TITLE: Nothin’ Special: Chapter Nine
PROMPT: #176: Soft (499 words)
AUTHOR: Marethiel/ThinkingLady
RATING: G
DISCLAIMER: Don't own 'em, drat it. I just take ‘em out to play. Many thanks to Professor Tolkien for creating these wonderful souls to populate my imagination.
NOTES: Sequential sequel to Prompt #168: Special
The darkness of the bedroom was soft, pinpricked with lithely dancing shadows cast by the crackling fire in the hearth; a cozy place, and restful. This was evident, Glorfindel noticed with a smile, since Estel was in such deep, drug-aided slumber as to induce a soft snoring. He relaxed back in his easy chair as he contemplated the anxiety-filled days immediately following the rescue.
Elladan and Elrohir had utilized their father’s training to its utmost, coaxing the bone and sinew in their young brother’s body to knit and heal. Estel had been incoherent for much of the first two days, either through pain-killing herbs, or Elladan sending him into a healing sleep. Finally, five days past the end of their horror, the boy had awoken, his weary eyes finally holding recognition and awareness of his surroundings.
Once the young adan had turned that corner, his recovery began in earnest. He was still weak and uncomfortable enough not to cause the healers too much worry, but his brothers and Glorfindel knew keeping the boy amused and occupied during what promised to be a long recovery would be an arduous task. For the moment, the young man was content to drowse as one brother or the other read to him or sang, or Legolas visited.
Tonight, Estel had tossed in discomfort, finally swallowing his pride and asking for something for the pain. Elrohir glanced at his older twin; the pain must be substantial indeed for Estel to admit it.
The court healer saw the exchange of the twins and tut-tutted, reassuring them that Estel was healing “very well, thank you!” and that rest and sleep were the best thing to help him recover. Too much pain and discomfort would stop that from happening; he found the sensible attitude of Elrond’s youngest son “a refreshing bit of maturity!”
The sleeping draught took hold quickly and Glorfindel finally shooed the twins out to get some rest themselves.
He heard the door open a while later, and he smiled, expecting Legolas. He was surprised to instead see Thranduil.
“He is … recovering?”
“He is, your Majesty,” assured Glorfindel. “Estel is sturdy; he will recover a little more slowly than an Elf, but just as completely.”
“That is well,” pronounced the Elvenking softly, so as not to disturb the young man’s rest. His expression grew wry. “We should hate to have to face the Lord of Imladris with any other news than complete recovery.” He sighed. “Particularly when the fault of the encounter was ours.”
Glorfindel chuckled at the guilty expression on the ruler’s face. “You grow soft, Thranduil,” he teased.
“We have seen the Peredhel in a temper,” replied the King, aloof, but his eyes twinkling. “We have no desire to have that visited upon our person.” He gazed on the boy and gently stroked his hair. “His spirit kept Legolas alive; such valor should be rewarded with comfort and peace.” The King looked at Glorfindel squarely. “And our… my thanks.”
Glorfindel smiled, understanding.
** to be continued **