Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.
He sleeps fitfully. I do not leave him long, but when I return he is watching for me, his large, grey eyes shadowed with concern. It is just beginning to be light, beginning to eclipse the lamp by his bed.
"How are you feeling, my son?" I ask, pouring a glass of water and going to sit on his bed.
"Better, Papa. Can I get up? I need …" His eyes flicker to a door partially hidden by a wall hanging.
I nod and help him out of bed. He walks carefully across the floor and goes into his water closet. While he is away I remake the bed and try to prepare myself to speak to him about his dreams. They clearly troubled him again during the night. I could have tried to read them myself but I will never violate his private thoughts in such a way.
He comes back into the room, drying his hands.
"Papa?" he says, stopping and looking at me.
"Yes, Estel?"
"Why wasn't I sick this time?" He notices he still has a towel in his hands and goes to put it away. When he returns, I can see other questions rising in him. He is still too unwell for this, these taxing discussions it seems he is driven to have.
"Come to bed. You mustn't get cold."
There is a moment's hesitation. He knows what I am doing. Then he does as he's told but sits up in bed. Keeping him quiet, in bed, all day is going to be a challenge. He is waiting for his answer.
"You have grown. Your body has become more used to the herb, and I to the size of the dose I must administer. I also added an anti-emetic – a herb which stops you being sick." I would normally tell him the names of the herbs and the proportions of the mixture, and any special instructions but today he is already restless, not concentrating on words so much as wanting to hear someone speak to him.
"Will I be able to get up today?" he asks, though surely his body can give him the answer. I know it does when he asks another question without waiting for me to speak. "When I am a ranger, and I am not well, what will I do?"
"You will tend yourself, Estel. If you are near, you will come back here, and I will look after you. Now, try to sleep a little more. It is still very early."
He nods. A year ago, he would have asked whether I was going to stay with him. He is too old for that now but I miss the question.
"Do you need anything?" I ask, wondering if I can prompt the accustomed enquiry.
He shakes his head, slipping back down under the covers. His eyes close. He is asleep in moments.
I leave him alone, propping the door open. I give instructions that the house will be quiet until he wakes then go to see if Halbarad is awake. When I knock, he replies immediately, opening the door to me.
"He is better this morning." I reassure him. "You must help him pass the time until this evening. If his fever does not rise then, he should be able to get up tomorrow. He will fight us for his freedom."
Halbarad smiles. "I am the same. Perhaps it is something inborn in our people."
"Come. Break your fast with me."
I take him downstairs to the small room next to my study, and we eat together. Estel will be watched and I will be informed if he wakes.
"Sir?" he says, putting down his knife and fork.
"Yes?" I want to get to know this boy, who may become a very important friend to Estel, as a person in his own right. He looks a little like my boy.
"Has there been word from my people?" There is a trace of longing in his voice, well concealed but still present.
"Not yet. When my twin sons return, I hope they will bring word. If they do not, I will make sure they know you are here. I know they will be concerned for you."
"They may, but not for a month yet. I was not due home until then. I don't know if they will accept that I have passed my test."
There is a knock at the door and a message is passed to me. I read it and almost forget Halbarad's need for reassurance. But his expression reminds me.
"I will ensure that they know what you have done. You were brave beyond your years. I think my boy might not have come home if he had not met you when he did."
There, I have made him blush. He is relieved, I can see it. Now I must go to the stables. The twins have returned – so soon. Surely it is too soon.
"Come with me. There will be news – my children will bring it."
We both hasten to the stables. I can hear their voices and I am anxious for their news but even more anxious that they should not disturb Estel, who always knows the moment they return to Imladris.
"Father!" Elrohir says, jumping down from his horse. He is muddy and dishevelled but unhurt. "We have such a story to tell you!"
Elladan is close behind him. He has a lead rein in his hand, and I see a beautiful pony there, black as midnight with a white blaze. I know immediately who will be his new owner.
"We traded for him. Saw him in a string of ponies and it was as if we both knew he was Estel's – he's perfect, Father. Do you think our brother will like him?"
I pretend to be undecided and go to check the pony out, running my hands over him, checking for any weaknesses in him. The horse eyes me and throws his head. "He has spirit," I say, still checking him. "Let me see him move."
Elladan runs him back and forth and the animal trots obediently enough. But he pulls a little at the lead rein.
"Is he broken to the saddle?" I ask. The pony is young yet, but old enough to be ridden.
"Not yet. He had not long been caught. He was running free, they said." Elrohir joins me, and we study the pony together, commenting on its fitness for its new owner.
"Then you have no news of the orcs to bring?" I say, wondering if they have been so distracted by the horse that they have forgotten their true task. It has been known to happen. Elladan slows the pony to a walk then brings him to join us. He stands and lets the pony nuzzle his hand for a treat. He seems tame enough, but I judge he is not ready to be ridden yet.
"We met three rangers, Father. They had all the news we need and I will tell you all later. Now, may we go and fetch Estel and give him his present? I want to see if we have a saddle the right size for him. If not, I'll make one myself." Elladan is already full of plans but I must stop them. Estel needs at least a week before he tackles a pony like this, half-broken and strong-willed.
"No," I say firmly and I am about to explain why when a small figure, who seems dressed in some rather oddly-matched clothes dashes up, limping but still fast on his feet, shouting the twins' names with such joy and energy that for a moment I cannot believe it is the same boy I left asleep in bed an hour ago.
"Is he for me?" he asks, looking up at Elladan.
"Estel," I say, as sternly as I can. "Go back to your room."
I am not sure he even hears me. He goes to stand by the pony's shoulder and, with surprisingly little foresight, Elladan hands him the leading rein. Before I can catch him, or order him, my youngest boy grabs a hank of mane and leaps onto the pony's back. Now my heart is truly in my mouth.
"Elladan! Stop him! He is ill – he is not strong enough!"
But the boy has complete control of the pony and before any of us can react he is kicking it forward, and is off down the road with a yell of delight.
Elladan grins at me, perhaps a little sheepishly. "I believe he likes the pony, Father," he says quietly.
I am so taken aback I cannot immediately think what to do. But I know what I will do when Estel returns with the horse. This time, he must learn a serious lesson about obedience.