A/N : This is a translation of the very first story I have written years ago, in French. I reworked it a little bit. And now here it is, for your enjoyment. Or so I hope.

Anything recognisable belongs to Tolkien. The mistakes are mine. And if any of the readers would point them out to me, I'll correct, and gladly.

Chapter 1

Gilraen sighed. The winter was gone and the valley of Imladris was blooming. The trees swayed in the wind the brilliant green of their young leaves. Two stores below, master Elrond's garden glittered in the sun after a brief shower. The birds sang and a slight mist that rose from the Bruinen enveloped the white birch trees with a silvered cloak. Gilraen pressed her forehead to the smooth, dark wood of her window frame and sighed again. Until now, she had always managed to cure the ailments that had, from time to time, plagued her little son. From her mother and grandmother, Gilraen held some knowledge of healing herbs. Of which, in Imladris, there was never a shortage. And she held no doubt that, in this valley of immortals, she was the best judge as to the right treatment of those purely human, silly afflictions. And yet, this time, she found herself defeated by a fever.

The sky above the Misty Mountains was clearing after the rain. Estel had been frightened by the thunder only moments ago, but he had already fallen asleep again. The child was weakened by the ever-mounting fever and, Gilraen had to admit to herself, by the potions she was feeding him. The young woman opened the window and inhaled deeply. The wind brought her the fragrances of the earth, the rain and the forest. Gilraen closed her eyes. How long has it been since she had last left her room? Except for her brief trips to the kitchen, a whole week had passed since Aragorn...

Gilraen bit her lip.

Estel. Lord Elrond had named him Estel.

A whole week had passed since Estel had come down with a cough. A simple cold, Gilraen had thought at that time. But the sickness had drained her child of his energy in a single night. The young woman's eyes flew open, over-bright with emotions. She had to find a cure. Her little one was only three years old ; not yet strong enough to fight a sickness for such a long time.

'Mommy?'

Gilraen closed the window before approaching the little bed where her son seemed to blend in with the coverlets. Only yesterday, the child's cheeks had been too bright red for her liking. Today the fever had not abated, but Estel was pale.

'I'm here,' she said, kneeling by the bed.

The child looked at her in confusion.

'Where is daddy?' he asked.

Gilraen's hand, reaching to sweep away the beads of sweat from Estel's forehead, froze mid-way in the air.

'Daddy is gone,' she said, her voice unsteady. 'You know this, little one. Try to sleep some more. It will be alright.'

'But daddy...'

Gilraen pressed her hands, knotted into hard fists, to her stomach. She fought to keep smiling.

'Hush, Estel,' she whispered. 'Hush. You need to rest.'

'Don't want to.'

Gilraen laughed. If Estel could be that stubborn, than, perhaps, he wasn't as sick as she had feared. The woman's laughter died away when her son's eyes closed. The little face became gray. Gilraen stood up in one quick motion. She had done all that she could. It was time to ask for help. And yet she hesitated, her eyes hard, her lips pressed into a grim line. The strongest healer that walked the Middle Earth was at the other end of the hallway, and Gilraen stood unmoving. She had spent the week in her room, nursing her sick child. But nobody had come to ask about her's or her son's health. She rarely wished for company of others and had spent most of her time in her rooms. In all fairness, she shouldn't complain about being left alone. But it stung anyway, the notion that when she truly needed someone to come and inquire about how things were, nobody was there. Gilraen lifted the sleeping boy into her arms and kissed his too warm brow. The sun rays from the window enveloped them both. She looked out at the Misty Mountains, the garden and the trees, unseeing. The year that she had passed at Rivendell swam before her eyes.

Elrond had said little when the mother and the child had first appeared before him, grief-stricken. Gilraen had never met the elf lord before. And that day, when he had looked on them for such a long time, she had started to doubt their welcome. Gilraen remembered still the lord's sudden stillness and attention when he had gazed into Aragorn's eyes.

'Estel,' Elrond had called him.

At the sound of that name, the lord's two sons, who had brought Gilraen here and flanked her even in the great hall, had looked at one another, their faces identically unreadable. Even today, Gilraen could not tell Elladan and Elrohir apart.

'Lady Gilraen,' had said Elrond then, 'we grieve for Arathorn. You are welcome among us. Your child will be safe here.'

She had stayed. The year had passed slowly, as if the time flowed around the green valley, without ever entering. The elves went about their tasks, unconcerned with the two humans in their midst. Gilraen was grateful for that, for she grieved. She was young, only twenty-six, and she had loved her husband. Truly loved, with all the strength of her soul. And now... Now Estel, that she continued to call Aragorn in the silence of her heart, had become her world. Gilraen had no doubt that she could take care of him all by herself. She was his mother! Only, she couldn't lower his fever.

Gilraen looked down at her son. He slept, worn out by the few words that he had spoken. The child had lost so much weight in the last week, Gilraen felt like weeping. Then she shook herself. A year ago, when Arathorn was laid to rest, she had abandoned all hope of happiness. Now, she let go of her pride.

She saw Elrond as soon as she stepped out of her room. He was at a sun-filled balcony, a small distance across the hallway. The elf had his back turned to her. Gilraen stopped at a respectful distance, knowing that her approach was noticed. And yet Elrond did not turn.

He is a healer, Gilraen thought in desperation. He would not deny me help.

'Master Elrond?' she called.

He turned, a polite smile upon his lips.

This is it, for now. Did you like? Oh, and did I tell you that reviews were most, most welcome? They are!