CHAPTER 7
They cowered beneath the table in Nanneth's room and he peeped from beneath the delicately embroidered cover, feeling his brother's hands clutch at his shirt. Both children trembled, the vision of their mother throwing herself from the window still vivid in their minds. Suddenly there was the splintered crash of a door and footsteps approaching the casement, followed by a loud curse.
A voice that would have been beautiful, had it spoken in any other tone, bellowed with rage. "She took it with her. I knew it. Damn her!"
His brother sobbed and he turned to slap a hand over trembling lips in warning. But it was too late. The cloth that had hidden them thus far was yanked aside and a snarling and blood spattered face glared at them.
They shrank back in terror.
00000
He held his trembling brother close, piling crisp leaves about them to try and create some warmth in the cold autumn woodland. The world wavered in and out and he could no longer deny that his choice of the last mushrooms they had eaten was faulty. He had suspected it at the time but they had both been so hungry that he needed to take the risk. Now they would no doubt pay for his carelessness. Perhaps they would even die.
He watched a tear land upon his wrist, fascinated by the scintillating rainbow of colour caught in such a simple thing. A distant portion of his consciousness realised that to be thus absorbed by such an everyday thing was not normal and his stomach fluttered and lurched in what he hoped presaged the expelling of his last meal.
Then sounds other than his brother's frightened whimpers impinged upon his ears. There were many horses approaching and voices calling.
They had been found and they had not the strength to flee again.
00000
He stood with the son of his friend upon the brink of a glowing chasm. "Cast it into the fire!"
Turning, his heart stopped as he watched Isildur's expression change. The grieving and frightened face of the young prince was suddenly shuttered against him and the warm glow of the circle of gold between his fingers lit his face from below, turning Elrond's blood to ice as it illumined feverishly covetous eyes.
As Isildur turned away, those eyes still fixed upon that which he held, Elrond was speechless. This could not be happening again. So many sought power. And it destroyed all who did so . . . elves and humans alike.
A rush of heat behind him reminded Elrond where he stood and he moved to follow, making one last appeal.
"Isildur!"
The world seemed to lurch and, stepping through the archway, he watched in horror as a firedrake circled a lone mountain peak, it's breath scorching the already seared rock face. It seemed to spy him and turned slowly, it's ancient bulk no longer able to manoeuvre with the grace it once had.
But before it could reach him it metamorphosed into a balrog, the beat of wings becoming the crack of a whip. Elrond's body was suddenly old, a sword and simple wooden staff his defence. The vile creature roared, sulphurous breath engulfing him in shimmering heat.
He screamed, struggling to escape. But a hundred slithering cold hands grasped at him, pulling him back and he was staring up at a tall cliff face with the yawning darkness of an open doorway. The cool darkness should have been inviting but he did not want to enter, neither did he want to remain in the grip of the vile creature that was pulling him down.
His body touched icy water and he cried out. Surely someone would help him. But the hands were pushing now until he was up to his neck in the chill liquid. Voices were shouting but he could not make sense of their words.
"I'm coming."
"Legolas . . . aim for the eyes."
"Sam!"
"Hold him still."
"He's thrashing like a landed fish."
"We must keep him in the bath a little longer."
"I am trying!"
"No. Let me go. I will not go. No." Elrond found his own voice at last, fighting with all his waning strength against his foes.
"Elrond, my friend. We are taking you nowhere. Except back to your bed . . . when you have settled down."
The voice gave Elrond pause. It was a voice he knew well . . . not one of the others.
"Keep talking, Lord Glorfindel. He seems to be responding to you at last."
"Elrond. You must relax. It feels cold, I know but that is only because you have a fever. Please. Lie still. You are safe among friends."
As Elrond fell under the soothing spell of that familiar voice it grew gentler. "Saes, mellon nin. Saes."
As his panic died Elrond became aware that only two sets of hands held him, and gently at that. They did not grasp or push, but supported him. He blinked open his eyes, surprised to find filtered daylight and pale canvas instead of sickly moonlight and dark cliffs.
Two concerned faces looked down at him. "Fin? Glinkuil?"
Glorfindel's face lit up like a summer's day. "Thanks be. He is in his right mind again."
Early spring to Glorfindel's high summer, Glinkuil nonetheless looked pleased. "I had hoped that the cool bath would help."
"If the shock didn't kill him," Glorfindel retorted more than half seriously.
"I will allow you to ply your craft without comment if you will allow me to ply mine, master warrior."
A little annoyed at being ignored, Elrond interjected huskily. "Hello?"
At once both sets of eyes returned to his. "How are you feeling, Lord Elrond?" Glinkuil asked as Glorfindel picked a long strand of damp hair from Elrond's cheek and tucked it behind his ear.
Elrond had to think before answering. "Tired. Have I been sick?"
"You have a fever. Are you in any pain?"
Once again, Elrond had to consider. His body seemed a thing detached from his mind and he had to concentrate to identify the sensations his flesh was signalling to him.
"Everything aches. Chest hurts."
With a supreme effort he tilted his head forward, a little surprised when he could not stop the forward motion and ended up with his chin resting on his chest. Still . . . this did afford him a look at his body.
He was naked in clear water that came almost up to his shoulders. Beneath the wavering surface of the liquid he could see that his torso was bound from hip to shoulder with bandages. Fascinating as the image was, he was glad when Glorfindel slid a hand beneath his chin and tilted Elrond's head back to rest against his strong sword arm.
His sluggish mind dredged up a thought. "Bandages will be wet."
"Do not worry. I will change them after we take you out of the bath." With that assurance Glinkuil leaned forward to lay his palm against Elrond's brow then slid his fingers down to rest beneath his chin, testing the life flow there. "Speaking of which, I think we should lift you out now."
With those words, he and Glorfindel shifted their grip and lifted Elrond slowly between them, laying him down upon a pallet thickly padded with towels. More towels were brought and Glorfindel and Glinkuil gently blotted Elrond dry while an apprentice brought a brazier closer to the low bed. Despite knowing that he was recently over heated he now felt a little chilled and the brazier's heat was welcome.
Glinkuil left Glorfindel to spread a couple of warmed blankets over his friend and Elrond managed to husk out his thanks.
"It is my pleasure. Now drink this." Glorfindel slid a supporting hand beneath Elrond's head and touched the rim of a warm cup to his cracked lips. Elrond recognised ginger and chamomile tea, thickly laced with honey, and sipped it eagerly.
Only when the cup had been drained did Glinkuil begin to cut away the damp linen bandages and dressings, instructing Glorfindel to support Elrond as he wound fresh dry linen in place. By the time they were finished Elrond was quite drowsy and made no protest when they lifted him to let the apprentice strip away the last of the towels.
Soon he was tucked between soft linen sheets and blankets that had been warming before the fire, his head cradled in plump pillows and he could resist the tug of sleep no longer. His last sight was of Glorfindel settling upon a stool at his bedside.
TBC
For my reviewers.
The Oboist In Lorien - We are in the middle of an Elwen fic here. You should know that if Fin brought him some flowers Elrond would probably be alergic to them and going to respiritory arrest.
Meril - Yep. I can write it but I certainly wouldn't want to live it.
Light - You can certainly start a Glorfindel hugging line. I agree with you. He needed a hug after that.
Angeltread - Poor Glorfy? Now there's a whole other story . . . but not one I'm about to write.
Ellfine - Sorry . . . hope that doesn't mean you had just eaten yours. hands over cup of mint tea.
Arialas - Thank you. I love writing angst. I've even been known to torture a hobbit on several occasions.
Peleus 15 - Good to see you and I'm very pleased to have made your day. You make mine with your loyal reviews.
Shirebound - Oh yes. Nothing but the best of healers for Elrond.
