This story is set during the first year that Tindómë lived with the Elves in Lothlorien.Mortal Illness
She sneezed. No big… She sneezed again.
Two pairs of worried looking blue eyes swivelled her way.
“Tindómë, what is wrong?” Rumil asked.
“Uh… dust?” she replied.
“I do not think there is anything in the talan to discomfort your breathing,” Orophin said slowly. “Neither of us is sneezing…”
Oh! So elves actually did sneeze if the air was dusty? That would account for them carrying handkerchiefs…
She sneezed again.
The two elves looked decidedly worried.
“Maybe I’ve caught a cold?” she suggested.
They looked at her blankly.
“Uh – an illness, uh, mortals get sometimes…”
“I will go for a healer.” Rumil was on his feet.
“Miriel,” Orophin said to his brother’s departing back, “she has been to Imladris, she may have knowledge of mortal illness.”
“Mortal illness?” Tindómë giggled. “It’s really not that
bad, honestly… oh! I guess you didn’t mean what ‘mortally ill’ means to me…”
She tried to explain, between sneezes, what a ‘mortal illness’ meant to actual mortals… by the time she managed to convince Orophin that she really wasn’t in danger of dying, Rumil had returned with an elleth at his heels.
By now Tindómë’s eyes felt uncomfortable and she thought her throat might be just a little sore. Red eyes, red nose, and a croak; so not a good image when Rumil was just back in Caras Galadhon from his tour of duty ‘on the fences’.
The elleth introduced herself and continued, “So you are the young peredhel, not fully grown… your body is doubtless still in transition towards full immortality.”
She placed the back of her hand on Tindómë’s forehead briefly, looked at her eyes, down her throat, placed her fingers briefly on the middle of Tindómë’s back as she breathed, and then turned to the two males.
“I am sure… Tindómë… is right. She is suffering from the minor illness known to men as a ‘cold’; although, if ignored, it can cause mortals to become quite ill. But I know how best to treat it – Master Elrond, himself, taught me.”
Rumil and Orophin looked slightly less worried.
“Stay in the same temperature, keep warm, rest,” Miriel instructed, “and I will make a warm tisane, and some soothing syrup, as you will doubtless develop a sore throat.”
She looked around her and then spoke to the two ellyn. “Best that she does not go out into the night air to return to her own talan. You two can share a bed.”
Sadly Tindómë realised Miriel meant Orophin and Rumil…
In no time, it seemed, she was propped on pillows in Rumil’s bed, sipping a warm drink, two ellyn at her beck and call.
Plied with soft fruit dishes and tasty soups to prevent hurting her throat further, encouraged to sleep, entertained when awake; it really was worth the discomfort…
There were occasions, in later years, when Tindómë sometimes looked back on that ‘mortal illness’ fondly as she wished she could retire to her bed and be cosseted for a day or two… ……..……..……..……..……..……..……..
Middle Earth is the property of the estate of JRR Tolkien – my characters play there without permission but make no profit and leave it tidy when they leave. The BtVS characters do not belong to me either, but are used for amusement only. All rights remain the property of Mutant Enemy, Joss Whedon, and the original TV companies. ……..……..……..……..……..……..……..
This was written using a prompt from the Live Journal Schmoop Bingo cards - the prompt was "minor illness".