I neither created, nor own Middle Earth, Imladris, Mirkwood, Elrond, Erestor, Estel/Aragorn, Lindir, nor Glorfindel. Tolkien did, and I am eternally grateful. I did create Mellolaes, Cuilbron, and Idhrenohtar, however.

This piece is for entertainment purposes only. So please read and be entertained.

Erestor accompanied Lindir back to the main entrance and listened. Moments of Imladris' natural music passed: bird songs, fountains and waterfalls trickling and rushing, droplets dripping from leaves, the breeze rippling through long grass, bushes, and trees as it passed. Then another trumpet blast filled the air. This one sounded different from the first.

Erestor nodded as if he had been expecting it. "It is an Edain."

Lindir sighed. "One of our Lord's people visits us while our Lord is away."

Elrond turned toward the doorkeeper with one eyebrow raised. "As our greeter for any guest, you should learn not to say such things." Lindir turned widened eyes upon the steward. Erestor had looked back toward the gate. His voice deepened. "Apparently even for us fair folk letting secrets slip is all too easy."

Lindir's eyes widened still more before he turned back toward the gate himself. "'I' at least shall share no secret of any other with a guest of my lord, nor even with a fellow servant. Tis not my place."

"Yes, indeed. You are 'usually' a fine servant in knowing your every duty Lindir. If only you were not also so terrified of manlings."

The doorkeeper opened his mouth, but another trumpet blast sounded through the air. Erestor sighed. "The man is hurt or ill."

Lindir straightened. His face grew grave. "Idhrenhotar should be back at the gate by now. They will likely send him forth to fetch the man."

Erestor sighed. "He will be brought to us by the back way behind the Healing Ward then. Come. I will go and see the place made ready for him. You, though, have to greet him alone."

Lindir turned to stare after the steward. "'I' alone?"

Erestor looked back to the other ellon with a set jaw. "If he has any sort of plague, I cannot stand in his presence and then serve in 'other' ways."

A light of understanding lit Lindir's eyes and face. Erestor continued. "Just think. This may be another opportunity for you to avoid serving in ways you have no liking for."

Lindir hurried after Erestor.

. . .

Idhrenotar rode a black horse across the low hills covered in high grass. Up, down, up, down, rise, dip, rise, dip, not only the earth, but his own gaze followed this established pattern. He must guide his mount safely over this rock-scattered terrain, but also keep the still distant figure straight ahead of them.

The shape was bowed, but whether the body crouched in around a wound in its chest or gut, or only found a delirious mind to heavy to lift was yet uncertain. Idhrenohtar continued to draw closer. Then he lifted his face to the wind and sniffed. His eyebrows rose. Ah.

He drew up to the man's side, recognizing him now. "Edain."

The ranger raised his head and gave a weary grin. "Come to escort me, Idhrenotar?"

"More like carry thee, mortal."

Idhrenohtar reached out and dragged the man from his mount and onto his. The man's steed stood still for this. Idhrenohtar's began to stamp. The ellon chided his mount for such unwillingness to serve. Then he completed the task of heaving the heavy man up before him. The Noldo wrapped both arms around the mortal's, thankfully unwounded, middle. Then he used the pressure of his legs to tell the stallion beneath them he could run for home.

The great beast did so will a conflicted spirit. He was unhappy to be carrying not only one other than his chosen master, but another who weighed so very much. Yet, he was happy to be going home to get said weight off his back as soon as possible.

The man's usual mount trotted happily bare-backed after them. His master was in better hands now, and they were off to a wondrous place. The horse nickered in expectation of seeing the Hidden Valley again. He'd been there before and had never forgotten its waters, grass, and grooms.

Idhrenotar spoke in the man's ear. "Summer fever?"

"Farmer's family … not far away."

The ellon nodded. "Ah yes, we know of them. Very near, yet they never wander our way. Good neighbors."

The man chuckled. Then He tried to turn his head to look back over his shoulder. 'Where is Glorfindel? I thought it would be him who came for me."

"You think Imladris' military leader has time to lug your heavy form through our gates?"

The man raised an eyebrow but then turned back to let his "heavy form" droop farther. Idhrenotar pursed his lips. I hope his case is not so bad and Cuilbron is more than ready for this.

. . .

"Where is Lord Elrond?"

The mortal lay on the cot in the Healing Ward staring at the one who'd introduced himself as its head healer. Cuildron gave a gentle smile and even gentler answer toward the flushed face. "I'm afraid our lord is off on a mission of his own, but fear not. We of this Healing Ward have been trained by him."

The ranger's brows drew together in concentration as he tried to make sense of this. "Then ... where is Agargol?"

"I fear he is in Mirkwood teaching some of the Healers there better surgery, poison-draining, and poison antidote mixing methods. I was his personal assistant for centuries, though. Lord Elrond had enough confidence to leave me in charge of this ward for cases such as this."

The ellon smiled down. The fevered man squinted back up. The mortal's brain was processing these bits of news at a pace similar to that a man sets while walking through ankle-deep mud. He realized Lord Elrond's "mission" had been called only that. Agarol's whereabouts, however, had been described with some detail. That meant ... something. Perhaps he could have figured it out were thinking not so tiring. What the mortal was most focused on now was the two best healers he knew of from this place were absent, and he was about to be very ill here, very ill.

Still, they were elves trained by Elrond. Cuilbron performed as well as his word. The ranger was tucked into light, soft, sweet-smelling sheets. Cauldrons of athelas, other herbs, and water went over fires and boiled. The resulting steam filled the room with the scent of health. This even cleared the patient's mind a bit. Then there was the music. Someone always seemed to be singing within his hearing. The melodies were soothing and sweet as the water he received or wild and bright as the lands he loved and missed. He was never left alone, and they always knew when he needed a drink without him saying so.

Still, it was not pleasant. There came days his thoughts did not trudge through mud, but seemed to swim through soup. Incomprehensible dreams he could not always recall afterwards were his hourly companions during such times. Then there was sleep in some of the deepest blackness and silence the living know of. Other times, he heard all going around him, but did not care enough to interject anything. Even when he dared open his eyes, he didn't open his mouth. His throat was too sore for that. Still they tended to him, gave him water, gave him broth, gave him tea. He kept nine out of ten sips down even when his stomach was at its most upset. Yes, he'd come to a good place to be ill.

The best part though, which made his mind most easy, was no one else was endangered by his presence here. Neither elves, nor even dwarves could catch summer-fever. It was strictly a plague of men. The trail of illness he'd become a part of by tending those on the farm would end with him.

On his last day there, because he had to get home and let his people know he still lived, the man ate not only solid food, but nearly a whole meal. He started with fruit. Then he once more drank a bowl of soup, but afterwards moved on to a salad. He even devoured two slices of bread with cream and jam. He finished his meal with three small tarts. He set the half of the last down with a sigh. His shrunken stomach would accept no more for now. Still, it had been one of the best meals of his life.

Idhrenohtar looked in on him. The ellon crossed his arms over his chest and giving an upward jerk of his chin. "Are you ready to depart then, mortal?"

Then man looked up and nodded. "I am now."

"Good. Your healers, nurses, and even a few kitchen servants wait to see you off outside." Idhrenohtar turned and went on ahead. The man smiled. Despite the strange lack of cordiality from this member of the elder, the ellon had pulled him from the saddle and gotten him swiftly the rest of the way, when he'd been wondering if he could even stay astride his horse. Now he and another ellon, a healer, though not Cuilbron himself, would escort him part of his way home. They said they must make sure he had truly regained enough of his strength to travel before letting him tax it alone. Yes, the people of Imladris were kind folk.

The man rose, strapped on his sword, threw on his cleaned and pressed cloak, and strode out into the sunlight. After he shut the door behind him, the one across from it opened. From the inner garden popped in a head only a little ways off the ground. Grey eyes darted in a small face looking here and there. Their master had not been let near this familiar place for weeks. He wanted to know why.

The manling tiptoed a few steps across the marble floor (easier to clean bodily fluids off of) and froze. Light let in through a window landed upon a plate. Scattered across its surface were pale crumbs and half a raspberry tart.

Raspberry tarts were Este's "favorites." He'd eaten three himself earlier, but then Erestor said he could have no more. The ellon was not there now!

Tiny feet dashed across the ward. A tiny hand snatched up the treat. The pastry was stuffed through wide-open lips. Ity-bity teeth chewed with thorough haste. A small throat swallowed.

Glancing down at his hands, the boy's eyes widened at the sight of crumbs and smears. He grabbed an already damp napkin and tried to rid his face and fingers of the evidence. He'd already turned from the plate and was glancing around the ward again, when an elleth appeared in the doorway he'd left open behind him.

Mellolaes's mouth dropped open at the sight of his back. Her hands went to her hips. "Estel!"

The manling spun around. Grey eyes enlarged. "Melly!"

The Silvan crossed her arms over her chest. "Come out here. Now."

The manling dragged his feet. His head hung. His hands clasped each other behind his back. The elleth scowled at him his whole journey to the patch of grass before her feet. "What have I told you about coming here?"

"That I shouldn't." Estel raised watery eyes. "But why Melly? I've seen you staring over here and heard you singing toward it. You looked sad. Why were you sad? I thought maybe someone was in trouble. I wanted to see."

The elleth's gaze softened. "No one is in trouble here now, Estel." Her eyes flashed hard again, and she raised a thin eyebrow. "Except you."

The manling bit his bottom lip. The Silvan held out her hand to him. "Come. Let's go elsewhere and discuss what your punishment should be."

Estel slumped. His hands let go of each other. One reached forward and took hers. "Okaaay ..."

The elf and mortal walked away leaving an innocent looking empty plate and damp napkin behind them for the servants to clean up.

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God Bless

ScribeofHeroes