I did not create Middle Earth, Imladris, Greenwood the Great, The Isle of Numenor, Lord Elrond, Estel/Aragorn, Erestor, or Noldo, Sindar, or Silvan elves. Tolkien did, and I am grateful to him for it. I did, however, create Mellolaes and Cuilbron.

This story is for entertainment purposes only, so please read and be entertained.

Mellolaes was dozing restlessly in her own room when she heard the cry. She jerked upright. Her wide eyes stared like a cat's. Her mouth opened slightly. The room was still other than the sounds across the hallway. "Melly … Melly … MELLY!"

Mellolaes shot from her bed. She whizzed into the room across from hers and fell to her knees by the bed there. "Estel?"

The boy was curled into a ball. He tossed. His locks were darker than usual, wet, and plastered to his head. "It hurts."

Mellolaes brushed a little hair back. Heat washed through her fingers. "Your belly?"

He nodded. "And head. And … And everything!"

Mellolaes had laid her hand on his forehead. A glow washed over the boy's brow. His whimpering quieted and writhing stilled.

Erestor appeared in the doorway. His robe, eyes, and expression were black. His words were iron. "What is wrong with him?"

Mellolaes turned. Estel whimpered at the hard voice from his friend. The elleth's eyes snapped. She spoke in Noldo rather than Sindarin, which was difficult. There was no word for "fever," so she put together "skin" and "great-heat."

Erestor's eyes widened. He stepped into the room. His brows drew together. He responded in the tone he'd used before, but with the language she had spoken. The syllables sounded strange in such a tone. "How did you let this happen?!"

Mellolaes scooped the boy up. She placed his face in the nook of her neck and shoulder. Estel buried it there gladly. Her skin felt cool compared to his.

The elleth scowled up at the ellon, but her words were soft, almost sweet, like honey and snow. "Instead of asking about the past, spend the present getting water and call for more help."

There was no need for the latter, though. While Erestor was still striding to a full pitcher sitting in an otherwise empty basin, Cuilbron entered the room. Three assistants followed behind him. All stared wide-eyed and shook their heads.

Then they approached and began asking either the boy or his nurse questions. Erestor yanked open a drawer. He snatched a folded cloth and threw it into the basin before striding to the bedside with it and the pitcher. He poured water first into the basin. Then he filled a glass sitting on the table.

Mellolaes grasped the then soaked cloth and placed it over the boy's head. He shivered against her a moment before slumping with a sigh of relief. Even as Mellolaes was giving him the, somewhat sharp, direction, Cuilbron reached out and held the cloth upon the boy's head. Then she reached for the glass. But Erestor was already reaching for the boy's chin with the container in his other hand.

The elleth sighed. She turned so the ellon could place the rim to the boy's lips. She stiffened as the steward repeated his earlier question. "How did you let this happen, Silvan?"

Mellolaes flushed. Green eyes flashed like daggers. The assistants she had turned toward backed away a little. Cuilbron glanced between her and the Noldo. Estel himself only blinked and gulped.

The elleth slowly drew in a deep breath. Her chest swelled. She held the air in before letting it go so slowly and steadily, her charge was not only undisturbed, but, after his drink was taken away, drifted to sleep. He dreamed he was on a nice ship like in the stories his ada read him. He stood on its deck a prince of old heading to the wondrous, enchanted Island of great men across the sea. Indeed, his eyelashes had fluttered shut and mouth turned back into the nook provided by Mellolaes' neck and shoulder when the elleth finally turned her head. Only her profile faced Erestor. She spoke in Silvan this time.

Cuilbron raised his eyebrows. He assumed she was telling her temporary overseer off, but he couldn't know for certain. Her words were strangely low and spoken through gritted teeth. He'd never learned to speak fluent Silvan himself. Sindar worked nicely enough with most of Greenwood's folk. The two tongues were so close you could usually figure out a message in one through knowledge of the other. However, since he'd never "mastered" it, as Lord Elrond put it, Agargol had gone to aid the besieged healers of this lady's homeland instead of him.

Cuilbron glanced into the steward's face. Intent eyes rested upon the elleth. He couldn't read them, but you barely ever could read the ancient Noldo's expression. The healer's own mind went back to when the elleth had approached him fourteen days before. He recalled the tale she told him then, the secret preparations she'd asked him to make, and the way they both confided their hopes the latter would prove unnecessary. He'd already ordered others to begin putting those preparations to use in the healing ward and even the kitchens. He supposed she was telling the steward of those along with other things. Twas sad their attempts to keep him unaware had gone for not. But none could expect another, let alone a Silvan, to remain silent under the accusation the steward had leveled at her.

Mellolaes fell silent, turned around, and went slack. Her hand ran up and down the manling's back gently. Cuilbron looked to Erestor again. He'd turned to the window and stared out it brow as furrowed as Cuilbron had ever seen it. The temporary head-healer's attention was caught by assistants he'd left behind entering with freshly prepared supplies. He stepped away to give them directions and almost forgot the incident that took place just before they'd entered the room.

If I did something you liked, please tell me. If not, you can tell me that too.

God Bless

ScribeofHeroes