Healing Hope

Chapter Forty Three

It is Not Betrayal

“There is no more miserable human being than one in whom nothing is habitual but indecision.” – William James

Imladris

Elrond hesitated in the doorway only a moment before walking through his sitting room to the balcony beyond to join his daughter.  As she had every night since arriving, the Undómiel stood with her back to the room looking out over Celebrían’s garden.  Unlike the other evenings, this night she was unable to stem the flow of tears.

Arwen thought that she was coming to this place only at times when her father would be engaged elsewhere, but there was little that took place within the Last Homely House that the Elf Lord did not know.  He had simply allowed his daughter her privacy and maintained his distance whenever he knew she was here.

However, tonight was different.  Elrond had silently watched the hollow look of loss creeping back into his daughter’s beautiful countenance bit by bit the longer she was here, and tonight he had known, as only a father can know, that the tears would finally fall, and he steeled himself to do what must be done for Arwen’s sake. 

“Arwen,” he said softly, watching his daughter brush her hands swiftly across her moistened cheeks.  “No, daughter,” he crooned, taking her by the shoulders and turning her to face him.  “Do not hide your tears from me.”

“Oh Ada,” Arwen cried, stepping into the safe embrace of his arms where she had always felt loved and secure.  “I do not wish to bring more sorrow to you.”

Elrond smiled wistfully against her silken hair.  “You bring me only joy, my Evenstar, but it is time for you to return to Lórien.”

Arwen quickly stepped back to look into his face, and he could easily read the relief in her eyes warring with the confusion there.  “But we have come for the winter, to spend the Winter’s Solstice with you.”

“Not this year,” he replied easily.  “Too many memories linger here for you.”

In all her life Arwen had never been able to hide her feelings from her father and she did not try now.  “Will it always be so?” she asked sadly.

“I cannot answer that,” Elrond admitted. 

Arwen stepped back into her father’s arms, resting her head on the broad shoulder where she’d always found sanctuary.  “Why can I not find the peace here that you and the twins have found?”

“Peace?” Elrond questioned softly.  He thought about the word not sure that he would have chosen the same one.  Acceptance...resignation... patience..., the words ran swiftly through his mind.   Those were emotions that he could admit to feeling, but peace, he was not so sure about.  When had his heart begun to feel at peace? 

 It was Arwen’s turn to read the look in her father’s eyes, and a soft smile welcomed the confirmation she found there.  “You did not realize it, did you?”  Slowly she shook her head to halt the denial that sprang to his lips.  “It is no shame to find peace, Ada; nor is it a betrayal.” 

Elrond gazed at his daughter, accepting her words and affirming the feeling in his heart.  “I did not realize my daughter had grown as wise as she is beautiful.”

Arwen’s lilting laugh lifted his heart.  “It is not wisdom to read your eyes, Ada.”  She cupped his cheek with a soft hand.  “I saw it in the twins, and I see it now in your eyes.”  A soft sigh escaped her.  “Perhaps someday Estel will bring peace to my heart as he has yours.”

“Perhaps,” Elrond echoed, “but it is not yet that time.”  Elrond kissed her forehead.  “Do not rush yourself, Arwen; you were very young when your mother sailed.”  He smiled gently at the quick tears that formed once more in her luminous eyes...eyes so alike to her mother.  “Healing comes in its own time, daughter.”

“I spent so many wonderful days sitting right here with her,” Arwen said longingly, looking around the balcony where her mother’s lounge still sat, the ever present basket of flowers situated beside it.  The sight brought a smile to her face.  “You keep mother’s flowers fresh.”

“I always will,” he replied, glancing with love at the red geraniums.  “They remind me that one day we will be together again.”

Arwen kissed her father’s cheek, and walked slowly across the sitting room.  Pausing in the doorway, she glanced back to the balcony where her father stood silhouetted by the moonlight, and she thought she could see the slightest slump to his proud shoulders. 

O-o-O-o-O

“Haldir!”

The Marchwarden changed his course across the gardens and veered towards the form of his Lord.  “My Lord, I was just on my way to the archery fields; care to join me?”

“Your archery practice will have to wait,” said Celeborn.  “Prepare your warriors; we leave at dawn.”

“Leave?” Haldir was confused, for the original plan was to winter in Imladris.  Involuntarily he glanced at the sky as though to gauge the weather, bringing a smile to Celeborn’s face.

“The warm days linger,” the Elf Lord announced.  “We shall have plenty of time to reach home before the mountain passes are lost to the snows.”

Haldir was not sure how he felt about this turn of events.  True, there had been no further attacks upon the valley, but he could possibly be leading his troop – including the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien – through danger.  Plans immediately began running through the warrior’s mind as he bowed to his Lord.

Celeborn smiled to himself as he walked back over to join Mithrandir on the terrace.  “Young ones,” he laughed, “their thoughts are so easily discernable.”

Mithrandir chuckled, blew another smoke ring, and immediately began to cough.

“Mithrandir,” chided Celeborn, “why do persist with that disgusting pipe weed?”  The Elf Lord poured some water into a mug and handed it to the Maia.

Between coughs, the wizard thanked Celeborn for the water and drank deeply of the soothing liquid.  “One simply must have some vices,” he sighed.  “But that is something an elf would not understand.”

Celeborn raised an elegant eyebrow at his friend’s assertion.  “You have been spending too much time with the Halflings, my friend!”

“Yes,” sighed Mithrandir nostalgically, “their happy-go-lucky ways do rather influence one.”

Celeborn’s indulgent smile turned pensive. “It is my hope that they may keep their innocence as long as possible in these ever darkening days.”

Mithrandir’s furry eyebrows drew together as, his throat soothed, he once again puffed thoughtfully on his pipe.  “That is why we are here in Arda.”  With a deep sigh, he tapped his pipe to empty the remaining leaves from the bowl and sat up.  “I believe I will pay a visit to Saruman.”

“Do you think that wise?” questioned Celeborn, eliciting a snort from Mithrandir.

“Ever since Círdan gave the ring to me instead of Saruman the elves have had reservations about the White Wizard,” Mithrandir rejoined.  “Need I remind you that he is the head of my order?”

“Need I remind you that he was instrumental in putting a halt to our efforts to confront the Necromancer at Dol Guldur?” replied Celeborn.  “Besides, I trust the judgment of the shipwright.”

“Do not be petulant, Celeborn,” reproached Mithrandir. “It is not becoming of an Elf Lord.”

“What is this?” questioned Galadriel, joining the pair on the terrace.  The Lady of Light seemed to have the ability never to appear when the Maia was still smoking.  “Are you harassing my husband?”

“Harassing!” sputtered the Maia.  “Hurrumph, I was simply having a quiet conversation with an old friend.”

Galadriel’s soft laugh filled the air.  “I could hear your quiet conversation from the library.”  She patted the wizard on the shoulder.  “I would only ask that you keep your own council regarding the child, Mithrandir.”

Long seconds passed as the Maia met the steady, unflinching gaze of Lady Galadriel.  Slowly he nodded his head.  “No word of Estel shall pass my lips.”

O-o-O-o-O

Twice more in the night Estel’s fever spiked, necessitating that he be placed back into the waters of the cooling chamber.   Each time Legolas was at Thedin’s side ostensibly to help, but in reality because he could not bear the thought of leaving Estel alone.  The child’s skin was incredibly pale, almost transparent to the worried eyes of the prince, and each time the fever raged he feared that Estel would be lost to them.

Thedin had resigned himself to the proximity of the prince and began teaching the young one some of the finer points of caring for the child that he had learned from the edain healers.  He was quite pleased to find Legolas as adept at learning these lessons as he was with his knives.  Many times the young warrior stopped the healer for clarification, asking pertinent questions and always interested in learning more about human physiology. 

Legolas had been in many battles and seen many wounds, but the prince had found himself flinching, at least on the inside, as Thedin cut into Estel’s arm to retrieve the bore mite and the copious amount of eggs it had deposited.  Dutifully Legolas swabbed at the blood running from the wound as Thedin attempted to extract the mite.  The bore mite is a tenacious parasite that spreads his hook shaped tentacles throughout the surrounding flesh of its host.  It is from the ends of the numerous tentacles that the eggs are produced, thus offering the eggs a better chance of survival.  The process of removal proved to be long and ghastly.

“Is it over?” Legolas asked quietly once the wiggling mite was placed into the metal dish attached to the side of the surgical table.  He sincerely hoped he never had to witness such a sight again.

“Almost, my prince,” answered Thedin.  “You would make an excellent healer.” 

Legolas almost gagged. “No thank you,” he said fervently. “What you do makes battle seem almost orderly by comparison.”

“It is not always so difficult,” chuckled the healer.

“At least my enemies are adult and able to defend themselves,” avowed Legolas.  “Watching an innocent suffer so is…”

“Difficult?” supplied Thedin.  As he talked, the healer continued flushing the gaping wound to remove as many of the minute eggs as he could.  Now he paused in what he was doing as he thought about what he wanted to say.   He could almost have smiled at the large, solemn eyes of the prince staring so intently at him.  “It is rewarding to help a patient completely heal from a wound, but we are not always successful.”

Legolas nodded, thinking of Nárë, and of other warriors he knew that had died from their wounds.  Somehow he had never thought about the duty levied against the healers who fought their own battle…the battle the save lives rather than take them.

A moan from Estel drew their attention back to the table.  “He is waking up,” cried Legolas.  “Can you give him something to make him sleep?”

“I am sorry, my prince,” said Thedin, shaking his head sadly.  “We dare not give him more.”

“I do not understand,” argued Legolas.  “Surely it would be worse for him to awaken and suffer.”

“I have done all I can do for now,” sighed Thedin.  “The wound will have to be left open so that it can continue to drain.”

“What about the broken bone in his arm?”

Thedin carefully ran his hands along the large bone in the upper portion of Estel’s arm.  “I do not believe sufficient time as passed for a bone this large to have knitted together.”  He tapped his finger against the table as he thought.  “I will put a partial cast on the child’s arm.”  Thedin looked carefully at the open wound just above Estel’s wrist.  “I will bring the cast to the mid section of the forearm about here,” he pointed out.  “A padded rod will extend from the bottom of the cast to the palm to help support the weight of the arm.”

“How long until the wound heals?” questioned Legolas.

“I am not sure,” admitted Thedin. “I will place a loose bandage over the wound so that Estel cannot see it.”

Legolas breathed a sigh of relief, for the wound truly did look horrendous and he wished to spare Estel that sight.

“Legolas?”  Estel said weakly, as the long lashes of his eyes batted slowly. 

Legolas placed himself on the side of the table away from where Thedin was bandaging the wound so that the child’s attention would be drawn away from that action.  “I am here, little one.”

“My arm hurts,” Estel said, trying to look at the wound.  “Why is my cast off?”

“Just look at me, Estel,” the prince urged.  “We are almost finished.”

“It hurts, Legolas,” Estel wailed, his bottom lip trembling and tears welling in his eyes.

Legolas felt tears of frustration burning the back of his own eyes.  Never in all his long years of life had he felt so helpless.  “Can you be strong for me, my brave little friend?”

“Do not cry, Legolas,” Estel begged. “I will be brave for you.”

“I know you will,” responded the prince.  “You are my brave warrior.”

Estel sniffed and held his breath as Thedin finished wrapping the wrist.  “You are my best patient, Estel,” the healer bragged.  “I know that was painful, and I am very proud of you.”

“Thank you,” Estel said weakly.   “My Ada would want me to be a good patient.”

Thedin smiled.  “Your Adar is a very great healer, Estel; and I know he would be very proud of you right now.”

Estel moaned and his breathing began to come faster. “I feel sick.”

“Help me roll him over to his side, Legolas,” Thedin said quickly.  Together they rolled Estel to his side as Thedin supported his injured arm.  “That’s right,” he encouraged as Legolas supported the boy’s head and held a silver bowl as Estel cast up the meager contents of his stomach.

Thedin’s assistant healer had thoroughly tested the contents of the milk Estel had been given and found no poisons in the contents, so the Prince was not concerned on that account, but his eyes found Thedin’s while Estel was sick.

The healer spoke to both Estel and the Prince by addressing the child.  “Estel, you are most likely sick to your stomach because of the pain and the high fever you had.”

Legolas handed the bowl of cast off to the healer that had approached for that purpose and brushed back the dark curls from Estel’s damp forehead.  He helped to roll the child over onto his back.  “We are almost finished Estel,” he promised.  “You are doing very well.”

Thedin held the padded rod to the bottom of Estel’s forearm as he began to apply the plastering material.  “We have just to reapply the cast to your arm and you will be able to rest.”

Estel was thoroughly miserable and trying desperately to blink back his tears.  “Stars?” he asked weakly.

“What is that, Estel?” asked Thedin.  “I do not understand.”

“I understand,” smiled Legolas. “Estel wants to see the stars.”

Thedin shook his head sadly.  “The sun is rising and the stars will not reappear for some hours.”

“I know where we can find some stars,” said Legolas, with a wink at Estel.  “If you will allow me to take Estel to my room to rest, he can go to sleep looking at the stars.”

TBC