disclaimer I don't own it. /disclaimer
Elrond silently emerged from the sickroom, only to find himself facing his three sons and Gandalf.
She will live? Estel asked softly. He had helped Elrond with some of her wounds, but there were some wounds he could not yet attend to, for she had been injured inside as well as out.
She should live, now. Elrond replied almost wearily. He could not help but see the scene in his mind over again, how she had been beaten about as though she were worse than an orc. How she had lay so still in a growing pool of her blood before Elrohir had reached her, the walls around her also spattered with her blood. How she would still be healthy and smiling had he not declared that she had to return to her home, that the threats of her mother were mere threats.
He had not wanted to think that such a thing could be true, that a woman would willingly kill her own child for seemingly no reason.
She does not wake? Gandalf's voice was low, his meaning clear. Will she ever wake again?
She does not wake, and I have little hope that she will. We must try to draw her back to the light, see that she wants to return. His next words were measured. She will remain here, either way. I shall do as you asked of me at the start of this, Gandalf, and take her as my foster daughter. It was the closest he had ever come to admitting he was wrong.
Gandalf merely nodded his ascent, as did his sons.
Gandalf sat by Vasha's bedside some two months later, his spirits low. She did not wake. And many wondered if she ever would, though none said so. She was still cared for without complaint, only a growing sorrow in all those who saw and cared for her. She had retained some semblance of being aware; she could still swallow the broths that were fed to her, drink slowly of cool water and healing liquids, but that was all. She scarcely ever stirred in the large bed, and what little hope had remained in the hearts of her caretakers was slowly drained, bit by bit, with each passing day.
"I am sorry for this, little one." Gandalf sighed, touching the small hand that lay on the comforter, "Had I argued my point a bit more you would still be that lovely vibrant child we knew, filling Rivendell with laughter and your endless questions. You are needed here, my little imp, and sorely missed. If only you would come back to us..."
"...Did I go somewhere?" A soft, scratchy voice asked, the tone solemn. Gandalf looked at her, surprised. Joy filled his eyes, causing them to twinkle with mirth once again as he smiled kindly.
"No, little one. You've been right here all along, but you have been quite ill.
"Oh." She paused, trying to think. "Who're you?"
His heart slowly sank. Her memories were gone. To be expected after such violence, after hitting her head so hard, so many times, yes... But the knowledge that she did not remember him brought him quite low indeed.
"I am Gandalf... Do you not remember?"
"No." She shook her head slowly, "I 'member that I can be aminals, and I can draw doors..." She yawned, and snuggled under the blankets, closing her eyes. "I'm seepy..."
"Then rest then, Vasha... Rest, and recover your strength." And hopefully, your memories.
"Is that my name?" She asked, her voice already heavy with sleep.
There were tears in his eyes as he answered. "Yes, little one. Your name is Vasha. Rest now, while I go see Lord Elrond and tell him you woke."
"'Kay..."
Gandalf waited until her breathing had evened, which didn't take long. Secure in the knowledge that she was sound asleep, he went to see his old friend, and tell him that while she had finally woken from such a deep slumber, that things were worse than they had feared.
Authors Note: Yes. She has amnesia. Which is a good thing, because who would want to remember their mother doing something like that to them?
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