Chapter Thirteen
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SUMMARY: Bard finally arrived at Thranduil's Palace, and reached Tilda's room, but what will he find?
What happened, after Tilda lost consciousness?
In order to find out, we must backtrack to that terrifying morning, and see what they all went through.
Daeron is forced to call upon every ounce of skill and strength he has, and he needs his King to stop acting like a heart-broken father, and be a sharp, focused Warrior-King, or the Princess has no chance.
Even so, it may not be enough.
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The Woodland Realm; 8th of February, 2942, T.A.; Just after Dawn
While the others were gone, Daeron continued his ministrations to Lady Tilda. The Guard was growing increasingly desperate; she was so very hot, and nothing they had done so far was helping.
She was panting through her mouth. Her breaths were less wheezy, but her eyes were half-open, and unseeing, and he could tell she was in pain.
Then, her eyes closed, her head went back, she went utterly limp in his arms.
"Tilda? Tilda? Can you hear me?" He shook her shoulders gently. He listened to her heartbeat; it was beating much too rapidly.
Varda, please help…
He shouted frantically for the King, and he and the others rushed into the steamy chamber, with hearts in their throats.
Daeron had his hand on her chest, feeling her heart, and encouraging her lungs to take deep breaths. "I cannot get her to respond, My Lord, and her fever has spiked."
Hilda put her hands over her mouth. "No… No!" and turned to Galion, who grabbed her with a worried look.
"What do we need to do?" Thranduil asked.
"Empty the bathing pool and fill it with cooler water - just below room temperature, not icy cold," Daeron commanded. "Hurry!"
Thranduil rushed over to flip the stopper in the bottom of the water, and wait for the water to drain.
"Would not cold water be better?" Thranduil called over to him.
"To immerse her now in cold water would be too much of a shock to her system; it could stop her heart. We cannot risk it." He looked at Hilda. "But for now, soak some towels with the cold water and bring them to me."
She grabbed a couple of towels and took them to Thranduil, who ran them under the spigot. Then she squeezed them out a little, and brought them back. He quickly wrapped one around Tilda, and one around her head, grimacing, as the girl shivered.
"What will happen if we can't get the fever down?" Thranduil had turned on the spigots to the correct temperature, and walked over to them.
As if in answer, Tilda stiffened, her eyes opened again, but they rolled up into the back of her head, and she began to convulse.
"Ai, gorgor!" Daeron quickly rolled her over on her side. "If she vomits, she could choke on it! Hold her steady!"
"What's happening?" Hilda demanded.
"Her fever has caused her body to seize. We must try to keep her from injuring herself, and keep her on her side. We must get her fever down very soon, or…" He couldn't finish the sentence, as he saw Hilda's face crumble.
Tilda's body continued to jerk and spasm and it was evident she had lost control of her bowels and her bladder, and had soiled herself. It was a dreadful and surreal scene.
Hilda began to shriek, and her knees buckled, as Galion grasped her elbows to keep her from falling.
The Guard looked to Galion. "Get Lady Hilda out of here, then send for Elénaril! Do NOT get the children! They must not see her like this!"
Galion nodded grimly, and dragged Hilda away, over her loud protests, and shut the door behind them.
Daeron looked over at the King, who was staring at his daughter with wide, disbelieving eyes, and shaking his head. He had gone completely white, and paralyzed with fear.
"My Lord? My Lord… You must focus!" He grabbed the King's shoulder, and shook him, hard. "Look at me!"
Daeron was a Healer, and a soldier, and would do anything he could to save his patient. Right now, he needed Thranduil's help, or she'd die.
The Guard cursed in Sindarin, as he tried to keep hold of Tilda, and he shook his King again. "Avo dheo andin, Aran NÎn; daro a maethor! Natho den!"
Oh, Valar…
Daeron sent up a quick prayer and in desperation, backhanded his beloved King across the right side of his face. "THRANDUIL! SHE IS DYING! HELP ME!"
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The Guard's harsh words, and the sting on his cheek, brought Thranduil out of his trance. Daeron was right.
This was a battle; one he couldn't lose, and to act as a father, was to guarantee her death. He needed to think like a soldier, like a King, and do what needed to be done.
"I am sorry." he swallowed and looked to Daeron for guidance.
Daeron spoke sharply and looked him straight in the eye. "I need you to be strong, My Lord. If you cannot, I will have you removed from this room, is that clear?"
The Guard was absolutely right, and Thranduil felt ashamed. But now was not the time for this, he sat up straighter, and met Daeron's eyes. "What do we do?"
"We hold her steady till she stops. Then we will get her into the water and try to bring her fever down. I've got the child; go get some warm water in that basin and get the soap."
Thranduil did as he was told, and Tilda's body gradually calmed down.
Daeron checked her breathing and her heart, then nodded. "Is the pool ready?"
"Yes."
"Good. Her clothes are ruined; we need to get them off and clean her, or the water will become contaminated." They quickly stripped the girl down, and Daeron rolled her filthy clothes in a ball and tossed them in a corner, before he and Thranduil washed her off. Then Daeron wrapped her in the towel again as the Elvenking removed his robe and pajama top, and stepped down into the water and held out his arms, as Daeron handed her down to him.
Just then the bathing room door slammed open, and in ran Elénaril. Without a second thought, she kicked off her shoes, and stepped into the pool, fully clothed, and went to Tilda, stroking her hair, and looking intently at her face.
Without taking her eyes off the little girl, she asked Daeron. "Tell me. Quickly."
In rapid Sindarin, Daeron explained everything that had happened so far, as he stripped down to his leggings and walked into the pool after her. Thranduil sat on the step, and cradled Tilda in the water, immersing her up to her neck.
They were running out of time; her heartbeat was still rapid and thready, and she was cooking from the inside out.
By silent agreement, Thranduil held her still, and steadied her heart, while Daeron and Elénaril put their hands on Tilda, and began to chant and sing in Quenya. Together, painstakingly searched Tilda everywhere.
Her lungs were no longer dangerously congested. The oils from the steam bath had worked, and they were able to release most of the rest of it and bring it out of her. Daeron had towels by the side of the pool handy, so he kept wiping her mouth out until it was clear. They saw the inflammation and redness in her throat, and neck had returned, so they relieved that. Only one of her inner ears still looked infected, so they worked together to eliminate it.
Why then, was she still suffering such a terrible fever?
Daeron paused. "It wasn't just her throat that was causing her pain. It was her neck…"
Elénaril thought for a few seconds, then asked Thranduil, "When you say her head hurt, was it just her face and forehead? And light bothered her?"
"It did. She said her head hurt all over." Thranduil said. "Why?"
"We need to check something."
Their focus now turned upward, toward her head. As soon as Daeron's hands rested on her skull, all three Elves suddenly saw the infection in the membrane surrounding her brain.
She was in more peril than any of them had imagined.
Elénaril gasped, and opened her eyes.
Daeron also opened his eyes and looked into Thranduil's. "She has Brain Fever, My Lord. I have never seen this, but I have read about it…" The Guard was frightened. "It is not a common disease, but can result from an illness such as Tilda's. Elénaril, do you know anything about this?"
"Very little, unfortunately."
Thranduil closed his eyes and tried to collect himself. "What can we do?"
Elénaril assessed the situation quickly. "I do not think our lack of knowledge is that much of a problem; this is an infection, and we already know how to fight that. We are dealing with a very powerful infection, but there are three of us here, and you are one of them, My Lord. That gives us some hope. We must act quickly, but we also must be extremely careful, or we could do further damage."
Daeron closed his eyes and sighed, wearily. He was tired, yes, but he was determined to keep on, until this was finished.
Elénaril took note of it, then quickly took charge. "I am the strongest right now, but Daeron is most familiar with the child's anatomy, so this is what we are going to do: He will take the lead in this, and I will assist him."
"You," she told Thranduil, "will hold her absolutely still, and you will lend all your strength to Tilda, not to us. You will give attention to her vital organs, to keep her stable and the blood pumping properly. Look for infection in the blood, and kill it quickly. Support every part of the child that needs help, while we heal her head. Can you do all this, My Lord?"
"I will," Thranduil vowed. "I will not fail her."
"Let us now begin."
Holding the naked child in the cool water, King Thranduil centered himself, and concentrated, as he began to sing.
Daeron placed his hands on her head and also began to sing, but a different song.
Then Elénaril placed his hands over the Guard's, and joined his song, adding power to his efforts, letting him guide where the healing light needed to go.
The music echoed throughout the chamber, and their voices rose and fell and harmonized, as together, they waged war on the infection, determined to wrest the little girl from its fatal grip. The battle went on for a long time, its outcome was still unpredictable.
During these hours, no one noticed Galion quietly enter, to refill the lamps, and to take away the dirty towels, Tilda's soiled pajamas, and bring clean robes and clothing for everyone. No one heard Galion's own song, but they felt it; he was praying and singing for them, to keep up their own strength, and helping to lift up any flagging spirits, and fill them with hope and vigor.
They also didn't notice the times Galion placed steaming bowls of water on the table with several crushed Athelas leaves in it, to renew and refresh them, as well as assist in their efforts. But they felt it just the same, and they were thankful.
During all this, Thranduil held his child close. He cleared her blood of toxins and cooled it, to take care of her fever. Anywhere her body faltered, he strengthened. Any tissue that was damaged, he restored. It took enormous strength to care for so many areas at once, and to give each part exactly what it needed. It was an arduous, exhausting balancing act.
At one point, Tilda's heart faltered, so he quickly sang a strong, healing light into it, until it settled it back down. He regulated her breathing, helping her to take deep, steady breaths. Eventually, all could see the infection recede, and concede defeat, and although none let up their efforts, they rejoiced.
They continued their healing songs long after the fire in her head was gone, and her temperature return to normal. They searched again and again for anything that seemed amiss, but found nothing.
And yet, no one wanted to stop, because then the hard questions would be asked, and no one was ready to face the answers, especially Thranduil. Was Tilda the same, or was part of her lost forever? Were they too late, and was she now little more than a vegetable?
They couldn't put it off any longer, so the singing stopped, and they opened their eyes. She remained unconscious, but perhaps that was a mercy, and not just for her.
"She is out of danger." Daeron said, tiredly. "She will live."
"I believe you are right. How long have we been doing this?"
"I have no idea." Daeron did not look triumphant. "My Lord, I do not know if –"
Thranduil chided the Guard. "You did the best you could. We all did."
"We did indeed, My Lord." Elénaril said, with a resigned look.
Tilda, began to shiver. "We need to get her out and dried off." Thranduil said.
Thranduil got out of the pool and took some large thick towels, and when Daeron handed her up to him, he wrapped her up, and carried her to the chaise lounge.
After he lay her down, he went to the door, and called for Galion.
Galion came quickly, "She is all right?"
"She lives, but she is still comatose. I will come out as soon as I can, and speak to you all. Thank you for your help, and for the robes."
The Aide nodded. "I have sent for a change of clothes for Elénaril, and Daeron; they should be here momentarily."
"Thank you, Lord Galion." Elénaril took a robe and a towel, then went into the necessary to dry off and change.
Daeron and Thranduil changed as well, and together, they got Tilda dressed and her hair combed out and braided.
Thranduil carried his little girl into the nursery, and put her to bed, pulling the covers up to her chest. Daeron stepped in after him.
"Her wet hair will help to keep her head cool, and that is good." He told King, tiredly, "She is in the hands of the Valar now, My Lord," his voice almost broke as he said those last words.
"I wish I could find more comfort from that." Thranduil stood up straight, and heaved a sigh. "I will go and speak to my family; they must know the entire truth."
"Would you like me to wait for Elénaril, and come with you?"
"No, but thank you. I must do this." He turned toward the door, but then stopped, and turned back.
"Daeron?"
The guard had just sunk into a chair beside the bed, and closed his eyes. He looked up at his King. "Yes, My Lord?"
"I… want you to know I appreciate everything you've done, especially… I understand why you had to... bring me back to the moment. If you had not –" Thranduil blew his breath out, and tried to give him a weak smile. "Thank you, at least for not striking my left side."
Daeron sat up straight, in consternation. "I am sorry, My Lord, but you were in shock, and..."
"I understand."
Daeron still looked upset. "I should not have -"
"No!" Thranduil said. "You were right. In that room, I could not be a father. Yours was an act of courage and loyalty, as brave as all your other efforts on Tilda's behalf. Lieutenant, you refused to let me fail my child, and I am in your debt."
"There is no debt, My Lord. Healing is much like soldiering; when there is a battle, we must fight with all our might, and only allow ourselves to feel afterward."
"So, I have seen. I pray we never face a war such as this again."
"You have my continued prayer as you speak with the others, My Lord."
Thranduil heaved an exhausted sigh, then went out to speak with his frightened family.
It wasn't over yet.
Mid-afternoon in the Woodland Realm, 8th February, 2942, T.A.
They all were in the living room, now. Was it afternoon, already? Thranduil sighed. No wonder he felt so exhausted.
The children must be finished with classes and afternoon activities, because the three of them were sitting with Galion and Hilda on the couches, holding on to each other and waiting. Everyone turned, with questioning eyes, as Thranduil walked in.
Esta lifted her head when she saw him, then leapt to her feet, and quickly took off for Tilda's room, to stand watch.
Thranduil stood in the room, and took a deep breath. "Tilda is out of danger. She is no longer feverish, her lungs are much clearer, and her ears and throat are better. She is unconscious, but she will live."
A collective sigh of relief filled the air.
"I knew you could do it, Ada!" Sigrid got up, wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him tight. "I knew you could save her!"
He hugged her back, and kissed her hair. "Thank you Iellig, but I must ask you to sit back down; I need to speak with you all."
As Sigrid returned to her place beside Hilda, he sat down in the overstuffed chair, and faced his family. Then he began.
"Tilda will live, but the fever was dangerously high, and the illness may have affected her in ways we do not know yet." He met Hilda's eyes.
"What is it, Thranduil? What happened?" She said in hushed tones.
"Tilda developed Brain Fever."
The woman turned ashen, and gasped. "Oh, my Stars… Oh, no…" Her words were barely audible.
Sigrid wasn't familiar with the term. "What is that?" she asked, and she grabbed Hilda's hand.
Thranduil explained. "The infection from her ears traveled up into the sheath that surrounds her brain. Between the three of us, we managed to kill it, and the fever. We did it as carefully as possible, but it took us a long time. We will need to watch her closely, for quite a while."
"Why?" Bain asked in a thin voice Thranduil had never heard before. Rhys held his arm, for encouragement.
"I will tell you all the truth, as I understand it. According to Daeron, this type of disease could… affect Tilda." He saw Hilda's eyes closed in terror, but he continued. "It could affect her memory, the way she talks or even the way she thinks." He swallowed. "Brain Fever could cause weakness in her arms or legs and harm her ability to see, or to hear. All of these possibilities could be temporary…" His voice wavered. "Or not."
"You mean… she could be different, forever?" Sigrid's lip trembled.
"Yes, Iellig." Thranduil's breath caught, and his vision blurred. "I... do not want to say these things to you, truly. But you all need time to prepare yourselves for this possibility. We must be ready to accept Tilda, in whatever way she comes back to us." He blew out a long breath. "I am so sorry."
"When will we know, Thranduil?" Hilda asked, grasping Sigrid to her, who started to cry. "What do we do, now?"
"For now, we wait. She is unconscious, and Daeron feels that is best, for now. Her body needs to rest from everything we have done. In a few hours, we will try to wake her up, and we may know some answers to our questions. Until then, we wait and pray."
Everyone on the couches sat very still and pale.
"Is Da coming?" Bain asked, his voice still tight, as he quickly wiped his cheek.
"I sent a messenger for him at first light. I do not know what time it is now…"
"We had our midday meal several hours ago." Galion said, getting up. "I shall arrange something for you, My Lord."
"Thank you. Please prepare something for the others, as well."
Daeron came out to the living room, looking exhausted. "Elénaril is sitting with Lady Tilda, My Lord. Her condition is unchanged, and she is resting, still."
Hilda got up and put her arm around the Guard. "You look dead on your feet, love. We need to get you fed, and then you're going to get some rest. What kind of shape is Elénaril in?" she asked Thranduil.
"She is not so fatigued, and could watch Tilda while we rest for a couple of hours."
Bain sat up straighter. "Daeron, if you need to stay close by, you can sleep in my bed. We changed the sheets this morning."
The Guard was grateful at the suggestion. "I thank you." He sighed, wearily. "I do not wish to impose, but I need to be here, if Tilda needs something."
Sigrid asked Daeron. "Could we see her?"
Daeron though for a moment. "If you wash your hands thoroughly, and keep a kerchief against your mouth, you may look through the doorway, but only long enough to see her. I would like to send for my books and notes, plus a change of clothing. I will write down the materials I need, if you could please gather them."
"Aye, then that's what we'll do." Hilda, bless her, shook her head, wiped her eyes, and began giving orders. "Daeron, love, go get that list made." To Sigrid and Bain, "Come on, you two; go get scrubbed up, so we can see the Little Bean." To Rhys she said, "Take the list of everything Daeron needs to his mother, so she can get them together. One of the guards can take you there, and help you carry it all back. Galion, could you take Daeron to Bain's room, and get him settled? Thranduil, I want you to head straight to bed; you're done in. We'll make sure you get something to eat before you fall asleep." She clapped her hands. "Let's go, everybody!"
Soon after, all was settled; the items were gathered and dispersed accordingly, Thranduil and Daeron were put to bed and given a meal on a tray, while Elénaril ate at Tilda's bedside, and Esta continued her vigil.
There was nothing to do now, but wait.
Thranduil was sure he'd fall asleep the instant his head hit the pillow, but when he closed his eyes, scenes from the last fourteen hours played over and over in his mind, and the anxiety kept slamming into him like waves. The more he lay there in the quiet, the worse it became.
He got out of bed, and went into his dressing room, and quietly shut the door. His eyes began to fill, and his breath came in gasps, so he put his hands over his mouth to try to calm his breathing, as he paced back and forth for several minutes, then he staggered over to the wall and slid down to the floor. His arms hugged his knees, and his shoulders began to shake from his silent sobs.
He was vaguely aware of the door opening, and felt someone sit down beside him. Familiar, comforting arms gathered him and held him, as Thranduil buried his head into Galion's shoulder and his heart shattered. He tried to talk, to tell Galion how scared he was, how sorry he was that he couldn't do more, how he had failed Bard, but he was shushed and held tighter. He felt his glamour fall, so loving hands helped him adjust his head. The Aide held him and let him cry it out, and made soothing noises, as he rubbed his back, and rocked him gently, just as he had done when Thranduil was a small child.
After a while, when Thranduil had exhausted his tears, Galion carefully wiped his face, helped Thranduil get up, then tucked him into bed, with gentle kiss on his brow.
"Close your eyes, Thranduil. Losto, Ionnauth nîn," he heard Galion murmur softly, "Losto si."
Three hours later, Thranduil woke up, feeling a little better, and dressed quickly. He hurried into the nursery, and saw Elénaril, checking Tilda's pulse.
"Has there been any change?" he whispered.
The woman shook her head. "But no fever, thank the Stars."
"I will get Daeron, and be back shortly."
He walked through the living room, and saw Sigrid, Rhys and Bain over at the table with Hilda, doing their lessons.
"Galion said we needed to keep busy, so…" Sigrid shrugged.
"That is good thinking, Iellig. Boys, are you all right?"
Rhys nodded his head, soberly, and Bain said, "I'm trying to concentrate, but…"
"I understand. I am going to get Daeron, and we will find out what we can. Please wait here with Hilda."
The children got up from the table, and sat down on the couch.
"I can't do anything until I know." Bain said, and Sigrid nodded in agreement.
"I will come out and tell you exactly what I find, as soon as we know." Thranduil told them.
Hilda did her best to give him a brave smile, as she put her arm around Sigrid. "Whatever comes, we will all handle it together."
Thranduil woke Daeron, and they washed and made ready to see Tilda.
When they entered the nursery, Elénaril stood, and made ready to leave. "I am sorry, My Lord but I must go back to the Healing Hall. She is resting comfortably, and I have seen no sign of further illness."
Thranduil nodded. "I thank you for all your help."
Elénaril put her hand on his upper arm and squeezed. "Galu, Aran nîn," and left.
The Elves went over to the bed and sat on either side of Tilda, facing her. Thranduil brushed the hair away from her face, then placed hands on her, to see if anything was amiss, but her body seemed calm. He kissed her brow, and caressed her little cheek. "Tilda, Tithen Pen, it is time to come back to us. Ada is here, and I love you. Please wake up, for me, hênig." He placed her hand in both of his, kissed it, and began to massage it, gently.
Esta whined and wagged her tail. She was waiting, too.
Daeron leaned forward, and shook her, gently. "My Lady, can you wake for your Ada, and all who love you? We are anxious to speak with you, Tilda."
Nothing happened for several moments, then Thranduil noticed her fingers had moved, just a little. Esta whined again, and leaned forward to lick her other hand in earnest.
"Tithen Pen, it is Ada," he said. "Can you squeeze my hand?"
Her fingers moved again.
"That is very good. Can you do it once more?" he asked softly. "Please, squeeze my hand again, Hênig."
Her fingers moved once more, and Thranduil couldn't help the sob that came from him. She could hear him!
"I am so proud of you, Tilda." He stroked her cheek again. Could you open your eyes for Ada? Please try."
Esta licked her cheek in earnest, and whined, again. Her dark eyelashes fluttered over her cheekbones, and they held their breath.
What will she see? Would she see at all?
Finally, Thranduil saw the beautiful blue of Tilda's eyes, and she blinked rapidly. He stroked her forehead, and smiled, as best he could. "That is wonderful, Tilda. Can you look at me, child?"
She slowly turned her head toward the sound of his voice, but she was having trouble focusing, and scrunched her face up.
Daeron quickly got up and dimmed the lamp. "The light may bother her, at first," he explained.
"Is that better?" Thranduil asked her.
She opened her eyes a bit wider.
"Can you tell me what you see, Tithen Pen?"
"Ada…" she breathed, looking right at him. Her voice was thin, and barely audible, but to Thranduil, it was beautiful music. He squeezed her hand, and smiled.
"Yes, my little love; it is Ada. What else do you see?"
Esta licked her cheek again. "Dog." She said.
"Can you tell me her name, Tilda?" Daeron asked.
She thought for a minute. "Dog."
The Guard persisted. "This is Esta, My Lady. Do you remember her?"
She didn't say anything.
Daeron tried another tack. "What color is Esta? Could you tell me?"
Tilda looked confused, so he said, "Is she blue?
She shook her head.
"Is she red?"
"No."
"How about black?"
"Uh huh."
"Does Esta have just one color, or two?"
"Two."
Thranduil asked, "She is black and...?" he looked at her hopefully, but Tilda just looked at him, trying to think.
"Soft."
"Yes, she is very soft, is she not?"
"Aye."
Thranduil's throat tightened, and he swallowed several times, as he tried to keep up a cheerful smile.
Daeron gave the little girl a brilliant smile. "You have been far, far away, little Princess. We are very happy to see you." He placed his hands on her chest. "Can you take some deep breaths for me?"
She did as he asked, and he listened. "Her lungs sound clear, and her heart is steady." He sat back up, and asked her, "Does your head hurt at all?"
She nodded.
"Does it hurt a lot?"
She shook her head.
"Just a little?'
A nod.
Daeron stroked her hair, then sang some words to ease her headache. "You did very, very well, Tilda. Now, I need you to drink some tea for me; it will help your head feel better. Can you do that?"
"Uh huh."
Thranduil moved to sit against the headboard and propped her up against him. He and the Guard helped her take small sips, until it was gone.
"Your mouth must have been dry."
She nodded, but made a face.
"I know this tea is not your favorite, but you were a good girl for finishing it."
"Do you know where you are, Tilda?" Daeron asked her.
"Ada's house."
Daeron grinned at that. "Ada has a very big house, does he not?"
"Uh huh," she said, softly, looking at Thranduil.
"Can you tell me what room you are in?"
Nothing.
"Tilda, do you have brothers or sisters?"
She nodded. "One."
"Just one?"
Tilda was silent, and her brow furrowed.
Daeron tried something else. "How many brothers do you have?"
"One."
"And how many sisters, Tilda?"
"One."
"Can you tell me their names, Tithen Pen?" Thranduil asked.
She thought for a minute, and concentrated, but just looked at him.
"What is your Ada's name?" Daeron pressed further.
"Ada."
They they had to be satisfied with that, for now.
"Da?" Tilda asked.
Thranduil kissed her hair. "You Da is coming, Tithen Pen. I am sure he will be here soon."
She looked up at him with tired, but trusting eyes.
"Would you like to sleep some more?" The Elvenking asked.
She nodded, and Daeron stood up, as Esta once again, lay down at her side, facing the little girl.
"Esta will be watching over you, and I will be right here, should you wake up." Thranduil said, as he helped her lay down. Her eyes closed, and immediately fell asleep.
Thranduil listened, as Daeron went and told the others the encouraging news, and heard Hilda and Sigrid burst into tears from relief. He wasn't far from tears himself.
He sat on the chair, leaned his elbow on the bed, and covered his eyes.
There were frantic footsteps, then a dreadful, anguished noise. Thranduil looked up and saw Bard, with a tormented face, fall to his knees, and double over.
Before he could react, Daeron appeared and helped Bard to sit up straight.
"Please, My Lord, she is…"
Bard grabbed at his chest, and slumped against Daeron, and whispered, "No... no... no…" He couldn't get air in his lungs to speak, and his hands were over his ears.
Thranduil rushed to him, gently pried his hands away, then held his husband close, saying over and over. "She is alive, Bard. Her fever has broken, and she is just sleeping."
Thranduil said it, until Bard could take a breath, at last.
He said it until Bard found the strength put his arms around his Elf, and hang on for dear life.
He said it until Bard buried his face in Thranduil's neck and sobbed with relief.
They both did.
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Bard hid his face in his husband's neck, until his heart stopped pounding, and he could breathe normally. It wasn't easy, because Thranduil was holding him so tight.
He wouldn't complain, though. He had dreamt of these arms, and never needed them more. As they knelt on the floor and held each other tight, Thranduil tearfully told him what had happened.
"Oh, Bard…it was just a cold, but then… it happened so fast..." Thranduil managed to get out. "I am sorry, I am very sorry."
"Will she be all right?" Bard looked over Thranduil's shoulder and looked to Daeron. "What happened here?"
"Tilda no longer has any infection, and no fever. We think, at this point, she will recover, but My King is right, My Lord; Tilda was extremely ill."
"I need to see her." He whispered, to Thranduil.
The Elvenking raised his head, and wiped his eyes. "Of course, Meleth nîn." He quickly helped Bard up, and stepped out of the way.
Bard went to her bedside, and sat down, and stroked her hair. She didn't look like herself; she looked frail, almost ghost-like.
"Oh, Little Bean…" he whispered, and had to wipe his eyes some more.
He turned to the Guard, and asked in a low voice. "Could she get sick again?"
"It is a small possibility, yes, but we will watch her constantly for the next two or three days. If something happens, we will do our best to stop it before it has a chance to take hold."
Esta, still jammed against the other side of Tilda, raised her head, looked at Bard with intense dark eyes.
"So, you're Esta." He smiled. "I've heard a lot about you. Are you worried about her?"
Esta answered with a few thumps of her tail, before she laid her head back down on Tilda's stomach.
"She watches over her, My Lord. She will know long before we do, if something in her body changes; and will alert us."
Bard regarded the intelligent dog. "I believe it, Daeron. Look at her! I don't think you could take her from this bed, willingly."
"She has been at Tilda's side since she first became sick, Bard."
"What exactly happened?" Bard looked between the Elvenking and the Guard.
So, they explained. When Daeron described her convulsions, Bard's heart began to pound again, and when his husband said the words, "Brain Fever," it nearly stopped.
"Oh, Valar…" Brain Fever in children was almost always a death sentence, in Laketown. There were a few children who lived, but were never the same. Please, no...
Bard pleaded to his husband without words, too afraid to ask the questions. Daeron answered for Thranduil.
"My Lord, we woke her a short time ago. She could see, and hear, and she knew King Thranduil. She also knew where she was, and that she had a brother and a sister." The Guard smiled a little. "She asked for you, and was pleased to know you were on your way."
"And that's a good sign?"
"It is, but we need to remain cautious." Daeron explained, "I plan to test her more thoroughly. I am hopeful, but Tilda is very weak, and will be for some time."
Thranduil added. "Esta came and woke me when Tilda became worse. She is the reason we were with her she became critically ill."
Bard reached over the pet the dog's head. The dog responded by licking his hand, before turning back toward her charge.
Daeron put his hand on Bard's shoulder. "Tilda will not wake for some time, My Lord. I suggest you two go and see your family. Do not worry; Esta and I will stay with her, and alert you the moment she wakes."
The dog raised her head from Tilda's hip and wagged her tail, as Bard smiled and scratched her ears. He kissed Tilda's forehead, then got up and let Daeron take his place. As he and Thranduil left the room, he looked back at the Guard.
"She is just sleeping, My Lord; this is good for her. Go see your family."
Bard was still reluctant to leave his little girl, but he nodded to the Guard, and they went out into the living room.
"Da!" Bain shouted and grabbed him, followed by Sigrid, and Hilda was right behind them, blowing her nose. They all stood and held each other for a few minutes, before Bard sat down, with his arms around Sigrid and Bain. Bard looked over at Thranduil, who was sitting next to Galion and Rhys, and Hilda took the chair.
"I missed you so much, Da," Sigrid leaned her head against Bard's shoulder.
"I know, my girl." He kissed her hair. "I missed you all. But I'm glad to be here, and we'll get Tilda well again."
Bain squeezed his arm. "We will." The boy was determined. "Whatever she needs."
Galion asked, "Have you eaten?"
"I ate a little something on the road; I can wait till dinner time."
"It is time for dinner, now. I will see to it." The Chief Aide looked to Thranduil. "Shall I arrange for some broth to be prepared for Tilda?"
"That is a good idea. And have them bring a warmer, so it will keep longer. She will probably only take a few sips at a time. See if Daeron wants more tea for Tilda, as well. Elénaril can have it made and brought here."
Galion got up to leave, and looked down at Thranduil and gave him a reassuring smile.
Bard watched his husband look up at Galion with gratitude. "Thank you, Mellon nîn." He whispered. "For everything."
"I could do no less." The Aide nodded, and went to arrange things.
Bard gave his Elf the once-over, with half a smile. "You look terrible."
"Do not worry about me. Tilda is still with us, and that is all that matters." Still, Thranduil lay his head back on the couch, and closed his eyes.
Hilda leaned forward. "Bard, those two stayed up all night, steaming her lungs in the bathing room. Elénaril showed up this morning, it took most of the day, but between the three of them, they managed to knock out whatever was going on. They saved her, Bard. Heroes, every one of them."
Bard swallowed and looked at his husband. He could feel Thranduil's exhaustion, and distress, still. He shared it.
Sigrid sniffed. "This whole place reeks of eucalyptus, and I don't care one bit. If we had to smell it forever, I wouldn't care."
"I would. But it would be worth it." Bain added.
"It is worth it." Rhys said, looking up at Thranduil, beside him. "I'm glad she's better." Thranduil smiled, and put his arm around the boy.
Sigrid snuggled into Bard. "I'm so glad you're here, Da."
He set his chin on her head. "Me, too, love. Have you seen her?"
"We looked in on her earlier, before she woke up. Daeron said she was going to sleep a lot." Bain said.
"He told me that too." Bard kissed Sigrid's hair, and hugged Bain, then got up. "I'll see you later, I promise. I just need to…" he paused.
"We know, Da." Bain said. "Go."
Bard quietly walked back into Tilda's room, where Daeron was listening to her heart and lungs. Then he checked for fever.
"Her heart remains steady, and there is only a small amount of congestion in her lungs, which is to be expected. No sign of fever, or infection anywhere." Daeron said.
Bard saw the weariness in the Guard. "Would it be better if she were moved to the infirmary?"
"No, My Lord. Until I consult my books, I would like her to be kept in isolation. In any case, she will rest better in familiar surroundings." Daeron then added, "If you would, Lord Bard, please change into a clean outfit and wash your hands and face, before you sit with her, or touch her. I will explain later."
Bard agreed. "You're exhausted, Daeron. Thranduil's dead on his feet, too; I'm about to send him back to bed. What do you need?"
The Guard looked at him a bit sheepishly. "I need to be nearby to monitor her, but you are correct. I am very tired."
"Tell you what." Bard said. "I'll have Rhys move into Bain's room, for the next few days. The bed in there is plenty big enough for the both of them, and we'll get you settled in the spare room. Make a list of everything you'll need, and Galion and Hilda will see it done."
"Are you sure that will be all right?" Daeron asked. "I would feel better if I was here, but…"
Bard reassured the Elf. "Daeron, this is our baby, and if she's safer with you here, then I'll give you the King's bed, if I have to, and Thranduil and I can sleep on the floor. Don't worry; Bain will do anything to help his sister. I'll arrange it."
Bard stepped back out, and of course, the boys were eager to be of service, so the children moved Rhys in with Bain. Daeron's mother brought his things, then Galion and Hilda changed out the bedding, and arranged his room. Thranduil sent for another Healer to work night duty, and soon, an attractive, black-haired elleth arrived, named Meriel.
The Guard wearily made ready to go to his room, after giving the other Healer some quick instructions in Sindarin.
"Daeron?" Bard got up and walked to the Guard, and clasped his forearm. "I know I thought you were a pain in the arse, when we first met," he smiled wryly, "but I'm more grateful than I could ever say, for this."
"I thank you, My Lord." The Guard looked weary. "I hope..."
Bard cleared his throat. "I know. Go get some sleep; and we'll get you if we need you."
Daeron saluted everyone. "I will return later this evening to check on her." Then the tired Guard left.
Thranduil came in and sat down next to Bard, and leaned his head on his shoulder. "I am powerful, Bard, and I do well with injuries, but Tilda needed the knowledge and skill of a good Healer. She would be dead, now, if it were not for him."
Bard put his arm around him. "I could spend every day of my life thanking Daeron, and it still wouldn't be enough." He kissed Thranduil's hair. "You should go rest some more, love."
His Elf whispered, "I am tired, but cannot bear to be apart from you."
Bard entwined Thranduil's fingers in his, and nodded. No words were needed, so they sat together, and propped each other up, while they watched their daughter sleep.
.
.
.
.
Everything felt fuzzy, especially in her mouth - it felt dry and sticky. Her head felt really heavy, and it was hard to move.
Slowly, Tilda opened her eyes, blinked several times, and looked at the high ceiling. It was dark, but over there was the lamp. Ada must have turned it down low. That was good; bright things made her face scrunch up.
Something moved against her leg, and she heard whining. A tongue was licking her hand, so she moved her fingers and felt soft fur. It felt good.
There was a another noise, so she tried to open her eyes more to see, but it was really hard.
A cool hand was stroking her forehead and her cheeks, and she liked how nice it felt. Ada's here, she thought, at first. But something was different, though; Ada's and Daeron's fingers are soft, and felt good.
This one was rougher, a little scratchy...
"Hey Little Bean," a soft voice said, and something about it made her wake up more.
She turned her head a little, to see who it was, then finally, she saw the face.
"Da…" she whispered.
"Yes, darling. Da's here." His face looked sad, and really splotchy, and his eyes were all red.
"You're sad." She said.
"Oh no, love, I'm just so happy to see you." Da smiled, and he sniffled, a little. Maybe Da caught a cold, too.
He was holding her hand, so she squeezed his fingers, like Ada asked before. Da must have liked it when she did that, because he smiled kissed it, a couple of times, like Ada does…
"Ada?" He had been sitting there before. Where did he go?
"Your Ada has gone to get some sleep, love, but he'll see you as soon as he wakes up."
Da looked like he was really upset, even if he said he was happy.
"You're sad," she said, again.
Just then, an Elf she didn't know stood beside her father's chair. She had a nice smile, and long hair. It was the same color as Da's, but hers was straight, not curly. She had pretty eyes, too.
"Hello, Lady Tilda. I am Meriel. I want to check you over quickly, then you can visit with your father. Is that all right?"
"Uh huh."
The pretty Elf felt her forehead, put her hands on her chest. Then she said to take deep breaths.
"Why?"
"I must listen to your lungs."
"Lungs?"
"Lungs are organs inside your body, that take in air," Meriel had a nice smile.
"Oh." And she breathed in, like they wanted.
The Elf nodded her head. "The air in your lungs sound a bit rough, but that is to be expected, Tilda. You are doing well." She patted Tilda's arm, then stepped back, and came back with a cup. "Here is some tea, we need you to drink."
She tried to sit up, but it was hard, so Da got on the bed with her, and then leaned her against his chest.
"Is that better, Little Bean?"
"You're here," she looked at him.
"I sure am, love. There's nowhere else I'd rather be." He grinned at her, and kissed her forehead. She liked sitting against him. "Now, are you ready to drink this, for Da?"
She nodded, so he held the cup to her lips. She took a few sips, and made a face.
"It's icky."
"We have sweetened it, as before." Meriel told her. "Your Da and I need you to be a brave girl, and drink it all. This will help you get well, again."
She looked up at her Da.
"She's right, love. We need to get you better, right? Can you be a big brave girl, for your Da?"
So, she finished the tea, and even some broth that Da spooned into her mouth after. It didn't really taste like much, but it wasn't yukky like the tea.
"Do you need to pee, Little Bean?"
Tilda had to think for a minute. "Uh huh."
So, Da carried her to the room, followed by Meriel. He opened the door, but she frowned.
"You can't." She shook her head.
"Darling, you can't go by yourself."
Tilda shook her head again, and pointed at the pretty Elf.
"She can."
"Whoops, you're right; sorry about that." Da smiled, and handed her to Meriel.
The pretty Elf helped her, which was good, because she was really tired! Then Da carried her back to her bed.
"Do you want to snuggle?"
"Uh huh."
"Okay, love. Let's get settled, all right." Da told her. He took off his boots and sat down on the bed against the headboard. Tilda closed her eyes, when she felt his arms go around her. "There. Is that better?"
She nodded. Da felt so good.
"Missed you." She said.
"And I missed you, Little Bean." She felt him hug her tighter and he kissed the top of her head. "I love you so much."
"You're here."
"Ada said you didn't feel good, so I wanted to make sure you were all right."
"I got sick." She whispered.
"You sure did. I see Ada put you in your very own room. Do you like it?"
She nodded her head.
"I like your dog," Da told her.
Tilda looked over at Esta, who crawled over and licked her face. She wanted to laugh, but she was too tired. "I wrote you."
"I know you did. I have your letters, and all your pictures, darling. Uncle Percy and Tauriel do, too."
She closed her eyes, snuggled into him some more, and heard him whisper, "Go to sleep, Little Bean. Da's here, now."
Da was here.
Everything will be better.
SINDARIN TRANSLATIONS:
Ai, gorgor! – Literally means "Oh, horrors!" which can be interpreted as "Oh, shit!"
Avo dheo andin, Aran Nîn; daro a maethor! Natho den! – Do not fail her, My King; stay and fight! Help her!
Losto, ion-nauth nîn – Rest, son of my heart.
Losto si – Rest now
Galu, Aran nîn – Good luck, My King.
NOTES:
Catarrh – older term for upper respiratory infection.
Lung Fever – older term for pneumonia
Brain Fever – older term for meningitis
All the terms for ancient medicine was taken off of this site: .
I am by no means any kind of medical expert on this, but I should tell you that Tilda became sick with Middle Earth's version of Brain Fever, something resembling what we call H. Influenzae Meningitis. Fortunately, Middle Earth has Elves to help with such things. I only wish the residents of our world could be so lucky…