Healing Hope

Chapter Thirteen

The Meeting – Part One

"I want people to know my life philosophy, to remember to play after every storm." Mattie Stepanik

Estel’s fever spiked once more during the late watches of the night, but Elrond was right there to bathe his brow with cooling cloths, cuddle him close as they rocked in the rocking chair, and give him some more of the fever reducing herbal tea. After the most recent dose the child slept comfortably throughout the rest of the night, and Elrond settled once more to keep his patient vigil. Erestor came in shortly before dawn to relieve Elrond, for one of the adults always stayed with Estel now while he slept. They never knew when the terrifying nightmares would return to rob him of his breath, so one of them was always near.

Elrond could clearly remember the first night it had happened.

The nightmares began a few weeks after Legolas freed Estel from the stiflingly dark box in which Quenthar had buried him. Elrond was walking down the hallway when he heard the child gasping for breath. As he rushed into Estel’s darkened room he could see the child sitting up in bed, his eyes glazed over as he was gripped by the night terrors. He hands were clutching at his throat as he tried to breathe.

Elrond rushed to sit beside the child, afraid that he was choking on some foreign object in his throat. It didn’t take him long to ascertain that Estel’s throat was clear but the child was literally gasping for air, his face red and his lips beginning to become blue tinged. Elrond called his son’s name, and Estel began trying to speak.

“I can’t bweathe. Let me out, please, let me out! Ada! Ada….”

The elf lord realized then that the child was in the midst of a nightmare forcing him to relive his burial, and it tore at his heart to see his son suffering so. He quickly pulled back the covers and carried Estel over to the terrace where he could feel the velvety night breeze in his face and hear the comforting rumble of the falls. Gently he began to massage the boy’s chest in long, slow motions. “Awake, Estel, you are dreaming.”

The child began to cry and gasp while clutching desperately at his father’s robes.

“Estel,” Elrond said more forcefully, “breathe, son. You can breathe. Feel the air on your face. Estel, I am with you, son. Hear me!”

It took a while, but Estel slowly became aware of his father’s comforting touch and the caress of the evening breeze. His breathing slowed and hitched slightly as he calmed down, and he began to draw in deep, shuddering breaths as he awakened once again to reality. Both father and son were deeply shaken by the severity of the dream and Estel’s response to it. Slowly the tightness that had wrapped itself around Elrond's heart eased up.

Estel was shaking with fear as he awakened and continued to cry for some time as Elrond held the child on his lap soothing him. He became terrified each time the elf lord would attempt to put him back in his bed. So upset would the boy become that he would begin to hiccup and gasp again. Twice Elrond was forced to take him back out to the terrace so that Estel could feel the air in his face. Before Elrond could completely calm the child, the twins, Erestor and Glorfindel had all made their way into his bedroom, alerted by the sounds of distress within.

After that one of them always stayed with Estel while he slept. Nighttime seemed to intensify the child’s fear so they kept a small oil lamp burning so that Estel would not awaken in the darkness. Slowly the nightmares were becoming less frequent, but none of them wished to discontinue sitting with the child.

“Take some rest, my lord. I will stay with Estel now,” offered Erestor.

Elrond stood from the rocker and placed his hand over his son’s forehead, nodding at the coolness he found. “His fever broke during the night. He should feel much better when he awakens this time.”

“I am pleased to hear that,” said Erestor as he smiled fondly at the child.

O-o-O-o-O

Falathar walked quickly down the path leading to the training fields. It was early and he wanted to get to the sparring field first so that he could be completely warmed up before the rest of the Mirkwood contingent arrived. The young commander had decided that they had been away from their training schedule long enough and had called for this morning’s workout. Falathar would lead the morning training session before the break of fast. Constantly under attack as they were in Mirkwood, none ever grumbled at the training schedule set by their commander.

The first tinges of light were gracing the eastern sky, painting the trail in the warm and welcomed hues of morning. A fragrant mist hung heavily in the evergreens and hardwoods causing delicate spider webs to glisten as he wove his way through the forest to the glen where all the training fields were located.

Falathar was proud of his warriors and their skill level. They worked hard to keep at their peak of performance. No doubt the warriors of Imladris were not required to keep such an exacting schedule, he reasoned. They were, after all, residing in the hidden valley and not constantly under siege as were their Mirkwood brethren.

Cheers caught his attention, and he quickened his pace, curious to see what was happening on the sparring field. Rounding the last corner he was amazed to see the field full of Noldor elves sparring and training. In the middle, standing out like a beacon on the top of a dark mountain, was the golden Gondolin warrior himself.

Glorfindel was sparring with five of the Imladris warriors, and beating them all. A fierce grin graced his features as he thoroughly enjoyed his workout. Another cheer rose as the golden one executed a particularly difficult move to disarm one of the warriors, who immediately bowed and backed away from the fray. The remaining four were hard-pressed to maintain any kind of advantage, and one by one they were disarmed.

“Right,” called Glorfindel once his adversaries had all been beaten, “now we run.”

As Falathar watched, the Imladris group fell in behind Glorfindel as though this was a well practiced maneuver. As they jogged past the Silvan commander, Glorfindel dipped his head in greeting.

“Falathar,” he called, “the field is yours. We have completed that portion of our workout.”

Falathar watched as they disappeared up the steep path leading up the side of the mountain. Slowly he smiled to himself as he began his stretches. He knew that he had just been given a lesson in the inaccuracy of conclusions drawn from appearances and not from facts.

O-o-O-o-O

Sunlight streamed across the floor in dancing patterns caused by the billowing of the soft material covering the windows. The breeze brought a refreshing breath to the surgery where Estel had been confined. The light worked its fingers across the room until it spidered its way across the bed holding Estel.

The boy slept on his back with the heavy cast encased arm resting on his chest. One leg had snaked its way out of the cover revealing a foot, which had managed to rid itself of its bothersome sock. His hair was a riot of curls from having been dampened during his illness by the numerous cloths of cool water that had been placed on the boy’s forehead to curb the fevers which had wracked him.

When the light fingers found their way into Estel’s eyes he woke up slowly. Erestor was dozing in the rocking chair by his bed. The child lay there watching the elf for a moment. With a mischievous smile, he kicked back the cover as quietly as he could. He had been trapped in this bed for too and long, and the youngster had a feeling this was his best hope for escape. His sleeping tunic was wrinkled and still damp from where his fever had been sweated out in the night, and only one foot still wore a sock, but he was undeterred, for he usually managed to wander around with one sock on and one off until his Ada noticed.

Estel frowned as movement caused pain in his broken arm, but he was not about to let that stop him either. He wanted to go outside and feel the sunshine on his face, or even better, go to the stables to see Celos, Celon and Fluffy. It was funny to him that in his mind his words were always perfect. It was only when he tried to say them all that he ran into problems.

Ever so carefully he slipped his legs over the side of the bed, taking every precaution not to cause a single sound. Since this was the bed that was always used for Estel, the child knew the location of ever single creak that the bed was known to make. From across the room, the doorway beckoned invitingly, tantalizing him with the promise of freedom. His eyes shifted back to the sleeping elf. With great deliberation he allowed his body to slide to the floor.

He had to stand there for a moment, leaning back against the bed, until the slight wave of dizziness passed. The tickle in his dry throat almost caught him unaware, but at the last second he was able to throw his hand across his mouth to stifle the slight cough produced by his thirst. Estel froze, his hand on his mouth and his eyes wide as he watched Erestor for any reaction to his mistake.

Luck was on his side it seemed, for the elf did not move. Letting out the breath he’d been unconsciously holding and smiling at his success, Estel began his ever-so-slow trek past the danger to the open doorway. It was a game that his brothers played with him…how to sneak past a prey without making a sound. Estel loved the hunting games his brothers played with him. His beloved Erestor became a sleeping warg that would devour him should he awaken the beast.

He began to inch his way away from the bed, taking care not to stumble at the unexpected and quite irritating weakness he found in his legs, which caused him to wobble for a moment like a leggy colt. After a few second his legs felt more normal and he decided to chance a larger step, never taking his eyes off of the danger. Estel bit his lip in concentration for he was even with the rocker now and taking extra care not to step on one of the warg’s paws.

Once he was past the paws of his prey, Estel allowed himself a small smile of victory. He could almost feel the soft muzzle of his favorite horses and hear the delighted purr of Fluffy now.

With a great growl, the warg leapt out at Estel and the child found himself snatched up into the lap of his nemesis.

Squealing in delight, Estel giggled as Erestor growled and pretended to bite his tummy. “I have you now and you shall make a tasty morsel for my dinner, little mouse,” grumbled Erestor in a deep voice.

Between giggles, Estel manage to catch his breath. “I’m not a mouse, I’m a little boy.”

“A little boy?” growled Erestor. “Wargs eat little boys.”

“But you’re not a warg, you’re Restor!”

“So I am,” laughed the elf. “And you are a little boy with a cold foot. Where is your sock, Estel?”

“I don’t know,” replied the boy. “Can we go outside? Please, Restor, I’ve been in bed for seben whole days!”

Erestor reached over to the bed for Estel’s yellow blanket. He wrapped the child and then settled the wiggling boy onto his lap stealing a quick moment to nuzzle the babysoft hair. “You haven’t been in bed for seven days, Estel. It only seems like it when you are ill.”

There was a little frown line between Estel’s eyebrows, a dead give away that the child was not happy. “You’re not going to let me go out to the stables, are you?”

Erestor could not help but smile. “No, I am not. However, Legolas’ Adar has been most anxious to meet you, and I do believe that you should be able to attend dinner tonight and meet him.”

Estel sobered and seemed to consider the news for a moment. “Is he mad at me?”

Erestor was confused by the question, but then, that was not always an unusual occurrence when talking to Estel. “Why would he be mad at you, child?” asked the seneschal.

Estel ducked his head, biting on his bottom lip as he pondered his answer. A deep sigh found its way from his chest and he blinked his eyes rapidly as though to dispel moisture gathering there.

Erestor gently nudged up the child’s chin until he was able to look in the boy’s eyes. What he saw there troubled him. There were tears in Estel’s eyes. “Estel?”

Estel swallowed and sniffed and then wiped his nose on his sleeve.

At the seneschal’s upraised eyebrow, Estel quickly apologized. “I’m sorry, Restor. I’m not supposed to use my sleebe.”

“Well,” allowed Erestor, “we will let it pass this time, if you tell me why you would think that Thranduil is angry with you.”

“Because I thought he was the bad elf and I ran away,” said Estel. “Is he mad that I thought he was bad?”

Erestor smiled and hugged the boy. “No, Estel, he is not angry with you. He does not even know the reason why you left the grounds.”

That brought a smile to Estel’s face, which was quickly squashed when Erestor announced that he needed a bath.

“A bath?” whined the four-year-old, for that was always his reaction to the suggestion.

“Yes, a bath,” laughed Erestor, thrilled and happy to hear his little one feeling well enough to complain about his bath. “Why don’t we go find Elrohir to help us? I believe that we missed our turn last night.”

Estel nodded his head in acceptance. Why his family thought he needed so many baths was beyond him, but he’d learned that arguing, begging, and bargaining did no good so he just gave in gracefully.

“That’s my good boy,” smiled Erestor. “You would not want to meet King Thranduil smelling like a warg would you?”

“Legolas’ Adar is a King?” breathed Estel. His eyes were wide at the news. “I never met a King before!”

Erestor sat the boy down on the side of the bed and used one of the linen cloths to fashion a sling to keep the full weight of the cast from Estel’s arm. “Is that better?” he asked.

“Yes,” nodded Estel as he studied the sling. “I look like a warrior now, don’t I?” he smiled, for there was nothing more in the world that Estel wished to be than a warrior like his brothers and Glorfindel.

“Yes, you look like a warrior,” grunted Erestor as he retrieved Estel’s missing sock from under the bed. He sat up and put the sock onto the boy’s foot and then stood up and took Estel’s hand. “Come along, Estel, let’s go find Elrohir.”

Hand in hand the pair walked from the healing rooms.

TBC