Disclaimer: See preceding chapters.

I am sincerely sorry for taking so long to update—there are things in this chapter that I spent a good chunk of time debating, as well as things that will appear in future chapters.

Thank you again to everyone who has reviewed—I can only say again that each of your comments is very much appreciated.

--Aranel (aranels@hotmail.com)

Author's Notes and Responses to Reviews follow the chapter.

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Chapter 4

The sky was so very, very blue. It was usually blue, of course, but at this moment it was a blue that one could almost wrap themselves in if they so chose. White clouds drifted across the brilliant expanse, and the highest branches of the trees stretched out to touch it. Anor in her place smiled, pale and yellow today, and spread her soft, sunny blanket over the treetops and tall, pale grass. There was very little wind, and it moved the grasses and leaves only a fraction at a time, the changes barely perceptible.

He could remember a day like this one, lying on the fraying brown picnic blanket between Ada and Nana. He had taken off his shoes and been rubbing his toes in a bare spot of dusty dirt between the scratchy little patches of dry grass. Nana had been telling him a story about…about something he could not remember anymore. It had been a nice story though, and Ada had been interrupting to tell him whenever a bird lighted on a branch or a chipmunk paused between its hurried gatherings to look at them.

It was wonderful to have another day like that one now. The sky was blue, and the day was warm, and the birds were singing.

~*~

"He must be asleep again," Aglariel walked into the room given to the elfling, finding Nimaron still sitting on the bed next to the child. The little one rested awkwardly against the pillows and Aron's side, one hand tightly wrapped in the bed sheets and the other grasping the curve of his right ear.

"Yes," Nimaron responded, carefully lifting the child so that he could get up, "It is not going to hurt him any."

"We held a meeting in the round room," Aglariel watched as Nimaron propped the child's shoulders up so that he could arrange the pillows to support his head. She had always admired that in him—how gentle he was with the tiny people he treated. It had seemed an almost laughable matter so many years ago, the first time she had seen him sitting across from a worried young father and his tiny daughter, the little girl's foot propped up on his towel-covered knees while he picked slivers of glass out of it. It had seemed a most natural position to him, since he was able to talk to the child the whole time, occasionally peering up from his work.  No one had taught him that.

And regardless of the numerous times she had watched him, she had never quite learned it. Aglariel drew in a long breath, returning her thoughts to the actual conversation, "I've gone over all of the information again, with Seregon of the Guard. A few people have also gone over your medical reports from yesterday—you should have come."

Nimaron nodded, releasing the child's ear from his fingers and carefully pressing the ear forward to look at the purpled skin behind it, "I would have, but it was important that I be here. You saw how he was when he first awoke." 

"Well, perhaps you could answer a few questions now. We put together some papers for you to fill out, and Seregon wants to meet with you as soon as possible. I need to know how long you think he was hurt before Hathel and his company found him, and what sort of blow could have caused the breaks." Noting the slight disapproval that played across Nimaron's face, Aglariel added, "In case there is a prosecution, Aron. It is important." She continued, laying a folder on the foot of the bed, "Some of the healers want more detailed information on his mental state, and they want you to include an assessment and description of his eardrums in your next report, along with information on his overall health."

"I did that," Nimaron interrupted, reaching over to take the folder and sifting through the contents to find his report, "It is not any less detailed than I normally do. Did they miss this?"

"No," Aglariel pressed her lips together for a moment, "They just want more information."

"For what?" Nimaron looked up at her, his brow creased. For as long as he had known her, Aglariel had always had a persistent habit of gathering up information, necessary or otherwise.

For all his gentleness and patience, Aron must have bartered a good portion of whatever common sense the Valar had granted him. Aglariel sighed, "Research. Records. An injury like the child's is not particularly common, and an especially detailed record might be beneficial in the future. A few asked if they could come and look him over themselves."

"No, I'd prefer to limit that number of people he sees for now," Nimaron retrieved a pen to begin the long job of filling out the papers, his voice holding an uncommon aggravated edge, "Unless they can aid him somehow, perhaps. I will add to the reports, and Eithel has been here to verify everything; that should be sufficient."

~*~

Nimaron strode down the hall, the folder of papers under an arm while carrying a cup of tea, still hot, and a meat pastry, now cold, in his hands. It would be good to sit outside for a little while, at least—just long enough to take a light lunch and to fill out the shower of paperwork without any interruptions.

They wanted information for prosecutions and research and records. He would admit that it was all very important, and he would give it to them, but a certain part of him regretted that they did not ask him to find out the child's like or dislike of certain foods or what he was afraid of or the caregivers he liked best.

It was indeed a frightened little person they were dealing with, after all, not a broken head.

The healer settled down onto the bench outside his charge's window, able to glance in every now and again. He spread the papers out over his lap, taking a long sip of the minty tea before searching for his pen. His fingers strayed over the deep engravings in the bench's back, still there after years of weathering and time. Names…

"Here, Aron? Is this where you want it?" someone interrupted his work a while later, and Nimaron glanced up to see one of the young healing apprentices stumbling near him with the heavy base of a birdbath carried haphazardly in his arms.

"What are you doing with that?" Nimaron pushed his papers back onto the bench, getting up to help the other elf lower the pedestal onto the ground, "This belongs further towards the south side, Ovoril. And you shouldn't have carried it yourself, you might have strained your back."

"Mardil told me to move it over here," Ovoril responded, breathing heavily but grinning, and glad to have the heavy stone back on the ground. He smoothed a few loose strands of dark hair back into the simple twist at the back of his head, "He said you wanted something for that little elf to look at. Personally, I would have chosen some toy—you know, soldiers or a boat or something like that—but he said that it had to be this thing. Would you help me with the basin?"

"Mardil told you to move this?" Nimaron lifted his side of the basin, making his way back to the pedestal with Ovoril.

"Yes," Ovoril settled the basin into place, oblivious to the disagreements between the two healers. He batted at a few more wayward strands of hair, this time pushing them behind his ears, "That Eithel just brought by a basket too. She's nice, you know. If I'd have known, I'd have signed up to be her apprentice instead of Mardil's. She's a lot more patient and that. Or yours, maybe, except you weren't taking one, on account of you only being back here for a few months, and I don't really want to work with little tots and them all the time."

"Mardil was my teacher, for a time," Nimaron dusted off his hands, surveying the birdbath, "He can be difficult, but you will learn a lot from him."

"I suppose," Ovoril shrugged, "He's letting me take out stitches today. Look, that Aglariel is at the window waving for you. I'll bet if I was her apprentice I would be putting stitches in by now."

Nimaron gathered his things, heading back into the infirmary, "Perhaps, though it is more likely that you'd be filing her paperwork."

~*~

As he entered the alcove outside the elfling's small room, Nimaron paused, staring at the shelf that ran across one wall. Despite his earlier thoughts, they had not forgotten.

There were a few small bundles of late summer flowers tied with ribbons, several little paper cards, and a wide wicker basket containing a few sets of clean children's clothing. On top of the soft garments lay a few toys and games, and folded next to these was a beautiful little blanket of white cloth covered in embroidery.

"My mother made it for her first grandchild years ago," Aglariel commented, smiling a little, "She said that it was highly unlikely that she would ever acquire the aforementioned grandchild though, and she decided that your charge might like it after hearing about him." She unfolded the little blanket, smoothing a hand over the stitched swirls that made blue, white, and silver stars, "The clothing is from Eithel. It is just a few things…some of her friends have children about the same size."

"Thank you," Nimaron managed, taking the blanket when Aglariel held it out. The fabric was soft from being handled during the painstaking embroidery, and he was rather shocked that Rhîwith had simply given the blanket away.

Aglariel nodded, walking into the room, "Mardil had the birdbath outside moved over to the window, and brought the rocker in from the sunroom."

"The rocking chair too?" Nimaron looked at the other healer, surprised yet again.

"He is not sorry, if that is what you think," Aglariel stayed in the doorway, now grinning widely, "He said that if you had to keep the poor child on this side of Mandos' doors, then he should at least have a nice place to sit." She glanced towards the bed, where the elfling was just beginning to stretch and blink again, and her look sobered, "Tell me if you would like a hand with all of the paperwork. Maybe I'll come and sit too, if I get a chance."

~*~

Nimaron sat down on the side of the child's bed, relieved when the gray eyes opened to give the room a few long glances instead of immediately closing out the new surroundings again. The elfling blinked a few more times, then immediately began crying as before, although there was no screaming or calling this time. And, oddly enough, when the bleary gray eyes rested on the healer, two little arms were immediately thrust out, an obvious demand to be gathered up.

~*~

He didn't care who picked him up. He just wanted to be held right now, to be pulled onto somebody's lap and cuddled until he felt better.

The child found himself on somebody's knees, allowed to snuggle his face into soft folds of cloth that smelled faintly of lemons. He knew that smell…from earlier in the day. It was the same person who had held him before. He wasn't sure why that made him feel better, but he tilted his head a little to look at the person's face.

The lemony person had dark hair like Ada and Nana's, and eyes that were easy to look at. He reached up to touch one of the person's ears, noticing that he smiled suddenly at that. It must have tickled. His hands went to his own ears then, fingering the curves and pressing here and there just in case maybe that would make them work. It hurt, but he wanted them to work again—right now! Right now, right now, right now!

~*~

Nimaron had been slightly surprised at how readily the elfling had planted himself on his lap, even grabbing at folds of his tunic before peering up for a moment. The very slightest ghost of a smile had played over the tiny face at getting a surprised smile from the healer, right before the little one's fingers strayed to inspect his ears again.

In only seconds the child was pulling and slapping at his bruised ears, suddenly nearly screeching out the word, 'Now!' when he had been only sniffling a moment ago.

"It is all right, little one," Nimaron heard himself soothing, quickly intervening by grabbing up the small star blanket and catching the elfling's hands in that. Apparently surprised and pacified for the moment, the child actually quieted.

It suddenly became apparent that while he had thought he knew a good deal about healing an elfling, he had really only just opened the door to such knowledge before now.

~*~

The elfling found his hands gently guided away from his head by the lemony elf, given instead the folds of a blanket to grab at, the same blanket that was being used to pat at the stingy tears that were dribbling from his eyes. He hadn't realized he'd been crying, but now that he knew, he did not really care.

He wound his hands in the blanket, gazing fuzzily at the stars all over it and finally rubbing the snuggly fabric against his face. It reminded him very much of being at home, with Ada and Nana. He fingered a star, a blue one, thinking about them.

They would come. They would find him. Then they would sit with him on this big bed and hold him on their laps. Ada would wrap the blanket around his shoulders and rock him and say he was 'snug as a bug in a rug', and Nana would kiss his forehead and then his cheeks and then his hands, so that he would have one or two extra kisses in case he woke up in the middle of the night.

He shifted on the lemony elf's lap, trying to get the blanket around his shoulders and opening one of his hands. Maybe Nana's last kiss was still there. Maybe he could keep it until she and Ada found him.

And maybe this was not such a bad place to wait for them.

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Author's Notes

You may have noticed that our elfling ("Little One") hears birds in his dream, and imagines his ada (daddy) saying something to him towards the end of the chapter. This may seem unnecessary to mention, but I've noticed a stereotype that people who are deaf as a result of an injury cannot hear sounds 'in their heads' anymore. Though this is possible if there is brain damage, it is far more likely that Little One would gradually forget how certain things sound, if he forgets at all.

You may also notice that a good number of people are aware of Little One's presence and present condition—I doubt the Imladris infirmary would be as committed to confidentiality (keeping patient information private) as modern hospitals are.

For those of you who have never read about Nimaron before and might be questioning his abilities, it is true that he has never handled a case like this before. Some people who 'know' Nim have compared him to a pediatrician, and in my small Legolas fics he works almost side-by-side with Legolas' family for quite a few years. (I am aware that not everyone may enjoy that version of Legolas, so while my 'universe' shall remain intact, Legolas will most likely never be mentioned by name in this story.) Though he doesn't have any children of his own (he is not married either), he has worked intimately with families and observed parents and their children in a variety of situations.

Finally, since Little One doesn't speak English, 'snug as a bug in a rug' would not rhyme and likely wouldn't be a popular saying. I liked it though, so it is there.

Responses to Reviews

*daw the minstrel: I wanted to break the stereotype of LOTR foundlings—usually their parents are dead at the scene, they have little/no hesitation to cling to whoever it is that finds them, and they heal within a day or two. The fate of Little One's parents will be revealed later on in the story.

*Dragon-of-the-north: Well, I have finally updated again…within a month, at least. *guilty look* Thank you for all of your wonderful comments and encouragement, and for keeping it all up between updates!

I wanted to sort of tie each chapter to the one before it, and scenery seems to serve well enough. As for the pretty, peaceful bits standing in contrast to the rest of the story, that is intentional.

Ah, your new assumptions…I will reply to those in an email when I next hear from you. I should have responded to them sooner. (Or did I? It's been so long that I don't even remember anymore.)

I'm glad you like Silima—after everything in the chapter, I had to have some sort of balance. Silmë has been fun to develop as a character—she will be dropping in again, as the "kid's eye view" on certain bits are just way too appealing. As for the question of whether or not she will still want to play with Little One after learning that he's deaf—probably. She's quite the persistent 'little mother' type (think Cúran with a self-confident edge).

Thank you for all of your comments on the bits with Little One as well. *hands over the tissues* I am sorry Alagant was upset—hopefully the blanket bit helped.

*Lutris: Thank you for the suggestion on the vibrations—it may make it into the story at one point or another, so keep your eyes open! I'm glad that you've been finding the medical notes helpful. And… *guilty look*…I'm sorry for such a late update!

*FarFlung: Thank you for checking this out—it has been difficult to write (mainly because avoiding certain clichés has necessitated writing very different emotional scenes), and I imagine that it is not the easiest story to read either.

Goodness…I'm a sucker for elflings too, and rest assured that I would never be happy with this story unless Little One would be fairly all right at the end of it. Call me sappy, but I tend to stick by old Bilbo's belief that books (or stories) should end well.

*Dragon Confused: It is a sad story, but the idea has been bothering me like a pebble in my shoe for a long time. I imagine the elves would have a significantly different view on the situation than humans would—since as a people they are so centered on the spoken word (they call themselves "Quendi", after all), I imagined the idea of a deaf elf would just hit some like a brick.

Thank-you for your encouragement (aka nudging) outside of the reviews as well—Little One and his wooden spoon are not always enough to prod me.

*anna: Hello, and thank you for reading! Little One's (and his parents') story will all be revealed eventually. *Little One strains on tiptoe to be picked up and huggled by this especially cuddly reviewer*

*rikwen: Being Nimaron's "charge" means that the elfling's medical care is in Nim's hands. Because the child's parents are not present, he has authority (unless overruled by Lord Elrond) to decide who is allowed to see the child, what sorts of treatments might be used, etc. This includes choosing which healers will attend him, and eventually deciding who to place him with if his parents still don't show by the time he's well enough to leave the infirmary.  Doctors today do not have this kind of control—however, I imagine elven healers having fairly close relationships with their patients and the patient's family, mainly because there would be a lower healer-patient ratio (since elves don't get sick) and because of the issues with caring for wearied/grieving spirits.

For the likelihood of Nimaron acting as a foster parent, see the author's notes. You've asked some excellent questions! I adore it when reviewers do that!

I am a slow updater, but I like to think that I will eventually finish all of my stories—so never fear, this will not get abandoned!

*Lady Berenice: I am glad you've enjoyed the story so far. *Nim takes a look at your review, re-reads it, and looks very amused and happy* It's surprised me how many people have mentioned that they like Nimaron—people generally seem to like big, strong warriors, and he is a soft-spoken healer in lemon-rinsed scrubs.

*Anon E. Mus: The Complete Book of Herbs sits an arm's length away when I'm writing. *g* Though the medical info. in this story doesn't match ancient/medieval medicine in all respects (i.e., I imagine the elves would have a better understanding of anatomy and how the body works in general, they have better hygiene, etc.), the elves would probably be similarly limited to herbs/certain medical instruments/etc. I'm glad to hear that you're enjoying the story.