Leaving my lad outside, for I can see he is not ready to leave the stars, I hurry back to my own chambers where Mam is anxiously awaiting our return.

"He'll be in directly," I tell her, "All is well, or at least it will be in a day or two. He just needs a little time is all."

Rather than staying to discuss things, I hurry to my office to draw a quick sketch, for I have an idea and I must get it down on paper before I forget it. While I was speaking to my lad outside I began thinking that just because he cannot have my design inked as a permanent skin mark, does not mean he can't still wear it in another way. There is no reason the same thing could not be made in metal in the form of a pendant or a pin.

Taking out some very fine tipped drafting pencils, I begin to draw a to scale version to see how s mall I can make it without changing the design too much. I find that if I use a magnifying glass and a very steady hand, I should be able to work it into a one-inch pendant without losing the details. Fortunately I possess both glass and stable hand so it should not be a problem. The top bit can be done using filigreed green and yellow gold and the bottom part using vitreous enamel inlaid with gemstones in the axe handle.

I am so pleased with the idea, that I wonder why I didn't think of it earlier and had it already made to present to Legolas at the time I showed him the tattoo to begin with. We might have avoided this whole debacle had I done so and saved him a great deal of grief. In my defense, I never thought that he would attempt such a thing, though perhaps I should have done. We have been friends for a long time now and this was very typical behavior for him. Still I remind myself that no real harm was done that cannot be fairly easily mended.

I do not realize how long I have been hidden in my office until Mam enters and tells me my elfling still hasn't returned.

"Even if he doesn't need the sleep, it is not good for him to isolate himself for too long," she tells me. "No doubt he is still brooding over the day. Besides I will never be able to sleep myself until he comes in."

I laugh at that, for I know how she feels, but when I rise to go after him she tells me she will go for he might be more willing to open up to her. Considering that he might still be a little wary of me, she may be right. It is only a short time before they return, and he does look calmer already and I am hopeful that everything will return to normal.

The next morning it seems as if my hopes were worthwhile. First meal is a cheerful one, and while Legolas is a little hesitant to spend the day with Greirr, he does not refuse. No doubt he is worried over how things will go with my nephew, but I am certain that they will have settled their differences by midmorning at the latest, for I know them both well and neither is likely to hold a grudge for long and both will wish to keep their friendship in tact if possible.

Besides having them take care of checking the water flow in the locks frees me up to work on the pendant. I have only a brief morning meeting with Erkenbrand and then I will have the rest of the day free. I am certain I can have the thing at least mostly finished by then.

The meeting goes well as does my metalworking. It is tedious and I feel like I might go blind by the end, but I am extremely happy with the result. I place the finished pendant into a pocket so I can take it home to find a bit of leather string to hang it on. That way it can be worn around the neck or tied into the hair and will hopefully be an agreeable way for my elfling to wear the symbol I designed to recognize him as a son.

When I arrive home it is to find Mam taking up the last of the evening meal from the stovetop. She tells me that Legolas has gone outside for a little fresh air, so I carefully unwrap the pendant to show her before he comes back.

"It is exquisite!" she breathes, clapping her hands together. "He will certainly be pleased and hopefully it will perk him up. The lad looked a bit peaky earlier if ye ask me. Will you give it to him tonight?"

"Nay, not tonight," I tell her. "I wish to string it first and to find a proper box for it."

She does not answer, for we hear the outer door open, so I shove it back into my pocket and hurry to begin telling her about my meeting with Erkenbrand. At one point Legolas gasps when I accidentally brush against his arm, though he tells me it is only a cramp, which is moderately believable considering what he has been doing today, though I can never be sure. I watch him throughout the meal and though he is a little pale, he eats well enough.

Still I am so not convinced that I do not ask him what the matter is when Mam leaves the room for a moment. I am worried that he is still concerned over the matter with Greirr, but it seems that that has been cleared up. After that I wonder if it is a return of the sea longing, but he denies this as well, and I believe him, for his eyes do not carry that distant look that accompanies a bout of that. I decide that whatever the matter is might not be anything big enough to interrogate him over. Likely he could use a little space after the difficult day we had yesterday, so I let him go and retrieve the report from the locks.

He seems to look a bit better when he returns with it, and we spend a productive hour or so discussing his and Greirr's findings. After that Mam joins us in the main room. It is not long until Legolas appears to droop again, so Mam suggests that he would do well to get some sleep. Surprisingly he agrees right away and leaves to prepare for bed. That in itself is a worry, for normally we would be told that he is not the least bit tired, and that elves need very little rest.

Mam and I exchange looks when he complies so readily.

"Something isn'a right," I tell her, and she nods in agreement.

"He seems a little out of sorts, and he was a trifle warm earlier. But then younglings generally go through all sorts of ailments that turn out to be nothing to worry over. He will likely be right as rain in the morning."

I nod, for most likely she is right and yet all sorts of alarms are going off in my mind. By the time I go to say a final goodnight, my lad is already in bed. I brush the hair out of his eyes and kiss him, noticing that his skin feels warmer than usual. I am still deciding if I should investigate the matter further when his eyes lose focus and his breathing becomes regular indicating he has already found his dream path. I decide to wait until morning to see if there is any improvement before worrying over it too much.

Making that decision and acting on it turns out to be two entirely different things. I find that sleep eludes me this night, so after tossing and turning for a couple of hours, I rise and dress and make my way out to the main room again. The fire has died down to glowing embers, so I stir it back to life and then sit down and light my pipe, hoping that will be enough to help me relax until morning. The smoke does not have the usual calming affect, so I start to pack the bowl a second time. Unfortunately my pipeweed pouch is now empty and I recall that I left my other one back at my workshop off the forges where I was working earlier today. Mam smokes a pipe on special occasions, however, and I know she keeps a small tin of especially fine tobacco somewhere in the kitchen, so I rummage through kitchen drawers and cabinets looking for it. My search is rewarded when I find it in a small drawer next to the onion bin. I pack my pipe and return it and then go back to my chair by the fire to smoke.

Even though I was attempting to be silent, my rummaging must have awakened Lady Vonild, for she appears in the doorway in a long red velvet dressing gown, her long black hair streaked with white unbraided and falling to her knees. I reflect that I cannot remember the last time I have seen her with her hair down.

"It is three hours gone midnight," she tells me, looking concerned. "Is anything amiss?"

"Not a thing ye need to worry over, Mam," I say, "go on back to bed."

She snorts and comes to sit beside me in front of the fire.

"Pull the other one, lad. I am not so gullible as ye seem to think. Ye are fully dressed and smoking like a chimney in the middle of the night and I am to believe that there is nothing on your mind? Have we only just met the two of us?"

I laugh at her homey turn of phrase and she smiles as well, but she does not let the matter drop.

"Ye are worried over Legolas."

It is not a question, but I answer it anyway.

"Aye, a bit."

"Perhaps more than a bit?"

I take a puff on the pipe and look up into her concerned eyes. Is there anyone who can fool my observant mother, or anyone who can keep their troubles to themselves when she gently, or not so gently probes for answers? If so, I have not met them. Like Dorin and Floin and even Master Megan, I know when I am in the presence of a superior being. In this case I do not even try.

I begin to nod slowly.

"It's not that he was a little our of sorts," I explain, "that has happened often enough without any cause that I can figure out and is often gone in a few hours, or even a few minutes. That is common among all adolescents no matter their race. But I keep remembering that he was unnaturally warm when I came in to wish him goodnight. An unexplained fever may be usual in mortal younglings, but I think it is extremely rare among elves. Of course I have not met any other elflings, since there are no others this side of the sea, but in all the years I have known him he has never had a fever that did not have an explainable cause: a poisoned arrow, or one time even the claws of a fell beast. Or a hidden injury that had gone septic. But how? He has been with either Greirr or you all day…"

Here I look toward his bedchamber door.

"I do not wish to disturb him, for he was sleeping soundly when I left, but…"

Rather than clucking and teasing over my worries and assuring me that all is well, my mother adds fuel to my concerns, by insisting that I must not wait until morning.

"In these kinds of cases it is best to follow your gut feeling," she insists. "There is a reason ye are ill at ease and it would be foolish to ignore that. He may not be your natural child, but your instincts about him are just as strong as if he were. Never be afraid to follow that insistent voice when it comes."

I sit back to quickly finish my pipe first, but she snatches it out of my hand.

"Ye smoke far too much as it is," she complains, sniffing at the pipe and then offering me a suspicious frown. No doubt she recognizes the smell of her own pipe weed, but she says nothing other than, "go on with ye. See to your lad."

I rise to do just that and I have not even made it to his bedchamber door when I see she is already smoking my pipe. I leave the door open so that I can see by the light of the fire in the main room, for I hope to check on him without waking him up if possible. But when I lay a gentle hand on his brow, I am shocked at how hot his skin is and I know there is no way this is not a serious situation. I hurry to light the lamp so I can find the source of this. It has to be some sort of toxin or injury and I can't imagine where he would have come into contact with a toxin. Poisoned arrows are no longer much of a threat and he has been eating just what the rest of us have, so it has to be the latter. But how could he have gotten injured when he has not been out of our sight for more than a few minutes at a time since his arrival? Perhaps after our talk on the Deeping Wall? It seems unlikely.

I become even more concerned when I cannot awaken him by calling his name and patting his cheek. He only groans and turns his head from side to side, but his eyes do not open at all. Other than being rosy cheeked with fever, I can see nothing visibly wrong anywhere that is exposed, even when I pull back the covers to have a look at his legs. Still there has to be something. I rapidly unbutton his long sleep shirt and pull it off one shoulder causing him to cry out as if in agony when the soft fabric rubs against his skin. Once the shirt has been pulled away I can clearly see the reason why: his entire left arm is bright red and swollen to nearly three times its normal size! Inflamed fingers of infection reach out toward his hand and all the way up to his shoulder.

I do not know I have made a sound, but I must have gasped, for Mam is suddenly in the doorway asking what the matter is and then gasping herself when she sees it.

"Mahal have mercy!" she exclaims. "What could have happened to cause this?

"I do not know, Mam, but this is beyond what either of us can tend on our own. Will you call Mistress Lilja?"

For the first time in my memory, my mother leaves our personal chambers with her hair unbound and in her dressing gown, stopping only long enough to don a pair of shoes she has left by the door. When my elfling begins to shiver uncontrollably, I pull the covers that I have removed back up over his right shoulder, being extremely careful not to touch or disturb the left one. There is no open wound that I can see, and I do not want to move the arm to look for one for it hurts me just to look at it. I cannot bear to cause him that much pain.

Mam returns within just a few minutes having met a guard in the corridor who she sent to find our healer. Mistress Lilja has been with us since we first settled here. She decided to leave Erebor for the opportunity to come to the White City with those of us who worked on the gates there. She came along as a healer for our company of dwarves, but her real interest was in working with other races. She had learned all there was to know about dwarven anatomy, she had claimed, so she wished to move on. She did have a couple of opportunities to examine and treat some of the men working with us and others who were injured in small conflicts that were still happening just after the ring war. She had never gotten to see any elven patients for other than Legolas there were no other elves there at that time. Except of course for Gondor's queen, and even she is only half elven and her own husband was a healer himself. Still Lilja cherished the experience, for she got to do some things she had never done before in treating those humans, and she even had some time to speak with Elrond's sons, who are healers in their own rite, about elven medicine.

It is a matter of minutes before Mistress Lilja arrives with her knee length tunic buttoned crooked and her long messy dreadlocks pulled back in a loose tail. Of course she has seen Legolas a time or two before, but only over cracked ribs or scrapes and bruises, so her eyes sparkle with delight when we tell her she has been called to see him. But she grows deadly somber when she actually catches sight of him, making my heart nearly stop. The only time I have seen her look so grave is when she realizes a case is very, very grim. Other times she remains cheerful if rather morbidly odd with her scientific interest in injuries and illness. She confirms my fears with her first words.

"This is very serious," she informs us, "There is clearly a severe infection. Have you any idea of the cause?"

"He had a mild reaction to some fouled tattoo ink that got on his outer skin," I tell her. "but it mostly went away right after he washed it off."

"Some must have gotten under the skin somehow," she says, placing a hand on his brow, " but before I examine it I will give him something to put him in a deeper sleep to spare him the pain. I dare not give him too much since I have no way of guessing his weight or how it will effect his kind."

She places a large but soothing hand on his cheek as she softly hushes his moaning. She opens a paper of black powder and empties half the contents into a spoon and holds it to his lips.

"This will not taste nice, but it will make you feel better," she explains in case he can somehow hear her. She forces the powder between his lips and holds his face still as he gags and chokes, speaking soothingly all the while.

"Do not fight it, child. Swallow it like a good lad and I will give you something to get rid of the foul taste very soon. That's it. Well done," she hurries to drop a little sweetened water into his mouth from a small syringe, and then waits until he has settled down to do anything further. When it appears that he is deeper asleep, she gingerly takes his arm and turns it, looking very closely as she does so.

In spite of the pain medication, he gasps and attempts to pull away, but she holds on tightly and continues to examine it.

"Here," she finally says. "There is a small scratch on the inside of his arm. The ink must have entered from there."

I look, and indeed there is a small area that is even more inflamed than the rest of his arm."

"He never mentioned being scratched," I object, "and his arm looked fine after he soaked the ink off."
"He may not have even been aware of it at first," she tells me. "The scratch is very small, though it was big enough to cause plenty of trouble, obviously. The entire arm is infected and his fever is extremely high. Fever is nature's way of burning off an infection, so we will wait to attempt to lower it. For now I will make a poultice and see if we can't draw some of the infection out."

She suits actions to words, leaving me with my lad while she goes into the kitchen to mix together butterbur and cloves to help the pain, and mustard and comfrey to draw out the infection. After that she dips a flannel cloth in both concoctions and then heats it as hot as she can make it without causing a burn. She then wraps the cloth as carefully as possible around the inflamed arm, while I hold his other hand. Even so Legolas nearly comes off the bed when she touches it making me feel nauseated with sympathy for his pain. All the while, Lilja is muttering under her breath about how the practice of tattooing should be banned altogether, or at least only be done by a trained expert who has the approval of a healer.

" I have seen this far too many times in my day," she says, sitting next to me. "Fouled ink is very bad news, even for an adult dwarf, let alone an elven child with silky smooth skin and rapid healing to seal in the nasty stuff. Why ever was he even near it in the first place?"

When I do not feel the desire or need to explain our business to her, she does not press the issue, but explains what we should expect.

"I will need to change the poultice frequently over the next several hours, and watch to see if the infection spreads. The main concern is that it will go beyond his arm and move into vital organs. If that begins to happen we will need to…" She looks over at Legolas as if wondering if he can actually hear her. Evidently deciding that he may be able to she finishes… "take action."

I do not ask what action she means to take should things grow worse, but I do not need to, for her words bring memories of the war to the fore-a healers tent at Pelennor where screams of agony could be heard as gangrenous limbs were removed. For a few moments the room seems to swim and it as if I can smell the stink of rotting flesh. I can hear my own heart throbbing in my head, but then I take a deep breath and shake my head to rid myself of the image. If I am to get through this I must not let such thoughts come again.

It is then that I realize the morning has come, for I can hear Dorbryn, Thorûr, and Greirr quietly talking to Mam in the other room. I do not go to greet them though, for I am not inclined to leave my lad alone, no matter what happens. The next several hours go by in a bit of a haze. Legolas is one minute shivering uncontrollably and the next fighting to kick the covers off, while I do what I can to calm him and make him comfortable. My family takes turns coming in and trying to convince me to let them sit with him for a while until it becomes clear that I am not going anywhere. It's not as if I could sleep anyway, the idea is outrageous!

After that they never mention me leaving, but they do bring tea that I let get cold and food that I do not eat. Mistress Lilja stays with us, steeping herbs that she soaks her flannels in and making teas that she attempts to spoon into the lad's mouth. At one point she takes the time to slip thick flannel under and over his hips and she must understand my confusion for she explains that it will not do for him to flood himself and become more chilled, and I can only hope he will not remember any of this when he does regain consciousness. She continues to change the poultices and while the infection does not seem to be spreading, it also does not seem to be improving. Finally late in the afternoon she announces that she will lance the wound.

I cringe at the idea, for he is already in tremendous pain, and I cannot stand the thought of making it worse, but when she shows me several large lumps just inside his arm, I see it must be done if there is to be any chance of saving his arm. She quickly prepares her equipment, which is really just a heated scalpel and some gauze. She tells me I will need to hold him still, which I do by dint of placing a hand in the middle of his chest. She tightly grasps the affected arm and comes within a hair's breadth of slicing him open when he struggles violently.

"He is stronger than he looks," she observes. "We may need more help to hold him for it is imperative that he remain still else I might slice an artery."

She steps out long enough to ask Thorûr and Greirr to help us and we begin the procedure again. This time I sit behind my elfling and pull him back against my chest, wrapping my arms tightly around his chest and pinning his good arm to his side. Greirr, looking terrified, holds his legs while Thorûr holds the swollen arm so that Mistress Lilja can do her work. Even so it is not easy keeping him immobilized completely. He attempts to thrash about, his head shaking from side to side until I bring a hand up to his forehead and put a stop to that as well. After that he can only cry out, and surprisingly his words are comprehensible.

"No. Not my arm! Not my arm!"

I feel my own eyes fill at his terror and pain, but Lilja must have nerves of steal, for she deftly fits her scalpel into one of the lumps at a ninety degree angle, going over an inch deep before pus begins to drain. She swiftly lances three more places and then goes back and opens the first wound before it can close on its own. She repeats the process on all the cuts several times until she seems satisfied that everything has been drained away. Only then does she pack the wound with herbs and replace the poultice with a freshly heated one.

I am shaking like a leaf by the time the process ends and when I look at Thorûr he has gone as pale as I have ever seen him, while Greirr has tears standing in his eyes. Legolas' shriek of agony has changed to soft whimpering and he is white as milk and trembling. But Lilja seems very pleased with the outcome.

"He is more comfortable already, poor lad," she declares. "If we see some improvement in the next few hours we will be able to begin trying to lower his fever."

It is evening when she declares he is improving enough that the fever can be safely reduced and so she makes a tea just for that purpose, which she skillfully coaxes down him a half a spoonful at a time. After that she removes the poultice and wraps his arm in a regular bandage. To my eternal relief I can see that the swelling has gone down tremendously and it is no longer glowing red, though it still must be terribly painful. She then instructs me to bathe his face and hands in cool water to help with the process.

I spend the rest of the night doing this, though I am spelled by times by Mam and the rest of my family. Lilja packs her things and finally heads home telling us to call her if things take an unexpected turn for the worse. Otherwise she will check back with us later in the day. I cannot even find the words to thank her for her services, but I do not have to. She is inordinately happy with herself for having met this challenge with such great success. It will be something to write about in that journal she is always keeping of her unusual experiences as a healer.

It is nearly morning again before my lad finally breaks into a heavy sweat and I know the worst has passed. His fever has broken. I towel him dry, and then finally pull him into my arms and lie down next to him, too exhausted and relieved to do anything else. I must doze for a short while, for I awaken when he begins to stir. I brush long strands of golden hair from his face as his eyes begin to flutter open.

"Gimli?" he croaks, his voice gruff from disuse. I hurry to bring a cup of cold water to his lips. He obediently swallows it down and then tries again.

"Is it morning yet, Elvellon?"

"It is, lad, but there is no need for ye to get up just yet. Why don't ye just go back to sleep for now?"

"I…I need to tell you something," he begins, sounding rather apprehensive.
"Ye can tell me anything, child, ye know that." I assure him.
"I think… that is…" he takes a deep breath and then rushes into speech. "Gimli there might be something wrong with my arm. I would have told you earlier, but I thought it would go away on its own. But I swore to myself I would tell you when morning came if it hadn't improved on its own."
MIGHT be something wrong indeed!

I find that I have to restrain myself from hysterical laughter over this admission after all we have been through over the last two days, but I control myself and only ask lightly, "And has it not improved?"

"To be perfectly honest, it feels a little worse than it did yesterday," he says, becoming suddenly very wide eyed as he looks up at me and admits, "It may even need some sort of treatment. Please don't be angry with me."

But he has nothing to worry over, for I have no energy left to be angry.

"Well next time ye might think to mention such a thing a tad earlier, but there is no need to worry over it now for I am not angry. Ye may just relax and let me handle everything and all will be well very soon. That I promise ye. Close your eyes again, lamb." I brush a hand over his eyes.

That seems to be good enough, for he smiles in relief and immediately goes back to sleep, this time hopefully with pleasant dreams.