Many thanks to my beta Niroveka!
Chapter 6Elrond was looking, with a carefully blank expression, at the chief healer of Mirkwood. Inside him fury mounted, but he had not survived all he had in the long Ages without learning how to control himself. The healer was not up to his weight anyway; he was grey with exhaustion and grief. Behind Elrond, Glorfindel glared with arms crossed. Even in his current state the healer had no difficulty in recognizing 'the Balrog Slayer.'
"I assure you, Lord Elrond, we have taken every care of him. He was barely conscious this morning; I cannot understand where he could be." He peered about as though expecting to see the human in some nook or cranny of the room. He turned back to Elrond. "I do not understand what I am being accused of. The syrup of poppies stopped the seizures, surely that was of paramount importance?"
A crack appeared in Elrond's control. "You are being accused of being a heartless, incompetent half-wit! For your sake I hope you are merely stupid, for if you are not then you have committed the greatest crime a healer may commit! In my younger days you would have been brought before the High King to answer for this. Even in these sad times, we may yet arrange something!" He stopped and took a deep breath; Estel was far more important than eviscerating this pathetic excuse for a healer. He continued, in the voice that had commanded Gil-Galad's army, "This room now belongs to me. No one will enter or leave without my permission. I am taking over my son's care—assuming we are able to find him! You will not come near him unless I am present. You and at least one other healer will assist me in any way that I desire, day or night. You will clear a room on this corridor for myself and my seneschal. That is all I have to say to you—for now!" He turned abruptly away and the chief healer practically crawled to the door.
Glorfindel sprang across the room and reached the door just as the healer did. He bowed with a great flourish and placed his hand atop the healer's on the handle. His hand closed over the other's and tightened. And tightened. The healer's knees buckled. As his bow brought him close to the healer he said menacingly, "Lord Elrond is an elf of the highest nobility of conduct. There are many things he will not allow himself to do. I, on the other hand, am not so delicate in my sensibilities." The healer made up his mind, right then and there, to sail on the next available ship.
Before Elrond could call his seneschal to heel, they heard heavy, running footsteps in the hall. Legolas suddenly thrust open the door with his back…and swung around to bring an ominously still body into the room.
The next few minutes were filled with feverish action as Elrond barked rapid fire orders at Glorfindel, the chief healer, and Legolas (he was having some difficulty with the healer).
"Yes, the syrup of poppies causes this illness, but he must have a dose at once if we are to save him."
Estel had been placed on his bed, wet clothes and all. In haste, Elrond measured half of the amount poor Estel had been forced to take for a month into a horn spoon. He pulled out Estel's cheek and poured in the syrup, smoothing the throat until the boy swallowed.
Legolas sat on the edge of the bed, chaffing the limp hands and wrists, and ordering his friend to stay with him.
"Estel, stop this nonsense and come back at once! If you do not, I will sell Sadoreth to a drunken Easterling!"
"A dire threat indeed." Elrond summoned a small desperate smile which quickly faded. "Legolas, we have little time; he has traveled far down the White Road. See what you can do to find him while I tend his body."
Legolas tightened his grip on the cold hands.
"Estel? My friend. My brother. Do not go and leave me now! We have many, many years of adventuring before us."
Estel was unaware he had moved nearly twenty miles from where his nightmare began. He was still caught in the vision of his disintegrating heart, and the pile of cold ashes was now far larger than the fading remnant that remained suspended in space above them.
Then something caught at his attention. Though beyond caring about anything, Estel still became aware that something alive and vital had come into his surroundings. He recognized one of the voices that had tormented him and flinched away from it. But with the voice came a sharp physical pain that yet brought life, not death.
Legolas held one of Estel's hands in each of his own and pressed them against his forehead. His grip was so tight that bone and sinew were threatened. He fervently called the boy with his own strong heart and his love for this troublesome human child. He willed his strength to depart from him and enter the failing body before him. He began to speak of his life with the one called Estel. Spoke of the apprehension with which he had held the small squalling bundle that was placed in his arms…spoke of the wonder he felt when he began, in some desperation, to sing softly, and how the mouth closed and the eyes looked directly into his own…spoke of the way his throat tightened when a small human child pelted down the hall calling "Legolas! Legolas! Legolas!" until he was close enough to swarm up the slender elf and throw his arms tightly around his neck. He spoke of many things, while his grip on the hands never lessened.
The cool, dispassionate voice of the cruel Legolas lingered to torment Estel and make him question the life that seemed to flow into him. But now he heard another voice, strangely allied with the pain he felt. This new voice had great power… and Estel made up his mind to make a small effort, the only kind he could make, to close his ears to the one and reach out to the other.
The fingers that were bloodless and white in the elf's desperate grasp moved the slightest bit.
Elrond commanded sternly, "Estel! You must come to us NOW. You cannot linger on the White Road another moment, or we will lose you!"
Estel began to remember other things, events and times the life-giving voice did not mention; like the time when an elven prince had risked his life to save the human that called him friend and brother.
His spirit began to struggle again, fighting free from the entrapping, weighty chains of lies and contempt. One did not risk one's life to gain access to a library! The remnant of heart gave a spasmodic beat, then another, and another.
At the same time as his spirit broke free, the poppy syrup was quieting the worst distress of his body. His shudders decreased and he took the first pain-free breath in hours.
Estel stirred a very little and muttered unintelligibly. Elrond snatched at the strengthening cordial the chastened healer held ready and tipped it into Estel's mouth. He was able to swallow on his own. Glorfindel massaged the boy's legs gently and slowly, yet firmly enough to help Estel's weak heart force blood through his body. The eyelashes fluttered before the silver eyes.
"Legolas? Ada? I heard you calling…." The voice was the faintest thread of whisper.
Legolas relaxed his grip and the boy hissed in pain. The elf looked appalled at the black and blue marks that were already beginning to develop on the white hands.
"Estel, I am so sorry, I did not realize – "
The boy's voice was a little stronger. "It is well, Legolas. Your hold helped… me to focus… on you and Ada."
Elrond seated himself on the bed next to his son. His felt too weak with relief to remain standing. He felt the boy's cheeks and brow with the back of his hand, and smoothed the wet, tangled hair gently out of Estel's eyes.
"How are you feeling now? Can you tell me? What hurts, what feels wrong in other ways?"
"My hands hurt," he smiled tremulously, "and my stomach does, too, but I do not think I will be sick…my head's pounding… and I am so cold. I am very tired. I want to sleep…." and his voice trailed away.
Elrond checked the vital signs carefully and multiple times. At last he sat back, satisfied. "This is a natural sleep. I think he is well and truly with us again."
Glorfindel had continued gently massaging the long limbs. He looked up at Elrond. "His skin is still cold and clammy, and though I have his leggings off him, the rest of his clothes are soaking wet, as are Legolas'"
Elrond smiled a genuine, happy smile. "These things are easy to mend, my friend. Let us begin to remedy some of them."
There were enough chores for everyone. The chief healer went to the kitchen to order the broths and other foods that would best strengthen the body without challenging the queasy stomach. At a pointed look from Elrond, Legolas asked a passing elf for clothes for himself, but he was the one who went, still dripping, to get a clean, dry shirt and leggings for Estel. Glorfindel, showing considerable talent, managed to change the wet bedding without moving the boy very much at all. Elrond carefully inspected Estel's hands, gently manipulating each finger. Though the bones and joints were badly bruised, he found no breaks He laid the hands down on the bed covers, showing great reluctance to let go of them completely. Then, when all the loving attentions had been completed, he called Glorfindel and Legolas into the hallway.
"There are things I must tell you before he wakes. It appears that he will live, and I thank you, Legolas once again, for helping to return my son to me. But there is a difficult time ahead of us, and you need to know all that I can tell you. Which, I am afraid, is not very much."
The others nodded and listened intently.
"His body has come to depend on the syrup. Tomorrow he will begin all this over again as his body reacts to its absence."
Glorfindel interposed, "I do not understand, Elrond, how can his body desire that which will eventually kill it?"
"I do not understand fully myself, but surely you have fought alongside men who smoke pipe-weed? And have seen how some of them become quite desperate and even a little sick if they run out and cannot obtain more?"
"I have, and have often wondered at it. So the boy must have the poppy syrup and yet he must… not have it. How do we resolve this?"
"We will give him a little each day, trying to make it less and less. I will not begin the decreasing at once; he needs to gather his strength for the ordeal ahead."
"Ordeal?" asked Legolas, his voice rising in volume, "Has he not been through enough? And what will this ordeal consist of?"
Elrond made a helpless gesture with his hands. "Essentially, we must allow him to suffer the same things he has suffered today –" Legolas and Glorfindel began to protest and he held up his hand in calming motions. "Peace, both of you. We will use the syrup to keep the worst at bay. But he will have to suffer some effects or we will never wean him from it completely. We will have to juggle the requirement to stop the syrup with the necessity to make this endurable for him…I am frightened for him, my friends, for I have never done this before, or heard of it being done. I will be learning as I go."
Glorfindel was distinctly unsettled by that admission. His faith in his healer lord was absolute; he did not care to hear that Elrond was not sure how to proceed. He did, however, know how to proceed with his duties: being a support to his elven liege.
"The Valar would bring their sick to you, if ever they became sick. You will have him restored as quickly as may be, and I and Legolas, and these pestilential Mirkwood healers, will give you all the assistance we can." He clasped Elrond's shoulder in a rare show of affection. Elrond copied his gesture and nodded his thanks.