Healing Hope

Chapter Fifty-Five

Hold on to Hope

“If children have the ability to ignore all odds and percentages, then maybe we can all learn from them.  When you think about it, what other choice is there but to hope?  We have two options, medically and emotionally:  give up, or fight like hell.”

~Lance Armstrong

King Adar?

Thranduil’s eyes were pulled to the table where Estel lay being tended by the healer.  He leaned over the table, brushing back the curls from Estel’s forehead.  “I am here, young one.”

“Do not be mad at Pendan,” Estel begged.  “He is my friend.”

Thranduil smiled at the child. “I have no anger for Pendan, child, and I am grieved that you witnessed my outburst.”

“Are you mad at me?”  Estel asked in a small voice, almost afraid to hear the answer. 

No, Estel, never you!” vowed Thranduil.  “I am here with you now, and I will not let anything else cause you harm.”

Estel breathed an audible sigh of relief.  He would have to be careful not to let anyone know he was human.  Estel gingerly reached up to touch his throbbing face.  His injured eye had swollen closed and the boy winced when he touched the bruised flesh.

Gently Legolas took his hand and pulled it back from the injury.  “Hello Estel,” the prince smiled.  “Perhaps you should not touch your sore eye just yet.”

Estel looked back and forth between Legolas and Thranduil and smiled weakly.  “You are messy!”

“One’s offspring is rather disheveled,” noted the King, lifting his nose slightly at the odor of orc blood emanating from Legolas.

“One would do good to look at oneself!” retorted the Prince in a perfect imitation of his sire.

“Is my Ada here?” asked Estel, drawing frowns of concern from the King, Legolas, and Nárë.   

The healer noted the surprise of the three.  “My Lords, confusion is not uncommon after such a blow to the head.”    He slipped his hand behind Estel’s neck and helped the boy to sit up.  “I will splint that arm now, Estel, and then you may go with the King.”

Estel whimpered again as the healer sat him up and his arm was jostled.    “You told me that the bad elf could not come here, King Thran-due, but he tried to get me again.”  He looked entreatingly at the King, fear evident in his soulful eyes.  “He hurt me.”  Estel took a shuddering breath.  “I want my Ada.”

Thranduil realized then that either Estel did not remember what happened or else he did not know what had transpired.  Above all else Thranduil wanted to calm his fears.  “The bad elf did not come back Estel,” he spoke gently, hoping that he could allay the boy’s fears without have to explain exactly what happened. 

Estel was trying to remember what happened but it was all fuzzy.  “My Ada is not here, is he?” 

Thranduil shook his head.  “No child, but your King Adar is.”

Estel gasped as the healer moved his arm into position.  He wanted to pull away, but instead bit his bottom lip, held his breath, and fixed his eyes on Thranduil as though he could find his courage in his King Adar’s eyes.

“Only a little more, child,” soothed the healer, trying to be a gentle as he could. 

Thranduil never took his eyes from Estel, patting him reassuringly on the leg as he praised him for holding still for the healer.

When the arm was splinted the healer too commended Estel’s bravery.

The pain relieved, Estel shivered.  “My boots is cold.”

The King and Sword Master looked from Estel to each other with incomprehension.  Legolas, however, had heard that particular phrase before and smiled. “You have lost your socks again, Estel.”

Estel nodded, “And my boots is cold.”

“Then let us take you to get warm,” Legolas replied.   

“That is an excellent idea, my Prince,” nodded the healer.  “This child should be kept from getting chilled.”  He smiled at Estel.  “Estel has been through an ordeal, and he could be experiencing some repercussions from that.”  He checked the bandage around Estel’s back, assuring himself that the arm would remain immobile.  “I will need to speak to the First Healer before I can tell you what precautions should be taken regarding the injury to Estel’s back.”

“Did the bad elf hurt my back too?” asked Estel, trying unsuccessfully over his shoulder to see.

“The bad elf was not here, Estel, remember?” Thranduil gently reminded the boy.  He nodded to the healer to acknowledge his words.  “Estel will be resting in my rooms.”  He turned towards Nárë, “Will you carry him?” 

At Nárë’s surprised reaction Thranduil looked pointedly at Legolas and himself, “We came directly from the battlefield, and I would not expose him to the foul offage coating us.”

“I would be happy to carry the young one,” nodded Nárë, as he bent over the table. “Put your arm around my neck, Estel, and we shall go to find your soft blanket.”  He grimaced inwardly at the damage to Estel’s face.  The eye was seeping now and looked extremely uncomfortable. 

Estel put his arm around the Sword Master’s neck and allowed himself to be picked up.  He was feeling extremely sleepy now and snuggled his head against Nárë’s broad shoulder.  “Please do not leave me alone in the dark again, Nárë,” he sighed, his eyes growing heavier with each passing moment.

“You were alone in the dark?” Legolas gasped, remembering the frightened little child he’d found buried and left for dead.  The prince was heartsick at the thought.

“Leave this conversation for the present,” soothed Thranduil, glancing meaningfully at the lightly dozing child.  “I believe Estel has had enough excitement for the present.”

Legolas hesitated.  He hated to leave Estel, but he needed to be here as well.  “Adar, may I stay here to await word of Falathar?”

“No,” Thranduil immediately replied, arching an eyebrow when Legolas opened his mouth to protest.  “We share your concern, Greenleaf, but come...clean yourself and put on fresh garments lest you contaminate other wounded being treated here.”

“Of course, Adar, you are correct.”  Legolas sighed, frustrated at himself.  “My fatigue and worry must be clouding my thoughts,” he admitted, ashamed at his lack of consideration for the other patients.

“Falathar is in good hands,” consoled Nárë.  “You will have ample time to bathe before the First Healer has completed his procedures.”

“Do I have to take a bath too?” asked Estel, rousing sleepily from Nárë’s shoulder. The word “bathe” had penetrated his mind like a clarion call. He tried to frown but the movement hurt his eye too much.  Instead his bottom lip poked out stubbornly until a huge yawn over took him.

“No bath for you Estel,” Thranduil decreed, “at least not now.”

O-o-O-o-O

Tremors wracked Elladan’s body as the poison spread determinedly throughout his system.  Elrond rose from the rocking chair where he was keeping vigil to spread the sunshine blankey over his eldest.   Tenderly tucking the blanket around Elladan’s shoulders, Elrond could not resist sitting on the side of the bed and taking his son into his arms.  He cuddled his oldest against him as he had when Elladan was just an elfling.

Elrohir was downstairs, Erestor having finally convinced him to take some nourishment, if for no other reason than to get the twin out of the healing suite for a while.  Elrohir was nearly frantic with worry for his twin and that worry was translating into nervous energy.  His constant pacing in the room was making a wreck of Erestor’s nerves, or so the Seneschal declared.

Alone in the room with his son, Elrond allowed himself to relax his rigid control for just a moment.  He reached out to surround the twin’s feä with his own, willing him to keep fighting and imbuing him with all the strength he could.  Cold fear clutched Elrond’s heart as he considered what Elladan’s loss would mean to all of them, but especially to Elrohir.

Unbidden, the memory returned with force, searing the immortal’s heart and soul as freshly as it had so many millennia ago.  Elrond knew the exact moment that Eros had chosen - and been granted - mortality, for the wrenching of their twin bond had very nearly killed him.  Practically comatose from the severed union, Elrond had withdrawn into himself...had sought that place deep within his mind where he felt safe, loved, and never, ever abandoned.  Had it not been for the gentle, yet insistent, coaxing of Gil-galad, Elrond might never have re-emerged.  Even with the love and support of Gil-galad and Círdan, it took him a long, long time to recover from the shock and grief of Elros’ choice.

Elrond rocked back and forth cradling Elladan as his tears fell.  If Elladan passed to Mandos’ Halls, his grief would be doubled, for he would carry it for Elladan and also for Elrohir.  Elrond knew all too well what suffering Elrohir would endure, and it seemed he was powerless to prevent it.  He truly believed Elrohir would fade from grief should he lose his twin.

A soft voice touched his mind. Reluctantly, Elrond abandoned his solitude and opened his thoughts to its insistence.  Galadriel rarely used her far speak ability to reach to him except at greatest need.    “Do not abandon hope, my son.”  The quietly spoken phrase reverberated in his soul.

Elrond took in a deep, ragged breath, forcing himself to relax and banish his forlorn thoughts lest they somehow seep into Elladan’s consciousness.  The Elf Lord wanted only positive feelings surrounding his son now.  He would feed him faith in hopes of starving all fear!    “I will not lose another one I love!” he vowed. 

Easing Elladan back onto the pillow, Elrond stood up, crossed the room and called down the stairs for Elrohir.

The sound of his Ada’s voice very nearly frightened the twin to death, for Elrond, Lord of Imladris was not given to calling down three flights of steps.  Almost before the sounds of Elrond’s voice ended, Elrohir and Erestor were bounding up the stairs; their steps lent speed by their foreboding.

“Ada, what has happened?” cried Elrohir, reaching his father first.  There was a fierce gleam in Elrond’s eye that held a force such as the twin had never before seen. 

“Ride to Mirkwood, Elrohir, and bring back Estel.”

Elrohir and Erestor shared a quick glance of concern at the sudden request. 

Elrohir’s heart nearly shattered. “You believe Elladan to be dying, and you want Estel here for the end.”

“No, Elrohir, no” vowed Elrond. He reached out to take Elrohir into his embrace and spoke soothingly to him.  “I will not let him die!”  In truth the Elf Lord felt more hopeful than he had in days.  “Elladan loves Estel; he will fight even harder to stay here to protect his little love.”

Elrohir looked at his father doubtfully for a moment and then walked over to look down at his twin’s pale features.  Perhaps his father was correct.  Estel had healed their hearts with his innocent and unconditional love; perhaps there was still a miracle that he could work on Elladan’s body.  It was certainly worth trying.  Nodding his head, he knelt down beside Elladan’s bed.  “Hold on, El, I am bringing Estel home.”

Elrohir rose with fresh determination.   “I will leave immediately.”

“I am coming with you!” said Erestor suddenly.  He put his hand on Elrond’s shoulder.  “I will see your sons safely home.”

O-o-O-o-O

As Thranduil and Legolas went to bathe, Nárë nestled Estel in the King’s bed, plumping up the pillow behind him and pulling up the King’s soft robe to cover him.  As he waited for Thranduil to complete his bath, the Sword Master searched his memory for any signs he might have missed that could have alerted him to Lariel’s unbalanced behavior.

Thranduil emerged from the bathing chamber still pink from the heated waters.  As he dressed, Nárë related to him all that had transpired beginning with his choice of Lariel to watch over Estel while he saw to the siege preparations.  Legolas entered the chamber as Nárë was completing his tale.

Legolas had fire in his eyes, but Thranduil remained amazingly contained.  Even Nárë, who had known the King for countless years, could not tell what his Monarch was thinking.  Oh, he knew the rage that was boiling beneath the surface, but he just could not quite figure out why he was working so hard to keep it from spewing forth.  Needless to say, Thranduil was not generally given to masking his feelings.

Nárë’s eyes narrowed as he watched Thranduil.  His instincts were telling him that his friend needed some time to work through his options.  Clearing his throat, he rose from the bed to take his leave, but a motion from the King stayed his movement.

“No blame do I lay on your shoulders, my friend,” Thranduil said quietly.  He walked over to the doorway.   As he opened the thick, plank door, the guards outside came to attention.  “Send a guard to see that Lariel does not leave her quarters,” Thranduil ordered.  As one of the guards left to do the king’s bidding, Thranduil closed the door and looked back at Nárë and Legolas.  “I will decree her punishment before the court tomorrow.” 

Nárë nodded his head, finally following Thranduil’s thoughts.  “You are thinking of Núthir.” 

Thranduil did not immediately answer.  Instead he looked at Legolas.   “Greenleaf, go now to keep vigil for Falathar, and I will join you soon.”

As much as he wanted to know his father’s thoughts on Lariel and her punishment, he needed to be in the Healing Rooms to support Falathar.  “Adar,” he said softly, “I do not envy you the decision you must make, but I trust your wisdom.”  With a last look towards Estel, Legolas bowed to his Adar and left the room.

After a moment, Thranduil sighed and sat down tiredly on the bed beside Nárë and Estel.  Gently, almost absentmindedly he ran this fingers through Estel’s curls as he thought back the long years to that fateful day...the day Oropher and so many of their warriors had been lost.

Nárë remained quiet, content to let the King work out his own thoughts.  He knew, of course, the story of how Núthir, the father of Pendan and Lariel, had saved Thranduil’s life, losing his own in the process. 

Finally Thranduil looked at his friend with stark grief written on the lines of his face.  “Will the repercussions of that day never stop haunting me?”

TBC