Disclaimer: See preceding chapters.

How long has it been? Over three months? I am sorry for such a long wait, and extend heaps of thanks to those of you who continue to read despite the rare updates, different subject, and slow progress.

I'm not entirely sure how I feel about this chapter, but if I hadn't put something up soon, I think this story would stay at a permanent standstill.

-Aranel (aranels@hotmail.com)

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

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Chapter 5

It was so good to go home. Even the walk there was refreshing: the dim twilight giving way to darker night and the first glinting stars, the waning hustle of the day dying down, the feel of gradually cooling air. None of this, however, felt quite as good as laying his hand to the polished metal of the handle, as having the door open to a place quiet and welcoming.

Nimaron kicked off his shoes, shoving them next to the door with the side of his foot while lighting the lamp that waited on a shelf nearby. Soft light sprang up in the room, and the healer padded into the kitchen for something to drink. It had been an especially long day, and tomorrow would be another such day, and the day after, and the next day after that…

He had not anticipated taking on another charge, not so soon as this. He would have been content to set an occasional broken bone and doctor scrapes and cuts, to fold colored papers into swans and stars while trying to sort out awful days, and to watch healthy little elflings grow from tiny toddling things to strong, sure adults.

Instead, he had a particularly difficult case on his hands. The healer poured the day's milk - as yet untouched - into a pan to warm, musing. A deaf child - what did you do with a deaf child? One might point out that he had successfully calmed the elfling, that he had gotten him to pick at a little food, to relieve himself, even to wash his hands in a basin of water. But it was not as though he could read or tell the little one a story, or teach him any new games, or have any sort of conversation at all with him. He could not even ask the child his name.

~*~

"You should not be eating that."

Nimaron glanced up from the pastry he was about to bite into, catching Eithel's disapproving look. Indeed, it was covered in a sugar glaze, but the fruit inside had been left alone, and he'd taken a cup of tea before leaving the house.

"You should be eating something more nutritious," Eithel went on, holding out her hands for the stack of papers the other healer had been carrying under his arm, "If you would have stopped by my house, I would have let you eat there. We had eggs and toast this morning, and apples."

"This has apples in it," Nimaron took a bite of the pastry, walking with Eithel to the infirmary. He swallowed, wiping off a bit of the sugar glaze on his tunic, "I was in a hurry today. I am hoping to meet with Aglariel and Seregon before the little one wakes up."

"I suppose we had better go check in on him," Eithel walked into the infirmary while Nimaron held the door open for her, "Hopefully he'll take a little breakfast today."

Nimaron followed her inside, "Hopefully."  

~*~

Hoping does not necessarily cause anything to happen the way that one wishes it to.

Nimaron had hoped to meet with Aglariel and Seregon early that morning – but that was not to be. He had also hoped to get some breakfast inside his tiny charge, but that was not likely to happen either.

When he arrived, there was already a tray in the alcove, bearing a bowl of hot cereal with milk and brown sugar pooling through it and a blue cup half-filled with apple juice. The breakfast seemed to have cooled to the point of being unappetizing, and judging by the sounds from the elfling's room, it was unlikely that it would get eaten even if it were still warm.

~*~

Do not spin like that, or you are going to make yourself sick.

Nana had been smiling though, watching him hop from foot to foot in the soft, green grass, his toes carefully avoiding the fragile purple petals of wild violets. It was a good game, a game that he often played when it was warm, whirling in circles like a painted top gone wild. The tall, thin trees would melt into a blur of browns and greens, and if he looked up the sky was a rotating lid of blue. He had laughed, answering, No, I'm not! I can stop whenever I want!

He couldn't stop. He desperately wanted to, but he couldn't stop.

~*~

"Hand me those towels there, will you?" Nimaron held out a hand, taking the stack of small towels from Eithel. He swished one around in a basin of water, wiping at the elfling's hands. If possible, the child actually looked worse this morning, even if he was a bit more alert. The dark bruises had peaked, standing out in stark contrast to little one's wanning features. Nimaron rinsed the cloth, glancing up at Eithel again, "Did Eryn tell you how long he has been like this?"

"She said she picked him up when he started crying early this morning, and he got sick all over her," Eithel shook out a fresh white sheet, spreading it over the unoccupied half of the bed, "Every time he moves his head more than just a little, he starts to sway, and once in awhile he gets sick." She tucked a corner under the mattress, "Poor Little One. Mardil might know of a way to curb it a little; he has treated quite a few people with head wounds."

"He has treated broken eardrums as well," Nimaron nodded slowly, sighing as he dabbed at the child's bruised cheeks, causing the elfling to grab for the cloth in order to wash his own face. "I should really talk with him."

~*~

"That is a good elfling; just hold still," Mardil bit at his lip, trying to see inside the child's ear. He was quite used to peering inside people's ears – it was not unknown for some idiot to poke around in his or her ears with hairpins or quill ends, and there had been the rare occasions when he had the delight of showing one of his apprentices how to drown a wayward insect in oil. However, he was not especially used to elflings – particularly irritable, frightened, nauseous elflings.

"Well," Nimaron held the child on his lap, trying to keep the little one still, "What do you think?"

"I think I cannot see a single thing," Mardil knelt half on the bed, half on the chair he had drawn over, awkwardly trying to adjust his light so that he could get a better look at the elfling's eardrum – or what was left of it. "It is all blood and filth in there; we are going to have to flush them."

"Are you sure about that?" Nimaron started rubbing the child's back in circles. The little one had not taken well to having Mardil examine his ears, even after taking a few thirsty sips of mind-dulling tea, and he could only imagine how the elfling would respond to having his ears flushed out. "His eardrums cannot keep the rinse back."

"They are going to get infected if they are not kept clean. The drums cannot heal properly if there is all that debris in the ears. A vinegar rinse will kill anything in the canals, and dry them up as well," Mardil sighed heavily, turning to Ovoril, who was taking notes in the corner, "Fetch me a glass of rinse and a bandage basin, and a clean towel."

~*~

"That is good," Mardil kept the child's ear pressed back while he poured in a little of the solution to clean it out, eliciting a protesting yelp from the elfling, who tried to wriggle out of Eithel's grasp – though Mardil was not sure if it was to grab his ears or to swipe at the healer. He pressed around the child's ear a little, avoiding a look at the terrified little face and trying ignore the elfling's cries, "Almost done with this one. Nimaron, you are going to have to get him to turn his head so that it can drain out. I will do the other ear in about ten minutes, and we will be done with it." He pressed a pad of folded cloth over the ear, waiting for Nimaron to hold it in place, "You know how I feel about this."

"Do not expand on that point," Eithel gave Mardil a warning look, shifting the child on her lap while Nimaron carefully turned the tiny head in his hands, "Not now."

"Whoever inflicted the breaks probably braced his head like this. It is more frightening than anything else," Nimaron added, knowing that the older healer was not exactly used to frightened, struggling children. He tilted his head in order to see the little one's face, noting with relief that the child had begun to quiet after being left in the same position for awhile. He had worked one hand free enough to be able to rub a handful of blanket across his face, his grey eyes loosely focused on the blue stars.

Mardil was quiet, choosing not to get himself into an argument with Eithel at the moment. There were things that ought to be discussed, and soon, but he was willing to concede that this was not the place and time. He pulled his chair closer to the child again, gently massaging around the ear before pouring a little rinse into it. "All right; that is the end of it," the healer relaxed, gathering up the used supplies into an empty basin, "If all goes well, I will not have to flush them out again. Keep them bandaged until tomorrow; they should finish draining by then." He wrapped a bandage roll around the child's head, effectively keeping the pads over his ears in place, "His ears need to stay very clean and dry; I will try to get another look later this week."

~*~

Was it ever going to stop? He had wanted to scream, and then he had screamed – but nothing sufficient had come out, so he had stopped. Then he had wanted to hide, but it was hard to find a little place to go when every time he moved the world decided to tip and turn. He just wanted to go away…to get away from the tipsy room and the big elves pressing and pulling at his ears and pouring things into them – why did they do that?! Were they trying to do something good, or something bad? How could pouring things into somebody's ears be a good thing? Unless maybe they were trying to wash them, but still! Nana had never washed his ears that way.

He crossed his arms over his eyes, peering out through a crack to watch the big elves. The lady who had held him on her lap during the wet ears was sitting in a chair, folding towels. He could not remember much about the wet ears except being all wrapped up in the blanket that covered him now, and crying and struggling, and of course the big elves getting his ears wet – and the lemony elf's hands holding his head still.

When they were finally finished with everything they had tucked him back into bed with all the blankets, and the lady had kissed his forehead. He didn't want her to kiss him, especially not after all of that, he wanted Nana to kiss him! He wanted Nana right here, right now! He had rubbed at the kiss with his hand, and then he had pulled the cuddly star blanket over his head. For right now, it was the best way to hide. 

The sun was beginning to drift down out of the sky, but the room was still very bright, bright enough for him to be able to see the blue and silver stars stitched onto the white cloth, and to see the big people through the blanket, walking like shadows in the room. Suddenly someone sat down on the bed, and he shifted his eyes to see one particularly familiar shadow sitting next to him. The lemony elf.

He was upset with that lemony elf right now…he was upset with everyone. Upset with the elf who prodded at his ears, upset at the lemony elf for holding him still instead of helping, upset with Ada and Nana for not being there…yes, upset with everyone. So when the elf began rubbing his shoulder, he naturally jerked it away.

~*~

"This was not a very good day for you, Little One," Nimaron sat on the elfling's bed, balancing the most recent paperwork on his knees. The child had scrunched up into a little ball as best he could while on his back, his knees bent and his arms crossed over his head on top of the star blanket, which covered his face. He was probably more used to sleeping on his side, curled up. Really, how was the child accustomed to sleeping? Had he normally slept alone by himself, or in a room with his parents? Was he used to having a light, a special blanket or toy?

The healer reached over to rub the child's shoulder, continuing even when the elfling pulled away. "We did not want to have to do it," he mentioned, carefully tugging the blanket down to cover the little one, "But we had to."

"Aron?" Aglariel peered around the door, her arms full of papers again, "Have you got a few minutes?"

"I suppose," Nimaron nodded towards the empty chair next to the bed, reaching for the papers he had been working on. Aglariel and her mountains of paperwork… "Here are this morning's reports."

"Thank you," Aglariel shuffled the papers into order, "Aron, Seregon asked me to tell you that they were unable to find any information at the settlements. No one has reported a child missing, and no traveling parties have passed through recently. This is not making very much sense."

"No," Nimaron glanced to the elfling, who had drawn his blanket over his head again, this time keeping a firm hold on it with his tiny hands, "It is not. Perhaps they came from a different direction, and diverted to the path; or perhaps the child was lucid for awhile and able to wander around, or…or something."

Aglariel shifted in her chair, watching as Nimaron pushed the embroidered blanket away from the child's face, "What are you going to do, Aron? If they do not find his parents, I mean."

"I plan to talk to Sarn and Beinell," Nimaron remained impassive, though he was slightly surprised that the other healer had decided to address something not especially important to her investigation. He reached for a cup of tea, offering a little to the elfling, who chose to extract one tiny hand from the bedclothes in order to shove him away, "They have raised a lot of children, and I trust them."

Aglariel gave Nimaron a long look then, not surprised when he did not meet her face again. She had gathered over the years that he had not been completely satisfied with having Sarn and Beinell as foster parents himself, though he would readily praise them if asked. "That might be all right."

"It might be," Nimaron finally looked up again, though his eyes quickly drifted to the window, where they rested on the bench beneath the silver pear tree, "He needs his parents though…he needs them very much."

"That cannot be helped, Aron," Aglariel followed his gaze, her fingers twisting the ring she wore on her middle finger around, "He will probably never see them again."

"He has called for them," Nimaron remarked absently, straightening. He looked down at the elfling again, drawing in a deep breath upon discovering that the little one had pulled the blanket over his head yet again, "But really, what am I to do, Aglariel? How do we tell him anything? How is he ever going to learn anything?"

"I do not know," Aglariel responded, nearly getting up from her chair to slide onto the bed next to Nimaron, but staying firmly in her spot instead, "Right now he just has to get better though, and you know how to help with that."

"Perhaps," Nimaron moved back, allowing the other healer to see past him to the blanketed little lump in the bed. It was good to have someone to mention these worries to, even if Aglariel was only taking a moment to be polite. "I am not sure it is going to be enough though – today was a bad day. He has not been sleeping well, and he is not eating very much. Right now he is only angry, but I am afraid he might start to withdraw – and there really is not a lot I can do from there."

"You do what you can," Aglariel commented vaguely, her mind drifting back despite her regrets to several times when she had not done everything she might have. She shook the most stubborn memories from her head, trying to focus on something else, "Would you like to see a story?"

"See a story?" Nimaron raised his eyebrows at her, wondering if she had misspoken.

"Yes," Aglariel smiled mildly, "See a story."

~*~

It was getting darker. At first he thought his eyes were doing something strange again, since the dark did not come gradually, but in large degrees, as though someone were putting out the lights one by one. He peered out from the scalloped edge of the blanket, and someone was indeed putting out the lights.

No! No, no, no, no! If they were putting out the lights, that meant that they were going to make him go to sleep. He did not mind sleeping, really – in fact, it was something rather nice to get lost in the hazy dreams of half memories, but if he went to sleep, that meant that the big elves would leave…and he most certainly did not want to be left alone.

~*~

"Gracious, what is wrong with him?" Aglariel turned from extinguishing one of the lamps affixed to the wall, startled when the elfling suddenly whined out the word 'no', stretching it with alarmed protest as only a small child could. The little one had pulled the blanket off of his head, grasping it in one hand and a fold of Nimaron's sleeve in the other.

"I think he might be afraid of the dark," Nimaron reasoned, patting the child's shoulder until the tiny fingers loosened their grip on his arm, "They did not leave a lantern burning in here last night, did they? I should have thought of that."

"Probably not," Aglariel shook her head, picking up the small one from the bedside table to light before putting out the last lamp on the wall. This she placed strategically on a low shelf, making sure that it lit up the opposite wall adequately. "That should work well," she nodded to herself, noting Nimaron's slight grin upon realizing what she was planning to do. The lady shrugged, hesitantly and carefully sitting down next to the child on the other side of the bed before testing her hands in front of the light, "I thought it was worth a try."

~*~

A bird – perhaps a dove – sprang up on the wall, the feathers of its wings beating out the rhythm of flight before shifting into long-eared rabbit. The child glanced from the shadow-animals to the lady's hands playing in front of the lantern light, trying to figure out the way she had twisted her fingers to turn them into pictures. His mind was getting sleepy though, so he looked back to the wall where a tiny plant was pushing its way out of the ground, slowly unfurling its leaves and then the petals of a blossomy flower. It folded in upon itself, and then the dove sprang up again, fluttering out of the shadow into pristine white feathers, striking its wings against the blue sky that had materialized somewhere in yet another new dream.

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Author's Notes

Postural/positional vertigo – which is what Little One is dealing with - is a common result of damage to the workings of the inner ear. Episodes of dizziness result from moving the head to certain positions, and can be either short or long-lasting. The dizziness is often accompanied by nausea, vomiting, and – most common - loss of balance. Tinnitus (ringing in the ears), though not mentioned in the story, is also very common.

There is a glitch however – Little One's vertigo was not present in the preceding chapters. You can choose to believe the symptoms were more-or-less absent (which is possible, though it requires a somewhat lengthy explanation) or that Nimaron was moving the child slowly enough not to cause any pronounced problems.

It's difficult to see well enough inside a person's ear to see their eardrum without an otoscope, but it is possible if you've got a good light source and good eyes. We'll assume Mardil has both.

Mardil's decision to flush Little One's ears with a vinegar solution has its pros and cons – on the down-side, the child's eardrums are perforated, so they can't block the rinse from going further inside his ears (as Nim points out), but on the up-side, the rinse will flush out most of the debris in the child's ears, along with killing any bacteria or viruses that could take advantage of an ideal habitat. Ear flushes today usually contain rubbing alcohol or a saline solution, but vinegar can also be used, and would probably be more readily available in a place like Imladris. Mardil bandages Little One's ears because otherwise there might be an awful mess on the pillowcases. That, and it will keep his tiny fingers out of his ears.

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Responses to Reviews

*daw the minstrel: Little One really does miss his parents horribly, and being in a place filled with strangers has got to be terribly frightening.

*Freya writes: Thank you for the kind compliments! As for lurking reviewers, I understand completely…it seems to go hand-in-hand with terribly busy writers. *g*

*Dragon Confused: I still have a terrible time figuring out elfling ages, but Little One is the equivalent of about four or five – not quite old enough to have figured out how to read very well, but certainly not a baby! (As he would put it.)

Nim may be fairly soft-spoken, but I think most people have figured out that you don't dare mess with his patients. I think Little One is quite safe from prying investigators.

The community response seemed quite a natural thing for an area like Imladris, where most people probably have connections with several other people, and large crisis involving children are somewhat rare. That, and Eithel is one excellent fundraiser.

*Dragon-of-the-north: I like the part with the memory as well – my own memories from when I was very small are all bits and pieces, mainly narrow details.

I will admit to enjoying writing the scenes with both Aglariel and Nimaron, considering their past and the very differences in regard to care approaches you pointed out in your review. Poor Aglariel…she really is a creative, caring person, for her part…she just doesn't quite know how to handle a small child.

The names in the bench…let's just say that Aglariel's almost got carved in.

Ovoril will be back – I quite like writing the apprentices, since they're still young and learning things, making stupid but forgivable mistakes, etc. And – lol! – no, he hasn't learned the consequences of complaining about teachers yet. *g*

Nim says he quite guilty of the lack of grandchildren for Rhîwîth – perhaps even more so than Aglariel – but…well… umm…yes, very guilty.

*Lutris: Ovoril is new – I'm glad you liked him!

And I'm glad you liked the interaction between Nimaron and Little One – the elfling can't quite decide if he likes that lemony elf or not. *g*

*farflung: Medicare and HMOs for Elves – gosh, I hope not! You're going to give me nightmares of Lord Elrond asking for my insurance card…

Nim's name is on the bench, but Aglariel's is not – I'll explain why later. You are right in assuming they had a relationship at one point though – Aglariel is the lady Nim tells Aldan about in "Holding".

Ai, yes – everyone needs a blankie! I was absolutely addicted to mine when I was small.

Thank you for all of your other wonderful comments – I adored reading over them all.

*Elainor: I agree that life should be preserved whenever there's still a chance of something good. Only the person that life belongs to really knows whether that potential exists or not.