ONE
Fever Dreams
May thy heart hear me, friend.
Upon this unknown path, we tread.
In the watches dark and deep.
Made a promise I now must keep.
Hope I must for the light we seek.
Beg thee hear the words I speak.
Cry aloud and spare me pain.
For thou art gone and I shall wane.
Rain spattered hard against the windows, a rhythm all its own, and the wind howled mournfully through the trees. Lightning punctuated the storm, followed by the hard crash of thunder. Elrohir Peredhel stood at the window unflinchingly, despite his usual dislike of such storms and watched the water pouring down the windowpane with slightly unfocused eyes, his thoughts wandering.
A soft moan behind him caught his sharp elven hearing more firmly than any thunderclap outside, and instantly Elrohir left the window, swiftly returning to the lone occupied bed in the healing rooms of Imladris. Settling down on the edge of the bed, he placed an affectionate hand along the pale face of the bed's human occupant.
"Shh, Estel." He said softly, consolingly. "It is merely a thunderstorm." He wasn't even sure if Aragorn was aware of his surroundings, the human having fallen to fitful dreams some while ago. Quietly he removed the folded cloth from the ailing human's forehead and dipped it again in a nearby basin of cool water. Gently he sponged the damp cloth along Aragorn's forehead and face, flushed with fever and somewhat tight with pain. Elrohir worked quietly and steadily, seeking to lower his foster brother's overly high temperature.
"Are you ready for a break, 'Ro?" Elrohir didn't have to look up to know it was his twin, Elladan, speaking, and he shook his head slightly as he now moved to run the cooling cloth along the human's throat. "Ada says you should rest awhile; you've been at it for hours now."
"The fever isn't breaking." Elrohir replied anxiously, sparing his brother a glance now as Elladan crossed the room toward him. "I don't understand…" His voice dropped to a pained whisper. Elladan, older by some minutes, placed a steadying hand upon Elrohir's shoulder.
"Neither does Ada." He answered; his own voice tense. Their father had been poring over his healers' texts in a desperate search to discover what was ailing the young ranger and further, what might be done to aid him. It was rare that a healer of Elrond's skill should be so uncertain in his efforts, and that alone frightened Elladan. "He's still in his study."
"I sent word to Mirkwood." Elrohir said suddenly. He turned his head to look up at Elladan, whose brows lifted curiously. "Legolas should be here, El." The younger Peredhel insisted. "They are also gwador…bound stronger than blood. And you know as well as I do that should we lose Estel to the Halls of Mandos that Legolas would never forgive us for keeping it from him."
Elladan nodded slowly, knowing his brother's words to be true, and he glanced out. "If he is traveling tonight, it will be a very wet journey indeed." Rain still beat a ragged tattoo upon the windowpanes and thunder rolled along overhead. The elder twin swallowed tightly. "You'd better hope he gets here in one piece, 'Ro or else when Estel recovers you'll be sorry." He offered his brother a slight smile, hoping to get one in return, but Elrohir had returned to the task of sponging down their foster brother's feverish face.
Another soft moan drew both twins' attention, and Elladan knelt down beside his brother, reaching out and placing a hand upon Aragorn's forearm, a gentle point of contact. The ill ranger turned his head restlessly beneath Elrohir's touch, and the elf leaned closer, murmuring soft reassurances as he continued to work the cooling cloth along the hot skin.
"Shh…Estel…no na sîdh, saes…boe idh le…saes, idh si." Be at peace, please…you need rest, please rest now. The soft Elvish whispers seemed to have the desired calming effect as Aragorn ceased his restless movement, and Elrohir placed his palm affectionately against the human's forehead.
"How is he faring, ion nin?"
Elrond's weary voice from the doorway prompted both twins to look up as one.
"He's having more fever-dreams, Ada." Elrohir replied softly, and Elrond recognized the distressed tone in his son's voice. Of his twin sons, Elrohir was the thinker and more sensitive of the two, disliking any to fall to pain or distress. Elladan was a little more practical in his mannerism, but from the time Aragorn had come to Imladris as Elrond's foster son, the older twin had been incredibly protective and softhearted toward his mortal brother.
"You've done well to sit with him so long, Elrohir; you should take some rest now." Elrond crossed the room and placed a hand upon his sons' shoulders. "I will stay with him for a time."
"Have you found something, Ada?" Elladan asked, hoping that his father's intention of staying in the room meant that Elrond had found some combination of medicines that would aid his human brother. His expression fell a moment later as Elrond shook his head slowly.
"Nay, not yet." He said quietly, his tone betraying the underlying anxiety over Aragorn's condition. "I wanted to sit with him awhile, see how he is faring." The Elf Lord smiled faintly at both his sons. "Make you both go downstairs and get something to eat. Neither of you will be able to help Estel if you're not taking care of yourselves."
The Peredhil twins were, as one, reluctant and Elrond simply raised his eyebrows.
"Ada…" Elrohir tried to protest first, but the Elf Lord simply shook his head. The younger twin sighed softly, knowing his father was more than correct but rather hesitant to leave the Healing Room. At last, he felt the hand of his brother upon his other shoulder.
"C'mon, 'Ro." Elladan murmured softly. "Let's go." There would be no arguing with their father on this point—or any other, for that matter—while Estel remained in mortal danger. Finally, the two departed, and Elrond exhaled slowly as he turned his attention to the desperately ill Aragorn, who had inexplicably collapsed upon returning from a journey to the northern border of Rivendell.
"Ion nin…" My son. Elrond breathed out softly, shaking his head a little. "What is this evil that has befallen you?" He reached over to pull the blanket up just a bit more upon Aragorn's chest; despite burning with fever, the ailing young man shivered with chills.
"Ada?" Aragorn's eyes opened slightly, and the ill human closed them again almost immediately; even though it was late in the day there was far too much light for his aching head to tolerate.
"Im si, Estel." I'm here, Estel. Elrond replied gently, brushing the back of his hand along his mortal son's cheekbone, testing the feverish heat that burned through pale skin. Aragorn swallowed weakly, turning his head a little, drawing a slight frown from the Elf Lord. "Cared sen naegra le?" Does this pain you?
"No…" Aragorn whispered but it was clear from the wince that crossed his features that the headache, which had plagued him from the beginnings of this illness, had worsened.
"Tell me the truth, ion nin." Elrond said gently, but firmly. The blue-grey eyes opened just a little once again, and he could see the pain written in them. Touching Aragorn's shoulder lightly in reassurance Elrond murmured, "Lie still, Estel. I'll be right back." Rising, the Elf Lord proceeded to an herb table, crushed a handful of a certain leaf very finely, and added it to a cupful of water. Returning to his son's sickbed, he gently slipped a hand behind Aragorn's head and placed the cup to his lips. "Drink this…it will soothe the headache and help you sleep again."
Aragorn winced at the pain involved his foster father's touch, but swallowed obediently at the medicine until he had finished most of it. Elrond nodded approvingly and eased him back onto the pillow as gently as possible.
"Tastes…awful." Aragorn smiled faintly. He felt terrible, to be honest but his sense of humor remained. Elrond returned Aragorn's smile with one of his own, and settled down again beside his foster son.
"It cannot be as miserable as you make it out to be." Elrond replied in the same vein of gentle humor. "You're still alive, aren't you?"
"Barely." Aragorn shot back, and closed his eyes again with a soft groan. Elrond's smile faded as he drew in a slow, anxious breath. Gathering up the young man's hand within both of his own, he gave it a gentle squeeze.
"Don't fight the medicine… Go to sleep." Elrond instructed, and Aragorn did not reopen his eyes, but simply squeezed Elrond's hand briefly in reply. A short time later, the ill human's breathing slowed and deepened as sleep overtook him.
"Lord Elrond?" A quiet voice spoke from the doorway, and Elrond looked up to see a tall elf standing there, a tray in his hands. "Your sons made certain that you would receive the same good advice that you gave them." Elrond shook his head slowly, a mild amusement upon his features as the blonde elf stepped further into the room.
"Are you certain this was my sons' idea, Glorfindel?" He answered quietly, so as not to disturb Aragorn's slumber. "Or are you simply fussing over me?"
"I'd say perhaps partly the former and mostly the latter." The tall balrog-slayer replied, also speaking softly so that he did not awaken Aragorn. Placing the tray down on a nearby table, Glorfindel glanced at the motionless, pale human. "How is he?"
"The pain is worsening." Elrond replied, heavy-hearted. "The fever refuses to break. I have never seen anything of its like. Nothing I have tried so far has been of aid."
"In its stubbornness, my first thought would be poison." Glorfindel mused, and Elrond looked up.
"That was my thought as well, but so far I have not been able to discover what poison this might be that would affect him so." He moved to rewet the cooling cloth in the basin, the soft trickle of water as he wrung the cloth out the only sound for a few moments. Replacing the dampened fabric over Aragorn's forehead, he looked up at Glorfindel sadly.
"Come…eat something." Glorfindel prompted, motioning to the nearby tray. "As I am certain you told your sons, you will do Estel little good if you do not care for your own needs as well."
Elrond exhaled slowly; eating did not sound like a pleasurable idea at the moment, his mind and body too agitated. Except for the occasion of battle wounds, he had never seen Aragorn so weakened by simple illness before. Even the few times the human had suffered through bouts of pneumonia were not as difficult as this, although they had been difficult enough. The Elf Lord placed his palm gently upon Aragorn's shoulder briefly before rising and joining his seneschal.
Truly, Glorfindel understood his Lord's needs as the meal provided was light but enough to sustain his energy in this fight for Aragorn's life. Elrond glanced over the tray's contents briefly before looking to Glorfindel with a faint smile.
"Hannon le." He said with honest gratitude, and Glorfindel nodded once, a small smile upon his face. Elrond reluctantly began to eat under his seneschal's concerned gaze, all the while paying close attention to the sleeping human. His fingers trembled a little bit as he picked up a slice of apple, and he glanced at the balrog-slayer. Glorfindel gave no indication of noticing the slight tremor, but Elrond felt compelled to explain anyway. "I fear for him, Glorfindel." He finally admitted. "I fear I will fail him."
"You have never failed Estel." Glorfindel said softly. "If he is truly to be all that he was born to be…" The balrog-slayer inclined his head slightly. "…then the Valar will spare him and have mercy on him."
"You are so much calmer than I feel at this moment." Elrond admitted, which was a very rare thing for the Elf Lord indeed. "Are you so certain, Glorfindel?"
"Nothing is certain." The blonde seneschal said with a small shrug. "Except faith. I have much faith that Estel was born for more than this. He has survived often when he should not. And, I think, you judge yourself too harshly, my Lord." The title allowed it to be rebuke with respect, and Elrond simply raised an eyebrow at his seneschal before biting into the slice of fruit. "However," Glorfindel continued gently, "The worry of a father is a thing not easily cured."
As if to support that statement, a soft moan from the sickbed drew Elrond's immediate attention, the Elf Lord leaving aside the tray to return to Aragorn's side. The young ranger turned his head restlessly, calling out in a muddled mixture of the common tongue and Elvish, before falling to a soft groaning.
"Estel…" Elrond touched the young man's shoulder very gently, hoping to call his mind away from the distressed, fevered dreams. "Ion nin…lasto na beth nin." My son…listen to my voice. "Gosta al duath; Im si ben le." Fear no darkness; I'm here with you. Aragorn moaned again, turning his head and crying out,
"Adel le! Legolas, tiro adel le!" Behind you! Legolas, look behind you! As if to snatch his friend away from imagined terrors, Aragorn's hand flung outward, and Elrond caught at it gently, pressing it soothingly between both of his own palms.
"Shh, Estel, avaro naeth." Shh, Estel, don't worry. Elrond brushed aside a wayward lock of dark hair from the ranger's face. "Al coth faro Legolas. Im ber, ho maer." No enemy hunts Legolas. I promise, he is well.
Glorfindel watched, heavy-hearted, as Aragorn's delirious murmurings continued and the Elf Lord at his side tended to him with great care and gentleness. Thunder and lightning crashed through the sky and if possible, it sounded as if the rain was falling harder, driving into the windows with a sudden gust of wind. It was late for such a summer downpour, although the season had not yet turned there were some early colors visible in the trees.
Rising anxiously, unable to offer aid and yet unwilling to leave, Glorfindel wandered across the room to the window Elrohir had been gazing through earlier. As the younger elf had done, he watched the storm spend itself in wind and rain over Imladris. Thunder rumbled loudly, lightning flared, and Glorfindel sighed softly. It was as if Arda herself echoed the difficulty visited upon Isildur's heir, and for reasons unknown the seneschal found that slightly disturbing.
Not that this was the first vigil ever held in this room over the young ranger, by any means. Glorfindel shook his head to himself just slightly as his mind recalled other mishaps and misfortunes, from simple illnesses in Aragorn's childhood to poisoned Orc arrows and broken bones gained in battle. It was no small wonder in these recent years that Aragorn had survived at all, let alone retained the anonymity his true heritage demanded for now.
The balrog-slayer's sharp gaze flicked from the fearful storm to the fearful restlessness yet again seizing Aragorn, the ill human thrashing weakly against the terror infesting his dreams. Crossing the room in swift steps, Glorfindel knelt near Aragorn and pressed down gently against the ranger's shoulders, steadying him while Elrond spoke softly, rapidly, trying to soothe the feverish fears as Aragorn cried out, this time for the twins. Glorfindel raised his gaze to the Elf Lord, as Elrond placed his palms gently at either side of Aragorn's face, trying to break through the delirious panic driving his adopted son.
"Whatever this is," Glorfindel observed very quietly, "It tears at his mind as well as his body." As the illness had progressed, so too had Aragorn's terrors, the nightmares becoming more frequent and distressed. Elrond looked up sharply at his seneschal, his gaze piercing and yet…defeated at the same time.
"I know." Elrond finally replied, his shoulders dipping a bit in exhaustion. He hadn't wanted to believe it, but the evidence was plainly in front of him that Aragorn was being torn from them totally, mind body…and possibly spirit but the Elf Lord wasn't ready to totally concede to that one just yet. Elrond closed his eyes just briefly before beginning again to speak soft reassurances to his son. "Shh, Estel, saes…baw pedo. Iston gosta an gwedeir lin…estelio nin, Elladan a Elrohir garannen al tarias." Shh, Estel, please…don't speak. I know you fear for your brothers…trust me, Elladan and Elrohir have no difficulty.
Slowly the words began to sink past the haze of fever, pain and panic, and Aragorn's restless cries tapered off, his body sinking weakly back into the pillows with no further resistance against Glorfindel's hands. His head turned toward his adopted father, as if seeking him out, although the blue-grey eyes did not open. Elrond slipped his hand from beneath Aragorn's face, the fingers of his other hand gently brushing aside wayward strands of dark hair from the exposed cheek. "Ai, Valar…berio elei tin…berio Estel nin." Ai, Valar…protect his dreams…protect my Hope.
Lifting his hands gently from Aragorn's now stilled frame, Glorfindel reached over and rested long fingers upon Elrond's shoulder in a gesture of compassion.
"He is your son, my Lord." The seneschal said softly. "But remember, he is the Hope of us all."
Legolas put his head down and gave up trying to keep his cloak wrapped tightly enough to keep out the foul weather beating down upon him. The wind swept over him and tossed tree branches with the force of a driving whip, stealing his breath a little. Despite the fact that it would have been safer to shelter and wait out the storm, Legolas could not bring himself to do so, terrifyingly aware that time might be against him if Aragorn was as badly off as he suspected.
Lightning flared, bringing the mountain pass into sharp relief, and he gently urged his mount forward. The animal was beginning to display its tiredness, its pace having slowed considerably as they fought their way upward against the wicked wind and rainstorm. Both horse and rider were spattered with mud, thoroughly soaked, and rather miserable looking. Blonde hair plastered to his forehead, face and neck, clothes clinging just as irritatingly, Legolas knew he must be a sorry sight indeed. However, he would allow himself no rest until he saw what shape Estel was in, with his own eyes.
The horse began the ascent into the pass that led up to Imladris, a slow sort of trudging that Legolas himself might have done if he were on foot, despite wanting to hurry. The wind and rain lashed them unmercifully and the wood elf had to admit that he had not seen such a strong storm in many, many years. He would be more than grateful to set foot inside the welcoming surrounds of Lord Elrond's home; from the time he and Estel had forged their friendship, the Peredhil family had never failed to welcome Legolas among them or accept him as readily as they had accepted Estel himself. And, merciful Valar, there certainly had been enough opportunities for Legolas to become well acquainted with Lord Elrond's healing skills, returning here with Estel, one or the other or sometimes both of them half-dead after whatever trouble they had found for themselves.
"Ai, Elbereth, what have you done to my son now?"
Legolas had frozen to the spot for a brief moment, before he realized that Elrond was jesting. Turning his attention back to the horse he led, the Silvan elf aided Aragorn from its back. His human friend slid off the horse and grasped hold of Legolas tightly, bearing no weight upon his right leg.
"I'm all right, Ada." Aragorn protested slightly, despite the fact that he was leaning heavily on the Silvan archer. "Legolas hasn't killed me and neither of us are in danger of traveling to the Halls of Mandos."
Elrond had drawn near, an amused, affectionate, and yet…somehow slightly annoyed look upon his face all at once, and Legolas had to admit he was unsure which would rule the day.
"Ion nin…Can I not send you out and receive you back in one piece just once?" Elrond chided lightly, but then the brief ire was replaced by fatherly concern. "What happened, Legolas?" He questioned the archer.
"Nothing significant, my Lord Elrond." Legolas had replied lightly, glancing at his friend with some amusement of his own. "Just a band of Orcs, a hunting trap and Estel being Estel." As suspected, that was explanation enough, and the Elf Lord had at last smiled, even as Legolas turned somewhat serious and finished, "Estel has wrenched his knee badly."
"Oh, well as long as it was nothing significant. Come. Up to the Healing Rooms and we shall tend to that knee."
Thunder rumbled loudly overhead, and Legolas snapped back to reality. It would be no good; he chided himself firmly, to live in the past when Estel would need his entire mind in the present. The Silvan archer trembled miserably; he knew that such thinking would only hasten his friend's departure in his mind, and that definitely would do no good for either of them.
There was an unexpected—and very welcome—break in the storm, almost as if the skies were taking in a deep, long breath preparatory to unleashing another barrage, and Legolas lifted his head, pushing blonde hair out of his eyes. At last, it was within sight. Imladris. A grim determination seemed to settle over the slender elf as he very gently touched his heel to his tired mount's flank, prompting the horse to pick up its pace just a bit.
"Al haeron si, mellon nin, al anann." Not far now, my friend, not long. Legolas promised as he leaned down to pat the horse's neck affectionately.
Night was beginning to descend upon Rivendell, its black cloak slowly starting to envelop the already darkened storm clouds, but even it could not disguise the lightning display that continued to arc across the sky. Elladan and Elrohir slipped quietly into healing room, their obedience to their father completed in a hastily eaten meal and a few minutes' quiet conversation to pass for a bit of "rest." Of course, the conversation had centered on Estel, his scouting journey to the north that had doubled as a visit to the Dúnedain, his return nearly a week later than planned and finally around the unexplained illness that had so swiftly claimed him.
Neither twin was very surprised to see that Glorfindel had stayed, nor that the food taken to their father remained mostly untouched. What did startle them both, nearly from their skins, was the sudden anguished cry that broke from their brother's lips in what could only be described as sheer terror. Elrond, however had begun to expect the strange terrors, fueled by the mysterious fever, and the Elf Lord moved swiftly to his youngest son's bedside.
"Ada!" Aragorn called out fearfully, pushing upward against Glorfindel's hands as the seneschal again worked to keep the human's panicked motions to a minimum, allowing Elrond to attempt to guide the delirious, fevered mind away from the blackness pressing, it seemed, ever harder upon it. "Take your hands off him!"
Elrohir and Elladan's expressions mirrored each other's shock as Aragorn's terrified cries alternately warned of danger and begged for mercy—this time for their father. Whatever the evil dealt to Elrond in Aragorn's dreams, it was enough to drive the young ranger to cry out repeatedly despite the Elf Lord's voice speaking practically into his ear, trying to draw him back to reality. Elrond patiently stroked the cooling cloth along Aragorn's forehead and face, all the while talking to him in the grey tongue, reassuring and pleading for him to come out from the dreamworld and return to them. Several tense moments passed before Elrond's voice finally seemed to penetrate the deepening darkness and Aragorn fell limply against the pillows.
"Ada…" Elladan spoke first, choking back the lump in his throat.
"What is happening to Estel?" Elrohir finished his brother's sentence, and Elrond paused in his ministrations to spare the twins a tense, worried look.
"I do not know." Elrond's heartbroken answer was enough to bring tears to the twins' eyes. Elladan immediately moved, coming to stand next to his father in silent support. Aragorn was quiet again, the soft rasp of his breathing the only indication of continued agitation, but for the moment, his mortal brother was calm, and Elladan shook his head slightly.
Elrohir, however, did not come close to Aragorn's sickbed but instead crossed the room back to those same windows, placing a palm against the quite cool pane, the rain having paused its rush. Droplets fell from the eaves and it was still quite windy although that seemed to have died down considerably, a few leaves skittering down the windowpane in its wake. It was not the raindrops, however or the leaves that seized Elrohir's attention in the deepening shadows of late dusk, but rather a lone, bedraggled horse coming to a weary stop in the courtyard below. The younger Peredhel grinned in foolish relief at the sight of the familiar rider.
"Ada." He turned from the window, his eyes finding Elladan even though he spoke to his father. "Legolas is here."