“There's too much of him by half,” Torli grumbled as he shifted his grip under the elf's knees.

“Naw, he doesn't weigh more than a feather, but he's all bloody legs,” Arli commented from his place at the other end of their burden.

“The both of you best mind your manners and your tongues,” Narin said tartly. “He's a guest and he saved our cousin's neck for him.”

“Aw, cousin, you know we don't mean any harm! Besides, he's out cold.”

“But I am not,” Naris remarked from the doorway, causing her nephews to wince. “And I'm ashamed of you both, speaking of a guest in that manner! Especially an injured guest.” She glared at both of them as they carried the elf past her. “Lay him down over there,” she instructed, pointing toward a place close to the hearth where several towels had been laid down. “Out with you now.” She moved quickly to the elf's side, picking up a towel from a stack on a chair.  The healer bustled into the room, summoned by Narin who followed on his heels.

“We need to get him out of those wet things and get him warmed, now,” Borli said, suiting words to action by stripping the damp shirt from the elf. Naris dropped the towel and quickly grabbed a blanket that had been thrown over the fire screen to warm as the healer proceeded to remove the feebly protesting elf's breeches. Together, Naris and Borli swaddled the elf in the blanket, adding a second blanket on top of the first. Naris eased the elf's head into her lap and quickly removed the tiny clasps that held the ends of his braids. Once his hair was freed from its bonds, she used the towel to dry his hair. As soon as he was covered, the elf calmed again, allowing the dwarves to do as they wished.

“Should we try some of my brew on him, do you think, Borli?” Naris asked. Borli frowned, chewing his lip thoughtfully.

“I doubt it'd harm him any,” he replied. “Wish I knew more about healing elves. Wish I'd talked with that elven healer, Lormir, after the Battle of Five Armies more, too.” He glanced up at her. “He was a decent enough fellow. Mahal, his hands are like ice! I swear, he's colder than Gimli was and elves aren't supposed to be affected by cold.”

“Here, Aunt.” Narin handed Naris a steaming cup of the herbal brew she had given Gimli earlier. Naris held it to the elf's lips and trickled a small amount into his mouth. He swallowed it, but grimaced and murmured something in his own tongue. Borli snorted in amusement.

“Evidently, he doesn't care for the taste,” the healer said, grinning slightly.

“What did he say?” Narin asked.

“If I remember correctly, something along the lines of 'horse piss'.” The healer returned his attention to his examination of the elf. “I could be wrong, it's been awhile since I last heard their language and Mirkwood elves have an odd accent, anyway.” A moment later he sighed. “Well, he's not frostbitten so there's a mercy, but he's thinner than he ought to be and that doesn't help matters any.”

“His left shoulder was dislocated when we found him, Borli. Narin and I set it to rights before we tried to move him.”

“Ah, thanks for telling me, I'd best have a look at it and the rest of the arm.” He probed the shoulder, drawing a groan of protest from his patient before running practiced fingers down the elf's arm and turning his hand over in his palm. “The arm looks all right, and he's definitely got feeling in his fingers. I think we don't need to worry there. No, it's mostly the cold, and the fact that he's pushed himself beyond his endurance. If he were a Man or a dwarf, I'd say we needed to watch for lung fever, but elves aren't prone to it, according to what Lormir told me. Let's warm him up, both inside and out, and keep him quiet for a couple of days. He should be right as rain after that, unless there's more here than what we've seen so far.” He tucked the blankets back around the elf's shoulders and looked back up at Naris. “Gimli'll be fine so long as he didn't breathe in too much water. I'll stay with the elf until we know for sure how he's responding, but come get me if Gimli's breathing changes or if he starts coughing.”

“I'll stay and help Borli, Aunt.”

“Thank you, love. I'll come get you if we need you, Borli.”

                                                           ~

“Easy now, that's it. Drink it all, Master Elf.” A chuckle, “Yes, I know it doesn't taste very nice but it'll help you get back on your feet.”

Legolas obediently swallowed the strong-tasting liquid with a grimace. The hands that had lifted him eased him back down onto the pillow and tucked the blankets he was swaddled in back around his shoulders. His awareness drifted away for a moment until a blast of cooler air hit the skin of his hips. He tried to squirm, feeling his hips being lifted and soft cloth tucked around his hips and over his groin. He wanted to protest that he was no infant in need of a nappie but could not make himself form the words. He drifted again, his annoyance dissapating as the voices in the room with him faded into the distance.

                                                               ~

“I doubt he'll appreciate being swaddled like a babe, but you're right, Narin. He's out of it enough not to wake if the urge hits him and getting damp again wouldn't do him a bit of good.” The healer laid a hand along the side of the elf's face. “He's finally warming up.”

“Good. That was starting to worry me. Should we try to feed him some broth, do you think?” Narin asked, fussing with the edges of the blanket .

“In a bit. Let the brew settle and him rest for a little while first.” Borli sighed heavily. “I really wish I'd talked with that elven healer more. Even as different as elves are, I'd think he should be doing better than he is. I can't shake the feeling that there's something else going on with him.” The elf shifted restlessly, crying out softly in his own language before stilling again when Narin patted his uninjured shoulder, murmuring soothingly to him.

“I wish I understood what he's saying,” Narin commented, sitting back.

“Once upon a time, I spoke their language fairly well,” Borli commented. “Enough to communicate with their healers after the Battle, anyway, so long as they spoke slow enough for me to catch what they were saying. Like I said, Mirkwood elves have an odd accent. I have an easier time with understanding Master Elrond and his folk.” He sighed again and stretched. “I think he said something about water. He's probably reliving having to go into that freezing river.” Narin grunted sympathetically, patting the elf's shoulder again.

                                                          ~

Gloin peered around the door, reluctant to disturb any of the occupants of the room but anxious to see how his son's friend was doing. The healer sat dozing with his back against the wall of the chamber, one hand on his charge's chest. Gloin had no doubt that he would wake at the slightest twitch the elf made. His niece was curled up on a couple of pillows in the corner opposite the healer. The elf lay on his back, his face turned away from Gloin. His chest rose and fell steadily, reassuring the older dwarf somewhat. Gloin stepped closer, trying to see the elf's face. Borli's eyes snapped open and focused immediately on Gloin, who raised a hand in greeting.

“How is Gimli?”

“Awake and fretting over his friend,” Gloin replied, pitching his voice so as not to wake Narin. “And not a sign of lung fever so far, thank Mahal. How fares our guest?”

“Better, but not as well as he should be. There's something else going on with him besides cold and exhaustion. I need to talk to Gimli.”

“Well, he's alert and in none too good a mood. I'll stay here until you get back.”

“Good. Narin has been invaluable, but if the elf acts up, she'll need help with him. They're far stronger than they look.” Borli stood up and stretched before heading toward the door.

Gloin took a step closer to the elf as the door closed behind the healer. He had seen the son of the Elvenking on several occasions, the most recent being at the Council of Elrond, but had not ever taken the time to really look at him. The elf bore the look of his sire, none who had seen them both would ever mistake them for anything but father and son, but where the Elvenking was unapproachable, his son was compelling. Perhaps the unusual friendship that had grown between his son and this elf was not so incomprehensible after all. Gloin trusted his son's judgment implicitly; Gimli had never been one to trust lightly or prematurely and his ability to judge character was especially keen. If he trusted this elf and named him brother in all but blood, that was good enough for his father.

Gloin sat down in the space that Borli had just vacated. “Well, my lord prince, it seems I'll be looking after you awhile,” he said softly. The elf twitched slightly but made no other move.

                                                         ~

Borli raised his hand and rapped twice on the door to Gimli's bedchamber. Naris' voice bade him enter and he opened the door, passing through it and shutting it quietly behind him. Gimli sat propped up in the bed, a fierce scowl marring his handsome features. Borli snorted, amused once more.

“Spare me your dissatisfaction, cousin. I don't have time for it. I need to know what's going on with your elven friend,” Borli stated, as bluntly as any of his folk were rumored to be.

“I don't know what's going on with Legolas, that's the problem,” Gimli retorted, his scowl deepening.

“Well, then, let me enlighten you: he damned near froze to death bringing you here, even though elves aren't supposed to be affected by the cold, he's exhausted past all endurance, even though elves are supposed to be the hardiest of all folk,  his shoulder was dislocated somehow in all of this, and he isn't bouncing back as he should, given what little I know of elves. In short, you're in far better shape than you should be, he's in far worse shape than he should be, and he's not getting much better. Now, what's going on with him?” Gimli's scowl turned from disgruntled to thoughtful, and not a little worried.

“I don't know exactly on most of it; I'm only guessing until I have a chance to pry the truth out of him, but I think he was using some kind of healer's trick on me. Da always said the time that Master Elrond worked on that leg wound of his that it felt a bit like when your arm or leg tingles when you move it after you've been still a long while, but not painful. That's what it felt like pretty much the whole way here, at least when I was awake. I didn't feel cold at all once we got on the horse.” Gimli's frown deepened even more. “I didn't even know he could do that. He and I are going to have to have a talk.” Gimli shook himself and sighed. “The bit of it that I do know for sure is that he's got what his folk call the 'Sea Longing' and it plays havoc with his ability to heal himself. That's why he's still having problems with that shoulder of his. By rights, it shouldn't have been an issue for him beyond a couple of weeks after the first time it went out on him, but here we are now months later and it's still not healed.” He glanced back at Borli. “Is he sleeping with his eyes closed or open?”

“Closed, and he's out like a candle. Hasn't even so much as twitched in a couple of hours. That's one of the things that's got me nervy about him. I know that's not normal for an elf. Have you ever seen him do that?”

“Once, after the battle at the Black Gate. He fought, scoured the battlefield for wounded, and stood guard duty without rest for over a week, until Aragorn got wind of what he was up to and set Master Elrond's sons on him. He slept for over a day with his eyes closed. Scared the liver out of all of us.” Gimli's expression firmed into yet another frown. “I need to see him. I'm the only one here who knows him well enough to tell how badly off he is.” Borli snorted.

“Nice try, cousin, but there's no chance that I'm going to let you out of this bed until I'm sure that you aren't going to come down with lung fever.”

“I won't,” Gimli stated firmly. “I can't explain to you how I know, but I know that Legolas saw to it that I won't sicken.” Borli sighed.

“Don't make me regret this, cousin, or once I get you healed, I'm going to pound you.”

                                                     ~

Gloin looked up as Gimli entered the room followed by Borli. He arched a heavy brow at his son but made no comment as Gimli knelt down next to the elf's pallet. The younger dwarf looked over his elven friend minutely, laying a hand on the elf's uninjured shoulder and turning his face gently with his other hand so that he could see it clearly.

“He looks worse than he did after the Black Gate,” Gimli stated softly, his brow furrowed with worry. “Lad, what did you do to yourself?” The elf's eyes fluttered open at the sound of the dwarf's voice but drifted shut again almost immediately.

“I'm out of my depth here, I don't mind saying,” Borli said with a grimace. “I think we ought to send a messenger off to Mirkwood for a healer.”

“He'd never get through the storm,” Gloin replied, a matching grimace on his face. “Like it or not, we're going to have to wait out the storm and do our best for him in the meantime.”

“Even an elf wouldn't last long in a storm as bad as this one is. Da's right, we're on our own here,” Gimli stated flatly. He looked up again, meeting Borli's eyes squarely. “I'm not leaving this room, cousin, until the lad's awake and his usual addle-pated self. Drag another pallet in here if you must, but I'm not leaving.”