Chapter Text
A storm breaks upon the valley in the midmorning and Glorfindel returns drenched from the swollen banks of the River Bruinen. As he stands before the hearth in Estel's room reporting on the state of the floods, he catches sight of Elrond's eyes finally dragging shut.
Elladan had met the warrior-lord at the gates of the house looking just as miserable as Glorfindel felt. The stone of dread that dropped in his stomach felt like a tree tumbling to the ground or a bow splintering in two. The younger elf had tried to reassure him that Legolas was fine and merely resting but it did not lighten the weight.
"What has happened? If not Legolas then-"
"Estel."
And still that stone sinks deeper.
"He is ill, badly so. Ada has spent the last day at his bedside but he will not let me in to see him and Elrohir told me of the horrible dreams Estel had and I am worried for him and-"
Elladan's rambling is cut off by a tug and the sudden comfort of steady arms around his back. Glorfindel was hugging him and despite his shock, Elladan finds himself returning it.
"Estel is the strongest man I know. And even if he falters, Legolas is so damn stubborn he'd go marching right up to Mandos and demand a duel."
A ragged gasp escapes Elladan’s lips, "You're right, you're right. Cirdan's beard, of course you're right."
"Now come on," Glorfindel throws an arm around the younger elf's shoulder, "I need to warm my hands before the fire and if you find me a cup of hot mead, I won't tell your father that you swore."
Estë, Lady of Healing and Rest, in her infinite kindness had given the Last Homely House a reprieve as both Estel and Legolas slept calmly and soundly through the night. But the fire burning in the young man's body refuses to relent and as the sun climbs to its noon peak behind the rain clouds, the warrior-elf finally wakes his lord.
Elrond startles awake as though he'd merely blinked and not slept for nearly three hours. Confusion writes itself into his face and Glorfindel reaches out a hand.
"Everything is fine, it just seems your children have picked up your self-destructive habits," he chides, gesturing to Estel in bed. "It is just past midday, I thought you may wish to wake him or examine him beyond my own poor observations."
"Your diligence is appreciated. Has anything changed?"
"Nay, his fever still burns though it has stopped rising according to Elrohir. He sleeps like the dead-" Elrond flinches violently at this and Glorfindel immediately winces. "That is to say, he sleeps deeply and peacefully. The twins have taken Legolas for lunch in the communal hall and report that he is as obstinate as ever - which seems to be a good indication of his health."
Elrond rises from the settee and returns to the hard wooden chair beside his son's bed. With gentle hands, he checks the man's temperature and pulse, as well as skin colour and elasticity. From the troubled hum he gives, Glorfindel can tell all is not better.
"He is too dehydrated. We must get him to drink water." The elflord steps away to retrieve the ewer and Glorfindel softly shakes Estel's calf to rouse him. Grey eyes flutter for a moment before sliding open.
"-orfindel." Estel remarks breathlessly.
"Yes indeed. I thought I made you and Legolas promise to stop getting into trouble after the last time."
"Nah, you only made 'Las promise. I was 'aving my arm stitched up." The young man quips, grinning weakly for just a moment before being overwhelmed by grating coughs.
Both elves frown at the sound and Elrond sits his son upright to help ease his burdened lungs.
"Estel, do you think you could drink some water?"
He nods minutely, head lolling to his father's shoulder. The cool trickle down his throat soothes him temporarily and Elrond looks delighted when he drinks two full glasses of water.
Such exertion seems to be the limit of Estel's energy as he sags into the pillows behind him, sinking into slumber just as easily. Together the two elves carefully lift his limp frame and tug the man’s linen undershirt free. As it reaches his shoulder, it catches on a chain. Gently untangling the metal from the cloth, they pull it free.
Dangling from between Elrond's trembling fingers is a whistle, silver and polished bright.
“Is that-?” Glorfindel starts, recognising it instantly.
Elrond smiles, eyes warm as he stares down at his son. “He still carries it.”
The warrior reaches out for it, holding the piece with reverence. "I remember when I carved this - the journey to Doriath. She always wore silver." he says, absentmindedly stroking the single Golden Flower etched near the end. "It did not keep her from harm but it has kept Estel from such fates."
Elrond closes his hand over Glorfindel’s, "And for that, I cannot thank you enough, my friend."
---
Elladan and Elrohir both escort Legolas the entire way around Rivendell which the wood-elf repeatedly insists is not necessary, he is perfectly capable of walking. But the twins do not let him and he finds himself still quietly grateful for their support as his stamina wears thin. Elrond had forbidden him from visiting the gardens or the forest out of fear he may relapse and the separation was beginning to prickle his nerves. He needed to see something other than the walls of his chamber.
As they approach Estel’s room, Legolas shoves off their help, determined to walk in on his own. The twins both sigh deeply in exasperation but relent nonetheless. The door is ajar and he pushes it open easily. Inside, Elrond is supporting his youngest son who is hacking horrible, raw, sounding coughs. With his free hand, the elf smacks the man’s back to dislodge the fluid in his lungs. Legolas winces at the anguish on his friend’s face, if I hadn’t succumb to the elmscream, Estel wouldn’t be ill.
“Oh, Legolas!” Estel manages with a wan smile when he looks up.
Legolas’ eyebrow quirks, “You look miserable, mellon nin.”
“And I feel just about the same.” The man groans and leans over the basin in his lap again, coughing up more phlegm while both his brothers send him sympathetic looks.
Elrond gives a quiet noise of dismay, “No more talking, Estel. It will only make your throat worse. Legolas can sit with you, but no talking.”
“Like that’s going to stop them.” Elladan retorts, crossing his arms disbelieving. The elder elf stares down both Estel and Legolas with a clear warning.
"I understand, Lord Elrond." The wood-elf agrees, dipping his head gently.
With one final glare at his ill son, Elrond leaves the chamber with the twins.
They sit in silence for a number of minutes. Such is the way of their friendship, ever full of vivacity and trust regardless of its volume. Legolas runs his fingers through the fringe on the edge of Estel's knit blanket, watching as strands coil and uncoil with each stroke. But Elrond's warning means very little to them in the face of what has happened this fortnight and the words burst forth without consideration.
“I miss the woods, Estel.”
The man frowns, setting down his water glass. “We were just in the woods, Legolas, did you forget what they did to you?”
“I miss my woods, Estel. My trees, and my paths, and my home.” And my father goes unsaid but surely felt.
“Do you intend to return to Mirkwood soon?”
The silence after is enough of a response and Estel sighs, “I know I cannot stop you, but Legolas please, you must be careful.”
“I do not need you to tell me so, my father tells me each time he sees me.”
“And yet, you do not seem to listen.” the man jabs, “How many times have I received letters from the Eryn Galen healing halls?”
Legolas turns away from his friend’s searching eyes. “The woods are dark and ever growing darker. I cannot control what happens to me.”
“Aye, I know Legolas. But you are my friend and it does not stop me from fretting.”
“Ada! I hear Estel talking!” comes the shout from the hallway as Elladan tattles on his younger brother. The man and wood-elf spin to look at each other, fear kindling in them.
“Quick! The window-” Estel wheezes.
He needs give no further instruction. As the door bursts open to reveal the irate elflord, Legolas darts for the window. The sight of the elf’s blonde hair disappearing as he leaps out the opening makes Estel laugh so hard he spends the following twenty minutes coughing.
Even his father’s lecture can’t break his smile.