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A half-hour later, three disappointed elves stood about Estel's bed. Their emotion was evident through their whispers as they sought not to wake the sleeping boy.
"Nothing! The poppies did nothing for him! This attack was as bad as the last."
"Perhaps we need a stronger dose or – "
Estel giggled.
The three stopped and stared at him.
"Estel? Are you awake?"
"Mmmmmm. I think so. Are you?"
"Estel? Is something wrong?"
The boy had a beatific smile on his face. He raised one hand to pat Legolas and assure him he was very well indeed, but somehow the hand raised itself off the bedclothes for a foot or so, then just fell, bouncing a little. The first healer looked at the hand intently, then stepped forward and picked it up. He lifted it high and dropped it. The hand fell limply and bounced twice. Estel watched interestedly, as if the hand did not belong to him.
"Bouncy, bouncy."
"Estel!" Legolas looked at the chief healer. "What is wrong with him!"
The healer smiled primly. "It is one of the effects of the poppy syrup. Apparently, just as humans are more, er, affected by spirits than we are, they are more affected by the properties of the syrup, as well."
"This is appalling!"
"Perhaps not. I have an idea how to use the syrup more efficaciously. You noticed the lack of rigidity in his muscles? He may now not be capable of having a seizure. I suggest we keep him heavily dosed for the rest of the day and see what happens."
Legolas looked dubiously at his very relaxed and happy friend. "Will it harm him to be like this for hours?"
"I cannot truthfully say. But we have all agreed that the seizures must be stopped; I am simply proposing an experiment. If it does not work, we will, of course, stop giving him the poppy syrup at once."
Twenty-four hours later the three again stood around the bed.
Legolas was almost as light-headed as Estel with relief. "I cannot believe that he has not had an attack. Have we truly found the answer?"
The head healer hid his considerable satisfaction (Elrond—foremost healer indeed! Perhaps now his Prince would sing a different song!) "It is too soon to say. I propose that we maintain this dosage and frequency of administration for the next few days. If it works we will maintain that level in his body until we are certain the cycle has been broken. That may take some time. I must say, he is an easier patient to deal with at present!"
Estel smiled happily, "I should like a present. A very large present with silver ribbons."
Legolas looked from Estel to the healer helplessly. "You think that is easier to deal with?"
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When two weeks had passed with no attacks, Legolas took quill in hand and scratched an embassage to the Lord Elrond of Imladris. Now that there was better news, it was time to let Estel's father know what had been happening to his son. He sent a messenger with instructions to ride with all speed to the valley.
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One week later, in Imladris
Elrond read the parchment with relief at first. Estel being Estel, he had been naturally been bitten by some poisonous fauna or other, indigenous to Mirkwood. Thankfully, the initial sickness had passed. As he read on, however, he became more and more concerned. By the time he was finished, he was as frightened as on the occasions Estel had been brought home at death's door. He hurled the parchment from him and shouted for Erestor. The councilor came from the study next door with his eyebrows doing a fine imitation of his liege's.
"You roared, my lord?" But his humor disappeared at the expression on Elrond's face.
"Erestor, send to Glorfindel and tell him to prepare an armed party, a dozen or so. Provision them for a forced march to Mirkwood. Have an extra horse for every elf. We will not stop for rest and we will change horses every three leagues –"
"WE? Elrond, you cannot go with them! Whatever it is, Glorfindel can deal with it!"
"Erestor, they are killing Estel in Mirkwood!"
Erestor's mind reeled. "What! Thranduil may harbor ill feelings toward you but surely he would not risk open war by harming Estel! And even if he did, twelve warriors will not take Mirkwood, even if Glorfindel is one of them!"
Elrond held up his hand. "Silence! Listen to me carefully. They are not murdering him, but they may as well be. They are dosing him with syrup of poppies in large amounts. You will not have forgotten what happened to Lolindir?"
Erestor paled. Then he took a deep breath and became once again the unflappable advisor.
"I will inform Glorfindel myself. Get your things together; we will meet in the courtyard in an hour. Please eat something before you leave and make sure you have miruvor with you. I will send an aide to fetch and carry whatever you need from the infirmary." He turned with a swirl of robes and was gone.
When Elrond, dressed for hard and fast travel, came out to the courtyard he found all in readiness. His bags were tossed before his saddle and secured while a grim-faced Glorfindel gave his final instructions and checked every detail of his company's preparedness.
"We are ready, my lord."
"Erestor, instruct my sons to stay here when they return. We will be too far forward for them to be of any help to us. Elladan will command the guard; you are in charge of all else. Glorfindel, mount your troop. Let us go!"
By changing horses the elves were able to average sixty miles a day, although Glorfindel was glad they would not be fighting at the end of the march (he hoped!). They stopped not for rest, nor food, nor danger. The two groups of Orcs they met were simply mown down, causing barely a pause in the desperate pace.
Elrond rode in silence, thinking through all he knew of the properties of poppy syrup and the ways to counteract the accumulative effects. Unfortunately, there was little. Elves normally healed so quickly that only a few days on the stuff were ever needed. According to Legolas, Estel had been on continuous heavy doses for three weeks. By the time they arrived in Mirkwood it would be nearly four. Elrond's greatest fear was that the healers, deciding a cure had been affected, would stop all the medication at once.
Elrond thought of the elf he had known long ago. His hip had been utterly shattered with no way to repair it. Elrond had been learning his craft and had been allowed to help care for the elf. Lolindir, too, had been heavily dosed with the syrup of poppy for weeks. He had had the potion too quickly withdrawn. Elrond remembered the sickness, of a severity rarely seen in elves, as the body protested the loss of the tincture. The elf had ultimately thrown himself from the healing house window, dashing the life from his body on the pavement below. Elrond had seen him jump. He now looked to Glorfindel to see if they could increase their pace. His seneschal met his eyes sympathetically but shook his head. The horses were being pressed beyond their limits as it was.