her for barely a second before turning his attention back to the wall.

"Silima picked this out," Eithel handed a thin picture book to Nimaron, "We borrowed it from the city's library awhile ago."

"Thank you," the other healer took it with his free hand, setting it down on the bed before easing the child off of his lap. The little one stiffened again slightly, relaxing once placed back onto the bed and carefully covered with the blankets.

Nimaron opened the book then, glad to see that the first pages were awash with a blending of pale blues, depicting a noon-bright sky over boats on the sea. He rubbed the child's shoulder softly, trying to bring his attention to the pictures. The grey eyes lingered on the illustration for a moment, and then the child allowed his small body to rest against the healer's arm.

The tea must have relaxed the little one to the point of allowing exhaustion to win over anxiety, Nimaron thought, noting the way the elfling had curled up near him, the fingers of one small hand now rubbing at the teary grey eyes.

Or perhaps he wanted to see the picture better.

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Author's Notes

Valerian is an herb. The tea from its roots depresses the central nervous system, and works to ease anxiety and sudden emotional distress. Chamomile is more often chosen for children, but works more as a stress reliever. (So, valerian would be more like a mild sedative; chamomile like a relaxant.)Both also work well as sleep-aids. It is not the wisest thing in the world to sedate someone with a head wound, but as in some cases, our healer has to weigh both risks and benefits.  

Responses to Reviews (Thank you, thank you, thank you for your time!)

*Dragon-of-the-north: Thank you for all of your support (in reviews and otherwise) of this story…it makes the writing and posting and all worth it, and manages to keep my imagination going as well. *g*

Nimaron has yet to decide if he's done the right thing or not, and as you pointed out, will have to make that decision all by himself. Different things keep coming up and supporting either side of the argument…poor Nim indeed.

*g* I'm glad you enjoyed Lord Elrond. Because he is such a common character in fan fiction, I did not want to make him come across in a way that might seem out of character. And yes…I think he would have something of a different view on the situation. For one thing, he is much older than many of the other people in the story, and his position would probably dictate his response to a certain degree.

The part with the bird on the windowsill came about on its own…Little One's thoughts at this point are something completely different for me to write, and so I am relieved to find out that they have had the desired (but rather unfortunate) effect. Originally I planned to leave his early thoughts out altogether, but, as you well know, this particular elfling is rather demanding, and demanded that his point of view be included.

*daw the minstrel: Was the bird scene pathetic in the true sense of the word, or in an over-the-top sort of way? For some reason that term always manages to snag me with its various connotations. *g*

I was rather anxious to get into the elfling's point of view as well, unhappy though it is…the characters do not seem quite real for me until they've had their own say.

*Lutris: Yes, our elfling is awake! But very upset too. : (

Being Nim's charge means that the elfling will be medically cared for by Nimaron, just as Legolas is Nim's charge in the other stories. But you are right, Nimaron is also something of a family for this elfling. We will find out what has happened to his family later in the story.

*Anyone Else: Thank you for taking the time to check out this rather different story. If you have an extra moment, please let me know what you think or at least that you are reading.