Chapter 27: The Fever
The valley of Gondolin, although situated quite far north, was well sheltered from the winds by the surrounding mountains. Also the cold was less intense than in Dorthonion or in other similar latitudes. Nevertheless, winter was now well established and the snow that had fallen for a few days had deposited a second white layer on the spotless buildings. Ecthelion had not yet felt the need to light a fire at home, being much less sensitive to the cold than humans, like other members of his species.
One evening, in the darkness of Belin's room, a first sneeze was heard, then a second. The squire had been in bed for two hours but was shivering with cold. He had tried to put himself in different positions, to rub his feet, to roll up into a ball, but nothing helped. His forehead began to hurt. After several more attempts to wrap himself up, he gave up, as his sheets themselves felt cold.
He got up, took his pillow, went out of his room, and knocked on the door of his lord's room. There was no answer. Then he opened it slowly. Isil's light filtered through the stained glass windows and lit up the room slightly. In his high blue canopied bed, Ecthelion lay asleep.
"My lord?"
Belin entered and closed the door behind him. He went to the elf's side, whose eyes were open. The human passed a hand over his eyes, but they did not move.
"It'll always disturb me, this way of sleepin' with eyes open..." thought Belin.
But it didn't disturb him for long. He went around the bed, climbed on it, put his pillow on the free place, and brought the covers up to his neck.
o
Ecthelion slept surprisingly well that night. But when he woke up and reached for his bolster, it wasn't a bolster he touched, but the shoulder of a young blond man sleeping in his bed. He screamed and fell over, taking the quilt, blanket and sheet with him, waking Belin.
He rubbed his eyes.
"What are you doing in my bed ?" the elf exclaimed.
Belin was obviously not very awake, although he usually woke up more quickly and freshly than his master.
"I were cold..."
"And? Why didn't you make a fire?"
"There was no log, sir. I didn't want to bother you, but I were really so cold. In our house all the people sleep in the same bed to keep themselves warm. That's how I slept with my brothers, my mother, my father and my cat, since I were picked up."
"Picked up?"
"From the hook on which the swaddled little ones are hung, my lord."
"Wait... Humans swaddle babies and hang them up?!"
"It's so that the body deforms not."
"Well, I can see why you're all so small," Ecthelion grumbled.
He put the bedding back in place and lay down again, his head hidden under the sheet. Belin figured that since he hadn't expelled him explicitly for the day, and there was still no fire, he could stay a little longer.
o
A few days later, towards the end of the afternoon, Belin suddenly felts aches and pain, started to cough. Seeing that he could barely stand on his legs, that he was shaking and that his cheeks were red, Ecthelion put his hand on his forehead.
"You are burning up."
"I have caught death," declared Belin.
"You're going to die?!" Ecthelion panicked.
He took him home at once, put him in his bed with five blankets, built a fire, put a cold cloth on his forehead, then ran to the nearest healer.
o
"So? What's wrong with him?"
"Oh, I don't know much about humans," said the doctor. "This is the first one I've seen in my career. Besides, aren't they supposed to be bearded like the Dwarves?"
"This one shaves his beard. Earlier he told me he had caught death. But I don't understand what that means."
"YOU MAY HAVE MEANT TO SAY THAT YOU HAD CAUGHT A DEAD MAN?" the doctor asked the patient, articulating and speaking louder as if he were addressing a deaf elf.
"No, I caught death, but it's a metaphor, so to speak."
"A what?" the doctor said.
Ecthelion was pleased to see that his vocabulary lessons were beginning to pay off.
"A metaphor..." Belin replied weakly. "That expression is somethin' we say, when we catch a plague of the cold... because we often die of it, unfortunat'ly!"
"Mm, I'd rather call it a metalepsis," said the doctor.
He then turned to his grimoire about humans, a remarkable treatise written by Curufin Fëanorion, following his observations in the Wilderness.
"I think they are more vulnerable to infection than we are," Ecthelion thought to inform her anxiously. "For example, they often get pimples on their skin."
"Ah ?" the doctor asked with interest. "What colour and appearance?"
"That's not the point at the moment," Ecthelion retorted.
"Oh, take it easy..."
But the young knight was getting impatient, fearing that his squire would be swept away by death any second.
Belin blew his nose loudly into a large handkerchief from his collection, which looked a bit like a tea towel.
"What is this strange liquid coming out of his nostrils in quantity?" Ecthelion asked. "Is it dangerous?"
"It's mucus. The same as ours, according to this treatise, but carrying germs. Ah, that crafty Curufin doesn't do things by halves when he sets out to do them... He's done some analyses... Anyway, I see that your squire's is almost transparent... According to this treatise, and its chapter on Epidemics among the Edain, it must be a virus. And the symptoms described by the patient correspond to a contagious disease called 'flu' here."
"He's going to die...? " Ecthelion blurted out, white as a sheet.
"Maybe not..."
"Maybe?! What do you prescribe? "
The elf doctor sighed.
"Keeping the bed for at least a week, lots of warm or hot drinks, heat, and some herbal teas that will clear the nose and fight germs. The diet should be balanced, rich in fruit and vegetables, but not too abundant."
"Thank you doctor."
Once the healer had left, Ecthelion ran to the apothecary to have the indicated herbal teas prepared, and then sent for five other doctors, who all told him the same thing despite his invectives.
o
When Belin woke up after a long, tormented sleep, he saw to his astonishment that he was surrounded by candles and statuettes representing the Valar.
There was also a basket of fruit on the coffee table, jugs of water, wine and soup, and a pile of embroidered white cotton handkerchiefs.
"I can't blow my nose in such beautiful handkerchiefs..." thought the human.
He felt he could stand up, his head was no longer spinning. He was hungry. He didn't feel like fruit, so he went to the kitchen to make himself a piece of bread with cheese.
He was spreading the butter on the bread when he heard Ecthelion coming up behind him.
"...Belin?"
"Oh my lord, are you there? I didn't blow out the candles in the room, because I thought you were reading."
" Huh?"
The elf's face was even paler than usual, his features were drawn.
"I went to sleep for a few hours," Ecthelion explained, as if to justify himself. "But you had the strength to get up?"
"Yes I feel better. "
The elf heaved a sharp sigh of relief.
"You were in bed for three days," he said.
"That long?"
He couldn't remember. He thought he had slept only one night.
Ecthelion touched his forehead.
"The fever is gone... But the doctor told me it would last three weeks... By Varda ! Eru has answered my prayers!"
He hugged the sick human.
"Lord Ecthelion... You hold me too tight..."
He had a coughing fit. The elf let go of him.
One month later.
Ecthelion had been in bed for ten minutes, and was reading an epic poem about the Dagor-nuin-Giliath, the Battle under the Stars.
He had reached the point where the great size of the swords of the Fëanorian soldiers was being discussed, when there were two small knocks on the door.
"Yes?"
It was Belin with a nightcap, in his nightclothes.
"No," the elf simply replied.
The human's brow furrowed.
"No, and don't look at me like a beaten dog, you have to get used to sleeping alone!"
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